Roger arrives in the western capital of Nou-Par to meet the self-proclaimed governor of Haikk Five, Seneschal Louis of the Argac family. Given a crash course in courtly manners and the city itself, he presents himself to court with less than stellar results. But it will be a discovery of a hidden memorial in the Chapel of the Seneschals palace that turns a bad meeting into an utter disaster.
And as the halls of the Starfort Langriano fill with music and celebration, his commanders are given dire news in the aftermath...
Roger always hated traveling, especially anything involving the air. Yes, he had moved on aircraft countless times from rear areas to the front and from orbit to landfall, but he adopted a standard Anglois view of flight: meant for birds, star sailors, and lunatics. As he tightly gripped his harness straps in the back of the Valkyrie as it bounced through the atmosphere of Haikk Five, his view did little to change. In fact, as they burst through a wave of vicious turbulence, they were reinforced.
"You alright back there, sir?" a female voice at the front asked him.
"As fine as a knight can be in this bloody deathtrap!" he yelled back.
She was the crew chief of the vehicle, ensuring the aircraft functioned correctly and whatever cargo or passengers in the back arrived safely to their destination. Polite, but doubtless preferred the simple companionship of boxes or crates against someone like him. At least he was the only one to handle that day.
"I'll have you know that this Valkyrie is kept up to Imperial Guard equipment standards!"
The two went quiet for a moment before he looked back at her.
"Is that a statement or a threat?"
"Honestly can't tell some days. These things are blown up and put together again so many times you can't be sure if the machine spirit you're talking to is the right one!"
"Charming."
The crew was Imperial Navy, part of a Tactical Wing that provided such essential air support on planets and battlefields like Haikk Five. The official Imperium policy of leaving feudal and feral worlds untouched by technology ended the moment rebellion or combat kicked off, and this was no different. Still, he had to wonder what the peasants on the ground thought of the strange craft that tore through the skies. His thoughts were broken by the sound of static voices from the front, his head snapping towards the chief. She pulled her headset's microphone to her mouth and said something, but it was too loud to hear.
"Sir, three minutes till we land!"
"Thank the Emperor," Roger muttered. "The commander at Stratioupolis said some of his comrades would meet me at the landing pad and show me where to go. Know anything about that?"
"Sorry, all I know is that the Valkyrie will land safely and where to get refueled!"
"Not your fault, chief. We all have our own issues to deal with!"
The crew chief broke the following silence a few moments later.
"Sir, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure!"
"What do you think of the Konstantins?"
"In what way?"
"As an Imperial Guard officer!"
He blinked and thought for a few moments before answering.
"They're not bad, just… full of themselves!"
"I have to fly them around Haikk Five."
"And what do you think of them?"
"Cunts! Arrogant cunts!"
Roger let out a bark of laughter as he lurched forwards, a sick feeling in his stomach as they were about to land.
"At least it was quick!"
"What, am I not good enough company!"
"No chief, you're fine! Where I grew up, the only thing that flew was birds and people leaping to kill themselves!"
"Must have been nice to live in ignorance!"
"Blissful, even!"
He rocked again as the craft landed, the chief unbuckling and releasing Roger. Fully armored and wearing his jupon, it was a change from her usual clientele.
"Looking good sir. You meeting someone?"
"Hopefully. You asked me about the Konstantins-" he grunted as he stood up. "So may I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"What's your read on the situation here? On Haikk Five?"
She shrugged and moved around the cabin, flicking switches and other such things.
"Seems to be nothing going on. Rebellions down, and those purple pricks are just sitting around doing jack shit."
"Ah. Thank you."
"All right, gonna open the ramp. Now, you've been nice to me, so a fair warning: breathe through your mouth as long as you can, and it won't hit you all at once."
"What will hit me?"
"Nou-Par and its people take immense pride in their clothes and culture. Unfortunately, they're the most unhygienic people I've had the displeasure of dealing with. And Nou-Par smells even worse."
"Fantastic."
"You're used to it though, right?"
Rogers' nose wrinkled.
"Do they have sewers and pipes?"
"Well… they have rivers. That's about it."
"God-Emperor. Thanks for the warning."
"Brace sir."
He stiffened his back and prepared for whatever was about to hit him as the ramp lowered. Taking a deep breath, the light filtered in as he felt a blast of wind hit him. As he blinked a few times, he saw four men in Konstantin armor standing on the tarmac. He stepped out of the Valkyrie and towards them.
"Sir Roger Wessyng?" their leader asked.
"Yes, glad to-GOD-EMPEROR!"
He gasped, covering his nose with his hands, gagging and coughing. The Konstantin frowned and looked awkward before Roger stood again. The chief had vastly understated the rank odor of the city. Even Lundun, a city of similar size and importance to Anglerre, had its own unique stench, but this was something almost unbelievable. Keeping his food in his gut and shuddering in disgust, he finally composed himself and nodded to the embarrassed Konstantin.
"Erm, welcome to Nou-Par, sir."
"Elias told me about your first impression of Nou-Par. Do not feel too embarrassed Sir Roger, when I first got here, I blew my guts out across that same tarmac."
"Not something I want to think about now, Domestikos. Er, apologies."
"No offense taken, Sir Roger. You still look a bit sick if you want me to be honest. Thank our beloved Imperator for having to spend as little time here as possible. Believe me, the stench never gets any easier."
"My condolences. I would like to thank you for getting me into the Seneschals court on such short notice."
"An official missive from a Prince of Anglerre who also is a leader of the Crusade we find ourselves in? That raises eyebrows."
Domestikos Aristotle Philes was a heavy-set man, obviously the type to deal with military administration and political matters more than combat. Even the name of his rank identified that line of work. However, given the high opinion that the thankfully loyal and not violent Manuel Papagos had of the man, especially with the latter's emphasis on soldiers of action and combat, he obviously was exceptionally good at whatever he did. As the two walked through the admittedly impressive Chateau de Seneschal, the reek of sewage and other city life was replaced with another: strong perfume, cologne, and smoke from cooking fires. Roger was unsure which was worse.
"Many questions that need immediate answers. I hope I arrived on time."
"Early, actually! The court begins at eight in the morning and lasts until about six or seven at night. I got you in around one or so."
"As you said, the less time I must spend here, the better. What can you tell me about the Seneschal?"
"In general, or before his court? Because that one is easy to answer: mad."
"Great, an angry noble. As if I didn't have one to deal with already."
Aristotle looked back to Roger in slight confusion, stopping as the knight did the same.
"Pardon?"
"Mad. Furious. Irritable."
"Oh, no no. You misunderstand me, Sir Roger. When I mean mad, I mean the other definition."
"Other definition?"
His face sank as he realized what the Domestikos was implying.
"God-Emperor, you don't mean-"
"He always wears five layers of clothing despite the heat. Simply put, the man thinks he is made of glass, and if he takes one wrong step and slips, he will shatter into a million pieces."
"Oh no."
"He is convinced that the Emperor personally speaks to him and guides his hand on all decisions. His advisors interpret his choices and "assist" in policy."
"Bloody…hell!"
"You were not aware?"
"If I was, I wouldn't have bothered coming here. Goddammit!"
The Konstantin rubbed his head in slight embarrassment. The other visitors to court began to take notice of the strange dressed knight and his impropriety, along with his near blasphemy.
"Er, Sir Roger, such comments should be spoken in private. Or at least after we present ourselves to the court."
"Right, right. I apologize. Lead the way."
Finally reaching the throne room, his Anglois heart sank further as he realized that for the next four to five hours, not only would he be waiting for an insane ruler, but to even get there would mean having to listen to the vapid and ignorant ruling classes of this planet. Well, the western half of it at least. Having not arrived yet, there were a few guards or other men dressed in the livery of the Argacs that he learned to identify: dark blue fleur-de-lis in neat rows on a white background. There was a large man standing near the empty throne, his grim and scarred visage observing the room.
"The brute near the throne is the marshal of Haikk Five. Right hand man of the throne and leader of its armies."
"Got a name?"
"Gui de Telon. Right bastard from personal experience and what my comrades on the front lines say. Dumb as an ox, but strong and determined as one too."
"So, try not to make an enemy out of him?"
"Recommendable."
"I'll find a way despite my best efforts."
The slight din of voices suddenly lowered as the marshal moved to a nearby door and opened it, leaning inside and speaking with someone. A few of the seated petitioners stood as the mood shifted. Out stepped a man wearing a gold lined coat bearing the Argac heraldry, his loud voice filling the room.
"Ladies and gentlemen! I present Seneschal Louis, Twenty-Ninth Argac of his name! Protector of Nou-Par, lord of the ports of Lienge, duke of-"
For three minutes the herald read off the list of titles, large and small, that belonged to the man who walked in to begin court. True to the Domestikos' word, he was wrapped in finery to the point of parody. He stepped with delicate, predetermined movements, as if in a state of constant alert. And it was this man, whose mind was as brittle as the glass he believed he was made of, who ruled over a planet and all its inhabitants. In theory, at least.
"His wife, Emperor bless her," Aristotle whispered in Rogers ear, "Rarely appears in public anymore. It is whispered that she tried to be intimate with no warning to her husband and Louis ordered her to be sent away. Or worse."
"Charming."
Another figure in impressive red vestments followed the Seneschal, wearing a red, square shaped hat in the same color.
"Cardinal?"
"Correct. His Eminence Cardinal Bernard Aurior. Remember that last name, it is one of the oldest and most powerful in the western lands of Haikk Five, as ancient and important as the Argacs. Politically minded and has the Church here wrapped around his finger. Or under his sword, whichever you prefer."
"And what of the… other one?"
Aristotle gave Roger a look of surprise, then a grin full of mischief.
"Oh, you have heard of that?"
He leaned in and whispered, realizing that this was not the best place to admit the man and his name.
"The other Cardinal on this planet is His Eminence Jacques Roy. Complete opposite: an orphan left on cathedral steps, became a priest that gave religious comfort to soldiers. Fought in a few skirmishes as well. From what I hear, he earned the red robes."
"The prince and the pauper. No wonder they hate each other."
"There are other reasons, but it certainly does not help."
As the last of the titles were read out, the Seneschal lifted his hand as everyone bowed or genuflected in fealty. Roger and the Domestikos did the same. For a few moments they stayed low, then rose with the rest of the crowd.
"Welcome, dear friends," he said in a thickly accented Low Gothic.
Like most of the planet, it was Franc, a language also spoken as the courtly language of Anglerre, but entwined with plenty of Anglish. Even then, all other business was conducted in that tongue for simplicity's sake. Roger thankfully spent enough time with Lord Moressley to understand Franc with little issue and had no problem with the Seneschals accent.
"We are gathered here to listen to your issues, so that we may have a happier, more blessed kingdom."
"Oh God-Emperor," the knight quietly groaned to Aristotle's contained amusement.
As the hours passed, Roger became more irritated and exasperated. There were some petitions that were sensible and more than worthy of attention: damaged fortress walls, bridges along the main roads in need of repair, and even a request for advice in marriage arrangements. But most were of little use or simple pandering, gift exchanges, promises of support, all as the man being lavished was a twitching, wild eyed lunatic who no one could be sure if he were in this world or another.
"You are up soon," the Domestikos said politely.
"What should I refer to him as? My lord?"
"Your Highness will work."
"Well, that's easy."
He focused again on the well-dressed man speaking to the Seneschal.
"-and with your support, Your Highness, we can establish trade that will benefit our planet and its people."
The Seneschals head whipped to the man, blinking in slight confusion.
"Ah, yes. You have our blessing. Go with the Emperor's grace."
The man was shuffled away into a back room to have whatever he wanted signed and approved. Roger quickly adjusted his jupon, checking that his armor was fitting and well kept. Satisfied, he saw the herald look at a scroll and then himself.
"Next petitioner is Sir Roger Wessyng, Knight of Anglerre, serving his Prince, Edmund of the House of Planjou. The Prince also is the leading intelligence officer of the Crusade to liberate our system from heresy and rebellion."
Roger moved forward and bowed politely, making sure not to tangle himself on his sword. He brought the steel blade that had been crafted for him by Moressleys smith, having left his Eldari sword with Davie and the others. He had brought both planetside for a situation like this, where the high ranking and religious would necessitate hiding any Xenos weapons or association.
"Your Highness," Roger said as he awaited permission to rise.
"Rise, Sir Roger. What do we owe this visit to?"
"My commander and liege wishes to know of the situation on this world. For the sake of the Crusade and the Imperium, to be assured that all is well can-"
"All is well," Cardinal Aurior cut in suddenly. "We have always been loyal to the Emperor and his Imperium, and that will continue."
The cleric's aggressive tone threw Roger off balance for a few moments, but he regained the initiative to continue.
"Well, Prince Edmund and Crusade command wishes to be sure. Heresy and rebellion can grow anywhere."
"And who," the Cardinal continued, "Believes that we are filled with such individuals? It seems to be an accusation not just against our honorable Seneschal, but myself for not completing the functions of my office."
"There are no accusations against anyone, Your Eminence. But my Prince and his fellows wish to ensure that the system is closer to falling in line so the Imperium can complete their mission and restore this system to its glory. And the Order of Sacred Avis would be glad to come to your aid if something has gone wrong."
"Who are the Sacred Avis?" the Seneschal asked, his eyes boring into Rogers skull.
"Your Highness, they are the Order of Adepta Sororitas assisting the Crusade."
The madman's eyes showed no response to this information, but another reaction caught Rogers' attention in the corner of his eye. It was almost unnoticeable, but he had seen a flicker on the Cardinals face, quickly vanishing and hidden under a mask of piety. The sneer of disgust was unmistakable, and the knights blood turned chilly. That a man of the cloth would react in such a way, especially on a world that had little idea of the Sisters of Battle existing was more than enough to give him some grim conclusions.
"But I am sure they can-"
The Seneschals hand raised, his face looking to the floor. All in the room went silent, Roger confused by the action. He stayed quiet but grew more ill at ease with every passing moment.
"Do your people know of the stories of Arthur and Camelot, Sir Roger?"
"Y-yes, Your Highness. Is it an essential part of our culture."
"You remind me of Perceval."
He was surprised by this interruption and conclusion, slightly curious and concerned.
"Perceval brought death to King Arthur and the end of Camelot. I cannot stand that. Leave at once."
Even the Cardinal was surprised at this sudden outburst. Roger himself was too stunned to respond, feeling a hand on his shoulder. Thankfully, it was the Domestikos instead of one of the thrones guards, who was as confused as he was and immobilized by the decision.
"Understood, Your Highness."
"Domestikos, I ask that you do not bring Sir Roger to our court again."
"Of course, of course. Sir Roger, let us leave. Now. Please."
The knight bowed, and without turning his back fled the throne room with his Konstantin chaperone. In less than a minute, he had been brought before the court, interrogated by a high-ranking member of the Ecclesiarchy, and thrown out by a mad planetary governor. If his mission had not failed so miserably, he would have been thoroughly proud of himself.
"You seem displeased, Sir Roger."
"Of course I'm goddamn displeased, I flew all the way out here, waited for hours listening to the vainest idiots on this God-Emperor forsaken planet, and then got thrown out by a twitching retard who thinks I'm a fucking Arthurian character! Wouldn't you be a little bit annoyed?"
"I would not use such harsh language, but I understand your feeling."
"What should I do now?"
The Domestikos shrugged, but did not seem entirely surprised by what had just happened.
"Unfortunately, the mind of Louis is as confusing as his decisions. If you would believe it, he has done much worse for lesser and higher petitioners."
Roger rubbed his eyes, feeling exhausted in mind and body. Despite his own reservations, he was desperate to finish this farce and report something to Edmund.
"How often does the Seneschal change his mind? Better way to put it, if I return tomorrow, will he remember me?"
"Well… there is precedent of Louis changing his mind a few days after. It is not the most ridiculous thing to ask. The only issue I can think of is the Cardinal poisoning his mind if you return. You obviously left an impression on him, and not a good one."
"Maybe he can tell I don't go to mass three times a day."
"The comment about the Sororitas was very interesting. Myself and fellow Konstantins have worked with them many times, but I never thought they were anything but a good influence."
"You noticed that too? Good."
Aristotle was slightly confused by Rogers statement, but thought little of it, more focused on the issues at hand.
"I will attempt to get you some lodgings and a way to contact your commanders on the Langriano."
"You are too kind, Domestikos."
"Of course. I understand you were thrown into this with little idea of what you were facing. I have seen it too many times, sadly."
"I thank you for all the help you have provided."
"I only wish that you were successful. I will speak with my superiors about getting the necessities of staying here for the night. It is not far from here, but it is best to not be left alone here in the Chateau, especially if the Seneschal does not trust you."
Roger nodded, unsure what to do about that.
"Should I come with you?"
"Not necessary, and worse yet, once you leave, they may bar you permanently, and that is no good to either of us."
He tapped his foot in thought, trying to think of an answer. Then the Konstantins eyes lit up in realization.
"The Chapel of the Sacred Emperor."
"Pardon?"
"It is one of the oldest places of worship not just in Nou-Par, but Haikk Five as a whole. It provides a place of worship for the garrison and lower functionaries here, but it is a place of sanctuary."
"So, you want me to hide in the Chateau church until you can figure out if I can stay here?"
"Do you have a better idea?"
"None that don't involve violence or insults."
The Domestikos laughed and slapped his surprisingly powerful arm on the knights shoulder.
"I like you, Sir Roger. I hope we can at least keep you for the night. Now follow me, the Chapel is down this way."
The halls of the Chateau were as filled with officials as guards, all dressed in colorful coats and armor. While the Burgons had been armored in a similar style to the Argac troops, the latter certainly were more decorative and distinctive. He wondered if they were the same in combat. Turning another corner, they arrived at a massive wooden door, inlaid with gold or something similar.
"Here. Wait until I return. Pray for my success or yours, maybe just admire the artwork. It is not the Megalos Sophia, but it is certainly grand."
"Appreciated. Thank you, Domestikos."
Opening the door revealed a massive, cathedral sized place of worship, stunning Roger for a moment. The interior was a mix of bone-white and blue, the colors of the Argac. He could not lie; it was a remarkable achievement. Murals were marked across the ceilings, complete with a set of stained-glass windows that showed the life of the Emperor from his beginnings, rise, and ascension to glory on the Golden Throne. As the door closed behind him, he slowly moved to the altar, realizing that the room was empty. Had the Domestikos set a trap? He was holding his helmet in one hand, the other resting on his sword. He waited a few moments and tugged on the door handle, opening it instantly. Relieved that there was still a way out, Roger closed the door and moved to the altar. There was no one except him, surprising given the amount of people in the Chateau. But there was the fact that they had more important things to do than sit around and pray, and their leader in the Cardinal was sitting in court. He placed his helmet in one of the front pews, making the Aquila before kneeling on the cushioned prie-dieu facing the altar and clasping his hands together.
"Oh Holy and Blessed God-Emperor of Mankind," Roger whispered. "Protect your children, defend your worlds, and give comfort to those who secure your domain. Steer us from evil and direct us on the path that fulfills our souls and the purpose you have outlaid before us."
He paused and tried to think of something else to say. He was never good at praying or asking for divine assistance, and even at this nadir was unable to ask what he had to. He opened his eyes and frowned, staring at the red cushion he kneeled on. He shrugged and continued.
"At the very least, protect my men in Meurthes, Edmund and D'Uxford on the Langriano, Bishop Chelmster… and even Inquisitor Beauchamp."
There was another reason he did not like to pray much, even when forced by knightly duty and Sister Evita's prodding: the Emperor hated Xenos. His writings and devotional material spoke of nothing but contempt and destruction towards anything not Human, and he had a feeling of all the races and species to resent and despise, the Eldar would be the most targeted. They were better in all ways, from fighting disease to combat, long lived and surviving damn near anything thrown at them. That he was a supporter and close ally of them had to rankle more than a few demands from the highest power in Imperial life. And his relationship with Anya would probably have not been all that acceptable.
"Er… help me to secure and bring safety to your church, and lead me to the answers to do so."
He ran out of flowery words to say as he made an Aquila and stood. He lit a nearby candle and whispered a few prayers for his family, embarrassed at having forgotten them. He had been away too long and prayed that this Crusade would end soon, and all the Anglois could return home. He looked around the massive mural that covered the ambulatory at the end of the Church, seeing various figures and saints in Haikk Five's history: Louis the Bold, founder of the dynasty, Saint Denis, patron of the same family and the people who settled the planet, coincidentally the patron of the Gasc's as well, along with a few others. All had inscriptions with their names, lifetimes, and importance to the world. He had plenty of time still, so he moved to ogle at the large chest of one of the maidens in nearby glass pane and-
He paused, looking at one of the figures in the corner, almost hidden from view. It was a man wearing impressive religious garb, a face grim and determined under a tall mitre hat. He wielded a sword in one hand, an apple in the other. It was familiar, but he was not sure where he had seen it before, thinking it was a saint of Haikk. He moved over and looked down at the empty space where an inscription was supposed to be. He looked at the figure next to the one in question, realizing that this was the lone exception.
"Interesting," he mumbled to himself.
He looked back at the door, and seeing no one join him in the chapel, he began knocking his armored fist on the wall. One tap. Solid rock or marble. Second tap. Same result. Third tap.
Metallic clunk.
He sniffed and tapped again, another clunk. He looked around one last time for any observation equipment or guards and pulled out his trusty dagger. He scraped some paint off, and a minute or two later found a plaque. There was nothing on it, no engraving or markings of any kind. He would have left sleeping dogs lie, but there were screws holding it in place, and taking the pointed end of his dagger, he began to slowly unscrew all four of them. It was difficult, but his weapon was made of sterner stuff than whatever the artisans of Nou-Par had used or expected. Holding it in place as he unscrewed the last fastener, he finished his work and lowered it gently on the ground, standing as tall as he could. Of course, it was so dimly lit that he could barely read it and moved to grab a nearby candle, and the Church would surely not miss one. Finally able to see, he read the inscription.
HONORED MARTYR
GOGE VANDIRE
BENEFACTOR, SUPPORTER AND FRIEND
124-378.M36
"Blessed are the loyal, for they shall be rewarded in Heaven."
Roger looked at it blankly, stunned at the revelation. It answered many questions, but none good, his mind racing to confirm and realize what was happening around him.
"Holy shit."
It was not the most brilliant or introspective of statements, but it was an understandable assessment of his discovery. Then he heard the door to the chapel open, realized that he would never replace the plaque in time and rushed to the corner, praying the Domestikos had come back. Instead, five men were entering, two in priestly garb, the rest large, well built, and bald.
"Dammit!"
He knew their ilk from first sight, the Chantry Guards of the Temple Tendency. He tried staying in the shadows and realized they had not seen him yet, scrambling towards the pew to get his helmet. Successfully doing so and getting it placed on his head, he realized that they were not delayed giving him time for a fair fight, but to lock the doors and deny him escape. Half of him thought of finding another exit, but a part of his brain, which he sometimes believed to be a tumor given its frequency towards dangerous or bad ideas in general, said to announce himself and demand a fight. Today, the tumor won again as he walked up the pews and faced the group.
"Greetings father!" he announced, echoing through the chapel and getting their attention. "I thought it was a sin to deny the people access to places to venerate our immortal Emperor."
"Roger Wessyng, I presume?" the older priest asked.
"Sir Roger Wessyng actually. I take it you're here because there's a certain… Tendency, towards confronting me lately by a certain group."
The priest smirked at the reference.
"We have found our man. Surrender now, and I can assure your survival."
"Was that the Seneschals orders?"
"You and I both know that lunatic has no idea who you are. We have been sent here by a higher power."
"Ah. Very fitting for a man of the cloth."
The Chantry Guards all had wicked looking maces, one of them with a shield. The priests were similarly armed, the younger one carrying a misericord, the infamous knight-killing dagger. He powered up his armor and prepared to pull his blade from its scabbard, but he had to start this fight on his terms.
"It's going to get noisy, I'm afraid."
"Death rattles?" the older priest asked, readying his mace.
"I know your guards won't say anything, but I'll hate to hear the squeals of a dying priest. Especially in a Chapel."
He pulled his blade with a metallic swipe, slammed his visor down, and charged straight up the nave into the armed churchmen.
Esteven would have been proud.
The wine flowed, the piles of meat restored, the music atrocious. Prince Edmund hated noble parties, and especially ones thrown by the man who took him away from his beloved Third Corps. Lord General Militant Paulus Boricelli, commander of the Haikk Crusade and representative of the highest ranked men in the Astra Militarum, or Imperial Guard as it was called by the mentally sound and foes of bureaucrats, sat at a king like throne, celebrating the near completion of the massive, years long endeavor to crush the rebellion in this system and return it to the Imperium. The delays and disasters it had run into since its inception had been a blight on his record, but the results were coming in fast: Haikk One had averted a near overthrow of its governor, Haikk Two had finally fallen, Haikk Fours rebellion was forced into a peninsula on the continent of Mekkar and the southern pole, and the rest of the system was confirmed as secure. To raise morale and broadcast this success, Boricelli had honored the commanders who had done so much to help him regain this system, and his respect.
"Bastard," the Prince of Gasceaux hissed.
"Something wrong Ed?" Robert D'Uxford asked his friend.
"Well, you know I love wearing court finery, second, I love our illustrious commander. And third, I adore parties."
"Thank the Emperor that sarcasm is not lethal."
"I wish it was; I'd spare us all this goddamn farce."
Officers and clerks of all stripes laughed, drank, ate, and mingled in one of the massive ballrooms that the Langriano somehow had. Considering the lack of real success, the idea of throwing a party, especially when the work was not done, irritated the Prince to no end.
"You think this has anything to do with the recent news?"
"You bet your ass Duck. Borricelli is spooked and wants to either feel good or in control again. Speaking of which, any other news from Roger?"
"He arrived at Nou-Par in the morning. Well, their morning."
"Yeah, yeah. Hopefully he gets some answers from the governor there and gets back to us soon."
"You don't think it will be that easy, do you?"
Edmund shook his head as he hissed through his clenched teeth.
"Not as easy as half the women here."
"Rude, Ed."
"Well, we can't all get in bed with Sororitas. Or Hospitallers for that matter."
D'Uxford looked blankly at his half-filled wine glass, unable to respond. He had been having an affair with the official court physician Sister Isabel for two years now, keeping it secret to all except his closest and most trusted friend. There was nothing illegal or immoral about their relations, but the professionalism he ascribed to made it an issue for him. Before he could attempt to change the subject, two figures approached them. D'Uxford bowed before the Bishop of Chelmster and nodded at Inquisitor Beauchamp.
"Your Grace, Madam," he politely greeted them.
Katherine hid the slight disappointment at her son still being distant.
"Lord D'Uxford, Your Highness," Chelmster said.
Wearing his tall mitre and full vestments, he was a marvelous sight to even the most questioning of Imperial church goers. He bothered to wear the white gloves and rings of his office, a rarity for him. The Inquisitor wore a rather plain and unnoticeable dress, still acceptable at such events, but just barely. D'Uxford could not bring himself to admire the decision, a sign of not caring much for the event or who threw it. He could not even get away with such a thing, even though he wished to do so.
"Your Grace," the Prince said with a nod. "Is there some way you can pull scripture out and make our Lord General end this spectacle so I can get some sleep?"
"Unfortunately, Your Highness," he replied with a chuckle in his north Anglish accent, "The Emperor wishes that our spirits be as raised as our bodies and minds to complete his work."
"Amen," Beauchamp said with a wispy smile. "Any word from our knight on Haikk Five?"
"Nothing, I'm afraid. What do you know of the Imperial Governor there?"
"Nothing good. Mentally indisposed for the most part. Tolerated because it makes the work of our office and the Imperium at large easier. A bad but impotent ruler is better than a smart and effective one."
"Except for the people living under them," D'Uxford refuted his mother. "King Edward, Emperor bless him, rules well and gives the Imperium nothing but the results of his bountiful reign."
Edmund turned to him with a look of slight disgust.
"My father has a queen to pleasure him already, you don't need to help on that front."
"I was only trying to-"
"I know Duck, but if there is anything I hate, it's stroking egos or kissing arse."
Chelmster covered his grin with a glove before speaking.
"Your father does quite well and has proven himself a loyal governor and servant. You should be proud of him."
"I'm damned proud of him, I just-"
A mix of emotions flashed on Edmunds face, the three watching as it happened. Duck had been aware something had happened between the Prince and his family but had not found a straight answer yet. The other two were just as curious but quickly let it be.
"A-anyways, this Crusade is not over, and we're all treating it like a victory! Is not fucking up entirely a celebratory event? Because if so, I've needed parties my whole bloody life!"
"It is the principle that matters."
Before Edmund could make a comment on principles in general to the Bishop, he noticed a figure in Sororitas robes moving through the crowd, asking questions, and instantly recognized Sister Antonia, one of his two personal secretaries. One of them nodded at her and pointed towards Edmund and the others as she sighed in relief. Then, quick as she could, she approached the Prince.
"Prince Edmund, thank the Emperor I found you!"
"What's the matter?" D'Uxford asked.
"Oh, even better, you all are here!"
"Speak Sister," Chelmster said politely.
"I just received a message from the Konstantin garrison at Nou-Par. Your Highness, Roger killed someone."
Edmund looked at her and blinked.
"Throne above, a soldier in the service of a spymaster ended a life!"
He lifted his hands up as if to ask for forgiveness.
"Will the Emperor put an end to these horrid and unthinkable times?"
He spoke as if devastated, his sarcasm not appreciated by anyone around him. He lowered his hands, sighed, and resumed his Princely bearing.
"What's the actual news?"
"Your Highness, he committed murder and has been declared an outlaw not just in the city, but the entirety of Haikk Five."
"God-Emperor!" D'Uxford said in exasperation.
"What happened?" Beauchamp demanded.
"He was at the court of the Seneschal and was awaiting a message from a Konstantin advisor. The details are unknown or confused, but what I can determine is this: he entered the Chapel in what is de facto the Planetary Governor's Palace, and a short while later, walked out and left the bodies of two priests and three bodyguards there. A witness said his sword was stained with blood."
Chelmster and Beauchamp looked at each other, both realizing the implications between the lines. D'Uxford was left in baffled silence as Edmund controlled his emotions bubbling up like a cooking pot.
"Where is Roger?"
"He went to Nou-Par alone, his men in a small town across the continent. He has vanished. The Konstantins have no answers."
"Would they give him to the Seneschal if Roger attempted to find sanctuary with them?"
"Unknown, My Lord. But they are looking for him. We have no idea of his whereabouts… or if he is even alive."
"Why would he kill priests?"
Edmunds head shot towards the Bishop and Inquisitor.
"What the hell did you get my man into?" he snarled, anger clouding his sense of decorum and friendship towards the former.
"A good question," Beauchamp said icily. "Do you think… his comrades help him?"
The four looked at each other, a mix of dread and hesitation plain to see.
"Your Highness, should I send the Konstantins a response?"
"Yes. And send something to that Seneschal. I want goddamn answers. NOW!"
His last order was loud enough that a good portion of the party goers turned to look at the sudden disturbance. Sister Antonia nodded and rushed away, moving through the crowd who resumed their merriment. The four were now completely opposite of the mood around them, either asking questions or fearing the worst. After a few moments of silence, the Bishop said a one-word phrase that summarized the news.
"Bollocks."