The heavy doors creaked, loud as a declaration, and the servitor clicked as it checked and reported their presence.
Ignoring it, Augusta paused in the open doorway, a draught stealing over her armour.
The chapel seemed empty.
It rose before the Sisters in a long hollow of pale grey, pillared and chill. Twin lines of banners, red and black and white, depicted the fleur-de-lys and the Bloody Rose of their Order. At its far end, flooding its emptiness with light, the great window portrayed the Emperor Himself, His gauntleted hands gripping the hilt of a huge, upturned blade. Sol rose behind Him, haloing Him in wonder, and the star’s bright yellow illumination slanted all the way down through the nave, and warmed the walk to His feet.
Electro-candles burned upon the altar, outshone by His light.
In two decades of service, Augusta still could not enter this building without a catch in her throat.
She lowered her gaze and murmured a prayer. She heard Jatoya again echo her words.
‘Sister Superior, Sister Militant.’ One of Ianthe’s novitiates, robed in grey and her blonde head down, had appeared soundlessly beside them. The girl was flanked by two more servitors, each of whom carried a wide brass tray. Observing the proper respect, both women relinquished their helmets, then unclipped their bolters and laid them aside. More slowly, Augusta drew her blade and placed it, too, within the servitors’ care.
She felt bereft without her weapons, but you did not enter the chapel bearing arms.
The servitors retreated.
‘In the name of Saint Mina and the Golden Throne,’ Augusta said. ‘We are the willing daughters of the God-Emperor. We come at His command, and to do His bidding.’
‘The canoness is waiting for you, Sisters,’ the novitiate said. ‘Come.’
She beckoned, and the two women followed her up towards the chancel. They passed beneath the organ’s lofty hollow, the tall lines of brass pipes that rose glittering towards the vaulted roof. They passed beneath the armoured statue of Saint Mina herself, her sword at her hip. From the window, Sol’s yellow illumination brought a touch of gentleness to her austere features.
They came to the foot of the altar steps.
Here, both women dropped to one knee and traced out the lines of the fleur-de-lys on their armour. Then they rose back to their feet and stood smoothly at ease, feet apart, hands behind their backs, their chins lifted and their heads bared to the light.
At the foot of the pulpit, Canoness Ianthe was waiting for them.
‘Your eminence,’ Augusta said. ‘You wished our presence.’
The canoness said nothing. Tall and pale and bone-lean, her chill gaze raked both women head to foot.
‘I did,’ she said, when her examination was complete.
Neither Sister reacted. Ianthe was a stern disciplinarian who kept her Order under tight control – and they both knew when not to speak.
She snapped a command, and both women stamped to attention, hands to their sides, feet together. She nodded at their efficiency. Her steps quiet, she stopped before them, hair ice-white, her face lined and her tattoo faded to blue with her age. She inspected their wargear as if they stood upon a parade ground, her gaze pausing on the multiple beads on Augusta’s chaplet – her many medals of merit. Augusta had faced foes across every segmentum of the galaxy, and had never once flinched from the fight.
Both women continued to stare at the steps.
‘At ease,’ Ianthe said at last.
With a simultaneous stamp, they returned to their original stance.
‘Sister Superior.’ The canoness’ words seemed like an announcement. ‘Sister Militant.’ She paced before them, her rigidity uncompromised. ‘I understand that you are both becoming…’ she spun on her heel, ‘… restless… with your studies.’
‘Yes, milady.’ Augusta answered honestly, though her gaze didn’t waver. ‘We miss the hymns of the battlefield.’
‘I have some sympathy with your agitation, Sisters.’ Ianthe spun back again, and nodded at them, her face almost smiling. ‘These walls are holy and no foe would dare assail them. Yet it is a Sister’s place to hunt and slay the foes of the Light, wherever they may be found.’ She stopped, eyeing Jatoya, the moment of amusement gone. ‘But I take it that you comprehend your hiatus?’
‘Yes, milady.’ Augusta said. ‘We have a new Sister in our squad, replacing Sister Kimura. Blessed be her memory.’
‘Blessed be her memory.’
The litany was returned, and all three women observed a moment’s quiet.
Ianthe said, ‘Certainly, you must be familiar with your new recruit.’ Something in her voice seemed to hint that Augusta had missed the point, but she went on, ‘You must trust her with your lives, know that you can rely upon her, know that she will praise the Emperor fearlessly, with battle, blade and bolter, just as you do.’ She spun, paced again. ‘You need to know her as well as you know all your squad.’
‘Yes, milady,’ Augusta said. ‘Sister Akemi is young but wise. Her skills are extensive. And this hiatus has enabled her, and us, to learn a great deal about each other.’
‘You say “wise”, not “strong”.’ Ianthe paused, looking from one face to the other. ‘Do you consider her battle-ready, Sister Superior?’
Augusta knew her canoness well enough to realise that the question was a test in itself – an examination of her expertise, and of her knowledge of her squad. If she answered ‘yes’ simply to secure a new mission and to bring their hiatus to an end then she was not worthy of her command.
But Augusta had long experience – she had been tested before and would be tested again. She answered, evenly, ‘I judge her battle-ready, milady. She shows both strength and insight. Sometimes the latter can be a strength of its own.’
‘Just so,’ Ianthe agreed. ‘And you, Sister Militant?’
Jatoya answered, ‘I, too, would trust her with my life. She is a worthy addition to the squad.’
‘Good.’ Ianthe said, nodding again. She resumed her pacing. Despite the location, the canoness wore her armour like a confrontation, like some constant challenge – and her own numerous merits told tales of that challenge fulfilled. Ianthe was a formidable warrior, and not one of her Order would question her.
‘Then, Sisters,’ she said, ‘I have some news for you – perhaps news you will even welcome.’ She spun on her heel and paused in front of them. ‘Your hiatus has reached its end. I have a mission for you that may test even your…’ she glanced at Augusta, ‘…considerable mettle.’
The last words were faintly edged; they carried implications that Augusta didn’t quite follow. ‘Milady?’
The canoness gave a faint, humourless smile, and continued her pacing, making them wait. At last she said, ‘How well do you remember Sister Superior Felicity Albani?’
Felicity!
The name was like a shock – sudden and unexpected. Augusta knew Felicity, had known her for years. She remembered the woman from the schola, small and dark and determined, and one of the single finest swordswomen that the Order had ever seen.
Carefully, she said, ‘I know Sister Felicity well, milady. We studied together.’ She paused, catching up with the implications, and then said, ‘And she commanded the squad–’
‘That took your place. Upon Lautis.’ All signs of levity gone, Ianthe turned to face them and stopped dead, her hands behind her back. Her tone was cold, now. The light from the window made her red shoulders gleam.
Caught, uncomprehending, Augusta could only stare straight ahead and say, ‘Yes, milady.’
‘The world,’ the canoness continued, ‘which you and your squad had reported secure.’
The word was an outright accusation. Augusta felt Jatoya almost flinch, but both Sisters held themselves still.
‘Yes, milady.’
Ianthe came forwards, glared into Augusta’s face.
She went on, ‘In your final report, you declared that the ork tribes upon Lautis had been slain or broken, and that the area was secure enough for the Adeptus Mechanicus to begin their analysis – and repair – of the discovered cathedral. Do you recall this report, Sister Superior?’
Still staring straight ahead, Augusta said, ‘Yes, milady.’
The canoness continued to glare. ‘You slew the ork warlord?’
‘Not I, milady,’ Augusta told her. ‘The warlord was slain by Sister Viola Taenaris.’
‘But the warlord was slain by your squad?’
‘Yes, milady.’
‘And with the beast dead,’ Ianthe said, ‘you considered the task completed, did you not?’
‘No, milady,’ Augusta said. Her voice was level, betraying nothing. Yet the light from the window seemed too bright; she could not have raised her gaze to Him even if she’d been permitted. Instead, she offered the contents of her report. ‘After the death of the warlord, we remained upon Lautis for fifty-seven days. We sought, and discovered, the landing point and the established base of the Crossed Axe ork tribe. Without strong leadership, we found them scattered and easy to defeat–’
‘That was not the question, Sister.’ With an inhalation like annoyance, Ianthe resumed her pacing. Her shadow moved across the floor like an accusation. ‘I’m asking you whether the area was, indeed, secure.’
‘To my knowledge, milady,’ Augusta said, ‘the area was secure.’
Ianthe continued to watch them, narrow-eyed and gauging. Above, the cherubim circled as if they were recording every word, preserving the data for the Order’s records.
An error, never to be forgotten.
The canoness said, ‘As of Compline yesterday, we failed to receive Sister Felicity’s regular report – and all our subsequent attempts to reach her have found only static. It has been seven days since any communications have come to us from Lautis. Attempts by the Adeptus Mechanicus to reach Jencir have been likewise unsuccessful.’
Prevented by stern discipline from doing anything else, Augusta waited for the canoness to keep speaking.
‘I need,’ Ianthe said, ‘your assurance that your reconnaissance was thorough. That there was no ork, or xenos, or taint of Chaos, remaining upon Lautis when Sister Felicity was despatched to take your place.’ The lash of her anger was strong, now. ‘Because if I discover that you were in error, Sisters, I will see you both among the Repentia.’ She had stopped again, her red shoulders seeming to fill the grey space of the chancel. ‘Do I make myself clear?’
‘I gave the order, milady.’ Augusta said. Her mind recalled the cathedral ruins upon Lautis, the battle with the orks, the sweaty heat of the jungle-marsh and the poverty of the townspeople. ‘Sister Jatoya is blamele–’
‘Silence.’ The word was not loud, but it brought Augusta to an immediate halt. The canoness flexed on her toes, her armour creaking. She said, ‘I understand that you do not always insist upon your squad’s… strictest discipline, Sister Superior. Am I correct?’
‘Milady,’ Augusta said. ‘Upon the battlefield, our discipline and unity are without question. And, as it was my decision to execute the missionary Tanichus for his deception of the Adepta Sororitas, so it was my decision to declare the Lautis cathedral secure. Sister Jatoya is blameless in this.’
The canoness said nothing; she seemed to be considering. Above them, the Emperor watched, seeing all.
‘Very well,’ Ianthe said, at last. She gestured at the novitiate, who scurried for the doors. The girl’s place was taken by one of the servitors, who offered the canoness a data-slate.
‘Stand easy,’ she said, allowing both women to relax. She scrolled through the data, then said, ‘Sisters, your service records are flawless, both of you. You’ve served Throne and Emperor with courage and faith for more than thirty years between you, and I’ve seen you both grow from girlhood into warriors of whom I am extremely proud. But this…’ she brandished the slate, its surface glittering, ‘…this is Sister Felicity’s final report. She states that their base had been established, their perimeter defences set up. She states that the missionary Lyconides had made beneficial contact with the local town, and that the reconstructive assessment of the cathedral was commencing on schedule. The Adeptus Mechanicus have released information which corroborates this, and they add that the tech-priest’s servitors had commenced the initial works.’ Ianthe looked up, her expression cold. A warrior to her core, Augusta had little patience for politics, but she had learned at the schola that there was a strong and long-term bond between the followers of Saint Mina and the Adeptus Mechanicus.
‘Something has happened to them, Sister Superior,’ the canoness said. ‘Whether an electromagnetic storm has damaged the transmitters, or whether an unseen foe has arisen, we do not know.’
Jatoya said, ‘Permission to speak, milady.’
‘Granted.’
‘Is there still a ship in orbit?’
‘There is not,’ Ianthe said. ‘The Tukril, the ship of the Adeptus Mechanicus, and its escort, the Imperial warship Kyrus, have already returned to Mars, carrying requests for Jencir’s additional supplies. They’re not due back into Lautis’ orbit for another eighty-two days.’
‘And you want us to go with them.’ Augusta spoke the understanding aloud. ‘Milady.’
Ianthe smiled at her, her expression cold.
‘No, Sister Superior, I do not.’ The words were final, icy. ‘The Adeptus Mechanicus cannot risk more resources on a world so bereft of either wealth or merit – not until their security is assured.’ Her tone was razor sharp. ‘Sisters, you will secure the area. And, this time, without a mistake.’
Augusta still stared straight ahead, though she felt the Emperor’s Light above her, His gaze that saw all. The implication was clear: if something had happened to Felicity’s squad, then she, Augusta, was responsible – by accident, by omission, by inadequate information – and the standing of her entire Order had suffered because of it.
Her squad were being sent to Lautis not because of their experience or their efficiency but to rectify that error, and to cleanse the name of the Order of the Bloody Rose.
She felt Jatoya flick her a tiny, sideways glance, and realised that her second-in-command had understood the same thing.
‘Of course, milady,’ Augusta said, raising her chin. ‘This is my responsibility, and I will take it willingly upon my shoulders.’
‘I’m glad you see this my way, Sisters,’ Ianthe commented dryly. ‘Very well then. Muster your squad, Augusta. Report to the docking bay for Matins tomorrow morning.’ She held up the data-slate. ‘And may I suggest you take the intervening time to study Felicity’s report and the information offered by the Adeptus Mechanicus. Memorise the maps, Sisters. You will be needing them.’
‘Yes, milady.’ The Sisters responded together, watching the servitors with their brass trays as they whirred down towards the doorway.
‘Very well then,’ Ianthe said. ‘You are dismissed.’
Both Sisters came back to attention, stamped a smart about-turn and marched back down the aisle. Above them, the floating cherubim watched them go, their cold, augmetic gazes recording every step.
‘Lautis?’ Sister Viola’s freckled face showed pure surprise. ‘Again?’
The squad were gathered round a small table in the refectorium, a votive candle flickering at its centre to which to offer Grace. Augusta had called them for a briefing before they attended midday prayers and then went back to their respective classes.
‘Be mindful, Sister,’ Augusta told her. ‘This is not just a reconnaissance mission. The honour of our Order is in jeopardy.’
Viola grinned. ‘But – we get to kill more greenskins?’
Augusta checked a sigh. The squad’s best shot, and field-promoted to the use of its thrice-blessed heavy bolter, Viola had returned from Lautis with a foolhardy streak that verged on overconfidence. She had never questioned her orders, nor taken an uncalled-for initiative, but sometimes Augusta wondered if she had been entirely ready for the advancement.
‘Lautis is at the outermost edge of the segmentum,’ Augusta reminded her. ‘We may find bigger things than orks.’
Viola’s hand strayed to her hip, and found her empty holster. Unlike the bolters of her Sisters, her own weapon was too bulky – and too sacred – to be casually carried. She rattled her fingertips in annoyance.
Caia and Melia, one pale and with hair like bronze, the other dusky-skinned and dark-eyed, exchanged a glance. As close as blood-kin, they had come up through the schola together and had fought under Augusta’s command for almost as long as Jatoya.
‘May I say something, Sister?’ The squad’s newest member, Sister Akemi, still spoke with a slight hesitation, her novitiate habits hard to leave behind.
‘Of course.’
‘I’ve spent many years studying.’ Her eyes darted from face to face with a faint nervousness. ‘And I know that Lautis has little resource. Explorations onto its moon have found promethium deposits, but nothing worth the expense of mining. As a world, it has little or no value–’
‘It has the kynx and lho-leaf that brought the orks in the first place,’ Melia commented. Caia chuckled.
Augusta was not amused. ‘All the more reason to be wary,’ she said. ‘If something does dwell upon Lautis – and that something has faced or defeated Felicity Albani – then we will need to be on our guard.’ Her gaze travelled sternly round her squad.
‘My apologies, Sister Superior,’ Melia said. ‘I fear this rest-interval has made me cranky.’
‘That will be rectified soon enough,’ Augusta told her, with a hint of amusement. She pushed back her chair with a loud scrape and stood up. ‘Pre-dawn muster, Sisters, at Matins, at the landing pad. And in full wargear. I will speak to the quartermaster and requisition our off-world equipment.’ She glanced up at the refectory window. ‘May we walk with the Emperor and carry His light into the very darkest reaches of the galaxy.’