As the armies of Benelige and the Burgon continue to gather at the town of Meurthe, Sister Evita has a somewhat rude awakening. Sir Erwan finally hears the plans of Lord Johannes, along with some hints of the tremendous consequences should he achieve them. But just before he can find out more, bad news from the west arrives, leading to a schism in the Leopards fighting strength that he can not repair or prevent. The Eldar, for reasons beyond their knowledge or understanding, cannot stay to join the quickly approaching campaign. But not all of them are departing, with a select few volunteering to stay behind.
One of them will prepare for a long journey and a suicidal mission she must attempt despite the odds against her...
The first rays of sunshine trickled in between the window shutters, waking Evita. She slowly swung to the side of the bed generously provided by the innkeeper at Meurthe, her frame and intimidating features probably why she got the best room in the house. Wearing a plain black set of undergarments and a bra, she was not prepared for combat but was certainly worthy of most Imperials' attention. She had heard the rumors and rather embarrassing lust that struck many, Guardsmen very much included, targeting her and the rest of the Sororitas. Evita would never lie and not take pride in her shapely form, but it was sworn to the Emperor and the Emperor alone. In theory at least. She ran a few fingers through her silver bob cut and felt her pillow to reshape it.
Then she noticed the young man on the other side of the bed.
She shot straight up, backing off as her mind raced to think of an answer to what had happened. She did not need to wonder who it was: the blonde hair and boyish face left no question.
"P-Parky?" she spluttered.
He barely stirred, groaning before digging himself under the covers. She almost did not want to believe the circumstances she found herself in, as much from the surprise as the unfortunate implications. She moved a hand gently under the sheets and lifted them to inspect him, for lack of a better phrase. He was wearing a plain shirt and-Thank the Emperor- a pair of briefs. She made the sign of the Aquila and thanked Him for keeping her hands clean of impropriety. Gently moving the blankets to make Parky comfortable, Evita slunk towards her clothes, threw on a well-fitting robe, and stepped quietly down the stairs. As she reached the inn's ground floor, she heard a familiar, booming voice.
"I'm telling you Bob, those buggers on Haikk Four had weak skulls. Only took a swing or two to smash them like pumpkins. Their souls were so poisoned it weakened their bodies."
"Nah," the elderly medic said with a shake of his head.
She moved closer and got the notice of the innkeeper, who made an Aquila with his hands and bowed his head.
"De la nourriture? Des boissons? Er, food? Drinks?"
The two soldiers turned and nodded or waved at her. Both were wearing plain sets of clothing but were entirely out of uniform. The rest of the Leopards except for herself and Erwan had barely worn them since they arrived at the town.
"Good morning, Sister!" Davie called out, raising a glass of beer.
That he was already drinking this early in the morning, able to continue all day, and still wake up earlier than her rankled the Sororitas to no end.
"Some water would be fine, Innkeeper."
She had never bothered to learn the man's name, who was always in a state of nervous near panic.
"Anyway, what do you think Bob?"
"Nothing to do with souls," he replied flatly.
"Then what was it?"
Bob took a sip of his own drink and shrugged.
"No helmets."
"Wot?"
"Lads had no helmets."
Davie thought over the answer for a few moments and nodded slowly.
"True. That is true, isn't it? Most of those dumb bastards weren't wearing them, were they? Good thing I have you around Bob, or I'd be spouting shit out of my mouth."
"You do that already, Davie," she said with a hint of annoyance.
The two veterans laughed at her statement, the serjeant taking no offense at a good comeback.
"How's Parky doing? He up yet?"
She froze at the young Guardsman's name, unsure how to respond.
"He is… still asleep."
"First person he'll have to see is Bob. With all them drinks piled on him last night, I bet he's got one hell of a headache."
"Most likely."
Davie was satisfied with the answer, but Bob, more intelligent than he ever let on, quickly figured out what was happening.
"She doesn't remember."
"Remember what?"
"Last night."
"Tell me it ain't so! Evita, you really don't remember?"
"Truthfully, I do not."
Davie let out a bark of laughter and shook his head.
"Well, I can't say I blame you; we had to drag you out of bed, and you looked barely awake the entire time."
"What happened?"
"Those damned women of Branders happened, that's what. We all decided to go out and enjoy ourselves at one of the taverns here because we got invited. No offense intended, Marcel."
The innkeeper shrugged as he cleaned a glass, not bothered by their patronage going elsewhere.
"I provide room and board, not drunken brawls."
"Good man. Anyway, we were all enjoying ourselves, talking to the troops Johannes raised here, and then the troops from Branders arrived."
"Putain de Vlamangs," the innkeeper grumbled.
"Not a fan?"
"Cheap, noisy, and if they are the same women from the other day? Nothing but trouble."
"Vlamangs?"
"Vlemings in their own tongue. Northerners. Independent and business minded, but they have coin, they are not pillaging, and their leaders keep them in line."
"What about Lord Johannes?" Evita asked.
Handing a full glass of water to her, he shrugged again. She hesitated for a moment before seeing the drink was sparkling. Feudal worlds were not exactly famous for their hygiene and access to clean water.
"From the springs in Vicheaux. Safe, I promise soeur. Johannes is a good man, and I do not just say that because he's paying me more than the usual rates to keep you all in comfort."
"Certainly helps though. So, they joined in, started buying us drinks… especially for Parky."
"Should've stopped them," Bob added.
"We were all a bit busy staring at the bottom of our glasses, admittedly. Well, by the time we realized they were trying to run off with him, we had to damn near fight them to get the poor boy free. Then Hawke rushed back here, got you out of bed, and then you two went back."
Faint flickers of going through the streets at night, bleary eyed and confused but lifting someone back to the inn came to Evita's mind.
"Thank you for jogging my memory, Davie."
"Of course."
"Where is everyone else?"
"Well, you two were in bed," he winked at her quickly, much to her disapproval. "Me and Bob were pinching the hair of the dog for our headaches, Hawke's off touring the town, and Erwan is in a council of war with Johannes and the other commanders."
"Any word on Roger?"
"Only that he arrived safely at Stratioupolis and he went to some big city in the west. Nothing after that though, but no news is good news, Eh?"
"Dieu-Empereur! Tell me he did not go to Nou-Par!" Marcel said in horror.
The three looked at him in surprise.
"Nou-Par?" Bob asked.
XXXXXX
Sir Erwan Kerhoued was unused to the idea of feeling like the least important person in the room. In the large tent owned by Lord Johannes, he stood around a table with four high ranking members of the local nobility. Even if his armor was more technologically advanced and capable, the style of it was almost archaic in comparison to the fashion and aesthetics of the Beneligers and Burgons around him. However, he was still given a prominent place in the meetings, considering that he was one of two knightly envoys of the Imperium to the armies of the east. They were all gathered around a map of Haikk Five, colored either in white or blue.
"Any word from Elsaz?" Johannes asked.
Thankfully, they all spoke Low Gothic or the Burgon dialect, close to the courtly languages of Anglerre, and quite similar to his native Vretan.
"Non, mon seigneur. Some of our spies indicate that Lord Wasstrich has received his ordinance, but there is no confirmation that he is raising any lances."
"Hmm. Thank you, Jean."
Lord Jean de Pocourt, lord of the territory of that same name on the border of the Burgons and Argacs, was a firm, methodical man. His symbol of a red lion guardant was as hard to ignore as he was.
"What do you think, Rene?"
Rene Vaudmont, lord of Mozain, shook his thinning gray hair. That was ironic, considering his heraldry bore three combs on a light red field.
"On the one hand, that would leave us down a company, which would hurt us. On the other hand, having him hold position and stay neutral would mean that the Lord of Baurin would not be worrying about his old enemy marching on him. Lose one lord's support, we may gain the other."
"Understood. Last but not least-"
Johannes turned to the youngest, but most well-built of his commanders, Sir Karol Reensbak of Gilders. A fellow Beneliger, he was the closest to a second in command that Johannes had.
"Ja, meneer. Bishop Eric has informed us that-"
He pulled out a parchment, bearing a seal of heraldry with a sword and bishop's staff topped off by a mitre.
"I cannot, in good conscience, raise men from the Prince-Bishopric of Merldun to wage war against fellow devotees of our Immortal God-Emperor, etc. etc. He will not join us.
"Which we expected," Vaudmont said. "But I have heard more than a few men and soldiers from his garrison have either left or ended their service to him. Who knows where they went?"
The four laughed, Erwan smirking in amusement.
"And what of our friends in the heavens above, Erwan?"
"What do you mean?"
Johannes rubbed the back of his head awkwardly.
"We could use the backing and support of the Imperium here. In fact, if we are to be victorious, it is essential."
"Roger is away trying to get answers. And once he gives more information to Prince Edmund, I am certain you will get everything you need."
The mood inside the tent lit up like dry kindling.
"See, broeder ridders? Slow and steady will win this race. But we must seize this opportunity. We should only wait a few more days to see who else will join us, as we only have twenty-four hundred men. If we can just get one or two more companies, we will be ready."
"And what exactly are we doing, Johannes?" asked Pocourt.
"You certainly know that we are marching south towards Dezan, correct?"
Receiving nods, the lord continued.
"Gentlemen, we have suffered disunity and the oppression of the Argacs long enough. The north, from the western ports of Branders to the flatlands of Gilders for example. The embers of rebellion are red hot in Benelige. You have seen here in the middle lands that the people are sick of western raids and traders moving here to take advantage of them. And the south? The Count of Burgon has sat long enough, and his recent actions tell me he has the fire of his grandfather in him."
"You are probably correct," Vaudmont said with a hint of sadness. "The Argacs inspire no confidence. Their king is mad and his advisors have stolen what little power he has. And let us not even speak of Cardinal Aurior. But what can a force of our size realistically do? If we are to remind the westerners to leave us alone-"
"Not this time, My Lord. Because we may have enough men to attack my target, but also few enough to escape before the entirety of the west figures out what is happening."
The two Burgons became nervous at this statement. Erwan took more interest than ever.
"What… target, are you thinking of, dear Jean?"
Johannes grinned and looked down at the map, sticking an armored finger down towards a zone within Argac territory but near the borders of pro-Burgon factions. The name of the place had no meaning to Erwan for obvious reasons. But the confident reactions of the Beneligers contrasted heavily with that of the Burgons in the tent.
"Are you mad!" Pocourt exclaimed, his face reddening with anger. "Going that deep into enemy territory, and besieging the capital of a bishop ruled county? Both Cardinals will have our heads, and we will be lucky if the princes of the cloth do not attack us in the rear!"
"I-I must agree with Pocourt. Johannes, this makes no sense. Dangerous target, and whatever grudge you have against the Bishop of Langres is not worth the men we have raised, no matter the odds."
"But it is important," Sir Karol said with a slight smile. "Because we found it."
"Found what?" Vaudmont said in a tone that sounded more like an exasperated father than a military commander.
The Beneligers looked at each other before Johannes leaned in.
"Het Kruis van Lothar."
The two Burgons looked back at the Beneliger with confusion, necessitating Karol to translate from Vlamish.
"La Croix de Lothar."
Vaudmont and Pocourt started back in shocked silence for a few moments, almost not believing what they heard.
"Impossible! It was lost millennia ago, and even then, if it were still in one piece the Argacs would have destroyed it!"
"I have on good authority that it is intact, in good condition, and hidden in the Cathedral of Saint Leibowitz. Right there. In the center of Langres."
"What do you plan to-"
Vaudmont stopped mid sentence and went bone white.
"You must be joking, boy. You cannot be-"
"The time is right! The north is ready to flare into rebellion, the south is ready to take back what was theirs! This is the moment!"
Pocourt swallowed hard and shook his head.
"Even if Phillip is mad enough to follow you, the moment you take that to the Palais des Ducs, it will be a declaration of war. The west has been waiting for a moment like this for centuries, and that will be enough of an excuse to start it! Hell, with that backstabbing shit wearing the red in the west, he will start a goddamn crusade of his own!"
"My friends, I understand your concerns, but I can tell you, we are close to achieving the dream of Lothar the Good! This close, we almost touch it!"
"The amount of death and destruction-"
"And finally regain our place in the sun?" Johannes said, closing and putting his hands on Vaudmonts shoulders. "What is the cost of that, Rene? To finally free ourselves of the Argacs and unite our homeland?"
The older lord opened his mouth to respond, but nervously stopped.
"It is madness, Johannes. Utter madness. But all of us here have sworn to assist you as per the ordinances… It is suicide! Politically and militarily."
"We just need one or two more companies and a plan, my friend. And then we can begin the real work."
Pocourts face twisted in a mix of astonishment and outrage. He obviously was unaware of the lord's plan, and if he had known, he would have stayed away. But now under oath and orders, he was trapped by loyalty and knightly honor.
"We do not have a choice now do we? I will say, if you can lead us to glory, so be it. But should we face certain destruction, you will find yourself quite friendless."
"A risk I am willing to take."
"And one that our troops will gladly bear the burden for," Karol added.
"Maybe the Beneligers, but us Burgons? That is up to fate."
Pounding hooves quickly approaching silenced the tent, wondering if it was a messenger bearing news about the other Companies rising or refusing to join Johannes's campaign. The hoofbeats stopped as the sound of jangling spurs grew, a panting and mud splattered page, his fine clothes in a state of near ruin as his pageboy haircut was a windswept mess. Erwan had a brief thought at how youthful and handsome he still looked but quickly suppressed it.
"Mijn Prins!" he gasped before kneeling.
"Are you all right, dear page?" Johannes asked in concern.
"I bear news from our agents in the west! Something has happened in the Argac capital, of great importance!"
"Nou-Par? What do we care about that trou à rats?"
The page handed a sealed parchment roll to him, who quickly opened and read it. His face turned from questioning to shock.
"Mijn God-Keizer!" he gasped, his head snapping at Erwan.
"Your friend Roger has been declared an outlaw and is wanted dead or alive!"
The Vretan stared back at Johannes, almost unable to process what he had been told. He was handed the note, written in Low Gothic thankfully, and read it over. In flowery and quick language, the contents were just as baffling as the announcement.
"He killed a priest?" Erwan asked in disbelief.
"Two of them! And their bodyguards!"
"Priests have bodyguards?" Vaudmont asked. "Since when?"
"You put your hopes for Imperial support in the hands of a cleric-murdering Heretic?" Pocourt scolded. "As if your plans were not crazy enough!"
"What was he doing in Nou-Par anyway?"
Erwan snapped out of his daze and cleared his throat.
"He wanted answers or assurances from the Seneschal to report back to Edmund. Obviously, it did not go well."
"He actually stepped foot in the Chateau itself? What a mad man!"
Karol laughed; no emotion able to signify his mood better.
"He might as well have signed his own death warrant!"
Johannes perked up instantly, raising a hand and silencing all in the tent.
"Thank you, dear page. Get some food from my cook, a bath, and your clothes laundered."
Dismissing the messenger, he then continued.
"We know that the court of the Seneschal is packed with the opportunistic and power hungry. And who, may we remember, is the most influential member there?"
The others were silent, unable to answer. Then, Pocourt seemed to shake out of his mental fog.
"Cardinal Aurior," Vaudmont hissed.
"I bet those priests were not even ordained. This reeks of western plotting, especially if the realities of our forces and political abilities reached Edmund. So this is not some diplomatic incident, this is an attack on anyone to the east."
Johannes swung his head back to Erwan, he was mulling over the information in silence.
"Sir Erwan, however the people of Benelige and Burgon can help, know that we will provide it."
"Agreed," Pocourt said. "If he is a criminal to the Argacs, he certainly would be a friend of our people."
"Do not worry gentlemen," Erwan said with polite confidence. "I and the rest of the Leopards accept your help gratefully. But do not worry-"
The Vretan flourished his hands, letting his white flowered jupon flow.
"I have a plan."
XXXXXX
"Anybody… have any ideas? Impalaer a oar, I do not."
Erwan was sitting on a tree stump in a small glade outside of Meurthe, the concerned and stunned faces of the humans and Eldar that made up the Leopards staring at him.
"I mean, it's not the first time he's broken the law," Davie said as he scratched his chin. "But at least he had the decency to do it near us. He's half a bloody planet away!"
"He assured us that all would go well," Kallen said mournfully. "We should have known better."
The gathered Guardsmen, warriors of Ducaish, and the lone Sister of Battle were scrambling to figure out the news they had just received. It was bad enough that their commander had left them as quickly as he did, but the idea of Roger being lost and possibly dead was disastrous.
"I was able to get a message to Edmund and the others in command. They have no idea about Rogers' status, and the Konstantins were unable to get him out of Nou-Par. In fact, they lost him too."
"Thrones sake!" Hawke groaned. "So, the Boss is out there, Throne knows where, and he could be bloody dead for all we know!"
"Fucking mess this all is," Davie said with a shake of his head.
"Can you not yell please?" Parky moaned, a cold rag on his forehead. "My head's pounding."
"You'll get over it boy. Obviously, we can't just run west and try to figure out where he is, since if Rog's an outlaw, that means we're probably not much better in their eyes. Actually, why haven't Johannes and the others tried to arrest us?"
Erwan gave a dismissive hand wave.
"Daffyd, if I tried to explain to you the politics on this planet, you would be nauseous as Parky there. But the people and nobles here are more welcoming than those in the west. From what I can tell, Roger attempted to meet with the western leader, who is considered by the Konstantins and by extension the Imperium at large, as the rightful governor of this planet, or as close as they can get to one. Something happened, and now he is on the run, or… not with us. As per his orders, I will take command until we know if he is still alive. Even if you disagree, those were his orders."
None of the Anglois took any issue; Erwan was a knight after all. Even if he was a Vretan, he was from Anglerre and Roger vouched for him. It was not the same for the Eldar.
"Unfortunately, that is not acceptable to us," Moire said quietly.
"How so?"
"My battle sister is correct," Kallen added. "Our oaths and promises were sworn to Roger and him alone. We cannot violate that."
"Out of honor, or some other factor?"
"Yes, to both of those answers. I understand our kind is not the most appreciated by your species, what with our tendency to keep vital information hidden or to twist alliances for reasons beyond understanding, among others. But to Ducaish, a promise like the one we made to him is sacred, and only approved at the whim of our leaders."
"Farseers?" Bob asked, surprising all in the glade before Kallen continued.
"Correct, Robert. This has nothing to do with you, Sir Erwan, but it has everything to do with the concepts and agreements we swore to. Farseer Alwyn trusted Roger and believed in him enough to approve our joining of forces, specifically under him. Whether it was because she believed fate would guide him through whatever tribulations we faced together or some other reason, it was entirely because of him."
Erwan nodded and sighed.
"And I am not Roger."
"Correct," Moire finished.
"Do you not trust me?"
"We have not seen your abilities as of yet, which makes us hesitant. But more importantly, our seers have no knowledge or visions of you."
"So, what will happen now?"
"We will leave your forces and return to Ducaish. If we violate our oaths and move without foresight, it could be disastrous, which we cannot afford at this vital moment."
Erwan and the other humans looked at Moire in concern.
"What… exactly is vital about this moment?" Parky said as he fought the urge to vomit.
"We do not know," Kallen sighed. "We were to inform Roger that we were needed by the Craftworld soon for reasons that have not been disclosed."
"So you're abandoning us?" Hawke accused.
"That is an extreme way to put it, Benjamin, but we can not stay with you all in the current circumstances."
All but Evita seemed crestfallen at the statement, already reeling from Roger's possible death or his outlawing. This was felt by the Eldar, most of them taking pity on their comrades but not feeling guilt. Humans would never understand the Eldari ways of war and concepts of honor: more so, they could never grasp the sheer power and sway that someone like Alwyn held over her kin.
"We will still be on this world," Moire added. "But in services to our own kind and not yours. In essence, our contribution to the Leopards without Roger will be minimal at best. Our warriors have no obligation to fight with you. I am sorry, but such is our way."
"Not all of us," another voice cut in.
Everyone turned to face the speaker, seeing that it was one of their kin in green robes. But that was not as noticeable as her long, fiery red hair.
"What?" Moire asked in slight anger at having been interrupted.
"As those who tread the Path of the Outcast, Rangers like myself have no restrictions like our brothers and sisters who follow the Aspects."
"That is true, Anya, but that would be-"
The Ranger broke into Eldari, Moire and Kallen doing the same. There was a flurry of hand motions and slight body movements but spoken word that sounded completely bizarre to the Leopards. Hawke and Davie looked at each other in confusion as Parky groaned from his headache, Evita ignoring the Xenos babble to adjust the rag on Parkys forehead. Bob was more interested in looking at the sunlight filtering through the leaves.
But Erwan was hanging on every word the Speridou spoke with fascination.
For the most part, it was unintelligible. But more than a few words were totally understandable, followed by ones that were remarkably similar to his Vretan tongue. He had never heard them speak before, but the fact that he could recognize some of their words, "Merc'h," "Urzhioù," "Tonkad": daughter, commands, fate. He stayed silent as it continued but noticed, for a moment, Kallen glancing at him in suspicion before focusing on Anya and Moire's argument. The Avenger looked to the other Rangers: Alax, Steryn, and Galin. At least he remembered some of the Speridous names. They spoke and gestured as well, and judging by Moire's look of disappointment and frustration, they agreed with Anya. Both her and Kallen turned back to Erwan, the former disgruntled, the latter amused.
"The four Rangers among our forces wish to stay and assist you. However, the rest of our group will depart," Moire said coolly.
"And if Roger is found?"
"Alive? We will rejoin you all and serve as he has before. If he is found dead, then the Rangers will return to Ducaish as well."
Erwan was not exactly sure what Ducaish was or meant, but he understood the implication: the few Eldar left under him would no longer do so if Roger was confirmed dead.
"Acceptable. I assume that they will inform you of any new pieces of information and the like?"
"Correct."
The sound of war horns and the dull thud of marching boots interrupted the conversation, taking all, Eldar and human alike, by surprise.
"Petra an diaoul?"
"Language sir," Davie cheekily replied.
"Your allies are readying themselves. We will hold you all longer and depart."
"Hopefully this is not the last time we meet," Erwan said as he stood.
"As do we," Kallen said as he bowed his head.
"Let us find out what has happened," the knight called out to the Leopards, who dutifully began to move out.
Erwan bowed to the Speridou and began moving away, seeing the Rangers staying put. At least he could identify them with their green robes and earth toned armor.
"Is something wrong?" he asked Anya.
"Farewells and preparations. We will join you shortly."
"Understood."
They moved through the foliage away from their departing comrades, sullen at the news.
"Bloody good soldiers," Davie said.
"Saved us a lot of trouble," Hawk agreed.
"Bit strange, but I liked that about them," Parky sadly concluded.
"Aye," Bob finished.
Erwan had little to say, having not known them as long as the others, but he was hiding his fears and self-doubt. It was bad enough he had to fill Rogers shoes, but it was quickly apparent his successes relied as much on him and his Avalonian squad as the Eldar. Would he be able to do all he could? Would he succeed? Or was fate about to roll its wheel over him again after his lucky escape from Haikk Four? He swallowed as he avoided a prickly branch and did what all good leaders did: faked his confidence to soothe the morale of his men.
"They have not all left us. We still have four, and from what I have seen and heard, one of them is enough to tip any fight's balance in our favor."
The Guardsmen took comfort in that, much to Erwans relief. Only Evita seemed to have no response.
"And what do you think Sister? Having our friends leave us?"
The Sororitas smiled slightly, bowing her head before forming an Aquila on her power armor's chest plate.
"Bonum est faciet," she answered in High Gothic.
"What?" Parky asked, still a little nauseous.
"Farewell. That is all I believe."
"Hmm. Well, that is a good way of looking at it."
They reached the walls of Meurthe after a few minutes of trailblazing agony, seeing the distant camp of soldiers alive with activity. A page and coustillier were riding quickly from their right, slowing down so as not to trample their comrades.
"Clear the way!" the page cried out before they dutifully did so.
The coustillier slowed and shook his sallet protected head.
"Désolé monsieur. He is young and full of energy, he forgets himself sometimes."
"Understood, no offense taken. What is happening?"
"You have not heard?"
"We were away."
"Ah. Well, news has arrived from some of the nobles and towns ordinances were sent to. Two whole companies have been raised and are moving to meet us to the southwest. We are to join them and begin Lord Johannes' campaign."
"So, we are moving?"
"First light tomorrow. Say, you all are the Imperials that are here to help, correct?"
Erwan nodded, looking back at the Leopards dutifully doing so as well.
"Talk to him as soon as possible and see what preparations you need. I thought there was another knight with you."
"Yes, but that is complicated."
Erwan cursed silently.
"But fate does not stop over one man, does it?"
The coustillier laughed and rode off, chunks of mud flying up after him. The Leopards looked to their new leader, as surprised by the orders as he was.
"So, what do we do sir?" Davie asked.
"I will speak to Johannes, but I do not think we should stay here. There is not much we can do for Roger now, and the most mobile part of our unit has just left us. I think he would want us to follow our new friends."
"That's all well and good," Hawke said with concern. "But shouldn't we do something for him?"
"I wish there were a way Hawke, but at this point? He is half a world away, either hiding or deceased. The best we can do for him-"
Erwan turned to the massive camp as the bells of Meurthe rang to alert them.
"Is pray that he is alright and can find us wherever we end up."
XXXXXX
Anya Syneoch was blessed, and cursed, to be the child of a Farseer. On the one hand, she was able to control her emotions as well as her kin of the Aspect Shrine, a sort of facsimile war mask. But just as potent was the ability to feel emotions and allow them to override her senses, making rushed judgments, at least for an Eldar, and putting herself or others into unnecessary danger. It had happened in her early days on the Path of the Outcast, nearly being gored by a native creature on an Exodite planet that called for aid so that it would not kill a defenseless animal it preyed on. Another example was taking down a Space Marine to prove herself to her wary comrades, which resulted in their hiding spot being obliterated by rocket artillery. Thankfully on her own that time, she mourned the loss of nature at her own hands, for if Anya ignored the superhuman, she would have never been detected and those woods would have grown to peaceful glory. Then there was accepting the offer of a water-filled canteen…
"I thought you would have left by now," she said before checking the contents of her travel bag.
"I am more sentimental than my peers. And my fellow commander."
Seeing enough food, drink, and ammunition for more than a Terran month, still barely any hindrance or issue to quick and invisible movement, she swung the bag over her shoulder and picked up her short sword. She swung it a few times, remembering the training she had received before going on her first excursion and some of the tips from her late fathers' friends.
"Asuryans bones," Kallen chuckled. "Were you a Scorpion, I would disown you for that stance alone."
"The blade is my last option. And I enjoy the ruminations on sharpshooting more than the sword."
"A future Dire Avenger. Or a Fire Dragon even!"
Anya let out a small laugh, much to his interest.
"What is this disrespect for our Fusion Gun wielding brothers and sisters I hear? Is it their armor? Do you not like orange as a color?"
"Any fool can take a weapon like that and charge towards a vehicle. Maybe if more of them survived such ordeals I would take them seriously."
"I cannot argue with that. I am sure you will find your true path eventually. Or your mother will determine it for you."
"Who will tell her I stayed? You or Moire?"
"Moire, certainly. And not because she volunteered, more as I have enough baggage for the Seers on our Craftworld that if I did, I may as well plunge my Chainsword into my stomach to save myself the fury I will certainly have to endure."
"Your ability to save yourself is quite admirable, Kallen Socher."
He smiled again as she inspected her Longrifle.
"It has kept me alive. And you would do well to learn that as well."
"Do you think I am making a mistake?"
"Staying? Or chasing after what could be a dead Mon-Keigh?"
She turned to face him, a sour look being all that was necessary to answer.
"I think keeping at least a few of our kin to watch over Erwan and the others is acceptable. But what you are doing would be seen as less so."
"Somebody has to look for him. And I am willing to do so."
"And I admire it. Damn my soul if I say it, but I wish I could join you, and plenty of us Warriors do as well. Even Moire, if she would ever admit it."
"But an oath is an oath, and my mother and the Councils will be upset enough that any Asuryani are still helping the humans."
"Correct. What of the others?"
"Steryn volunteered to stay with the Leopards and lead Alex and Galin. They wished to join me, but it is safer to travel alone in this case."
"Agreed."
She adjusted her sights and seemed satisfied, checking that the ribbons that displayed her name and places she fought were in order.
"What is it that attracts you to him?"
She froze, as much by the suddenness of the question as the possible meanings behind it. What sort of attraction? What did the Scorpion know? A lie would not work, that much was obvious. So, she did something her mother always would in these situations: forge a half-truth.
"Guilt. He was nearly executed for an act of kindness towards me. I am repaying the favor."
Kallen nodded slowly, accepting this answer to her surprise.
"I see. Well, despite what our betters may think, you are doing the right thing, and as I said, I admire it."
"What has mother planned for you now?"
"Isha knows. The idea of our Dark Kin being on this world with so much of our history buried is enough to worry her. Maybe we will be sent off to another system. Fate guides us in many strange ways."
"Agreed."
She slung her rifle and nodded to him.
"Wherever you are taken, I wish you and the others luck."
"Luck has little to do with much of our actions," he replied with a grin. "But I appreciate the thought. I will return it to you."
Anya nodded and started heading west.
"Wait."
She stopped and turned back. Kallen approached her and placed a hand on her shoulder, staring deep into her eyes.
"Find him. No matter his status, no matter the difficulty. So that my mind will find peace, and yours as well. Find. Roger."
She nodded as he patted her shoulder. He stood there as she lifted her hood over her red hair, the light flickering as her cloak activated. A moment later, she vanished into what the humans called the Zchwarwoud. Kallen lowered his head and whispered a prayer to the Pantheon and Asuryan to protect her but lifted his head and smiled deviously. He had seen a look in her eyes, one which the reasoning for was still debatable, but was plain to see: Anya Socher would stop at nothing to find Roger. And whatever or whoever tried to stop her?
God, in whatever form they liked, help them.