[31]

223.738.M41

Velgrad, Convent of the Riven Veil

14:55 local time

One week after our escape from the Manakal building, Palatine Elin ordered me out of Studies. All Studies had concerned the Eldar since that day. This session was on their small-arms and the importance of immediately using our armor's autotourniquet on even minor wounds until the wound could be exposed and identified. In the recent war, their most common guns fired toxic crystal shards which would kill you in less than a minute if they dissolved and spread through your blood, while others fired jagged flechettes that left similar marks on armor, but were inert—as harmless as a piece of metal stuck into your body could be.

I was joined by Tara and Verity in the Palatine's office. It was a spare place, unexceptional except for a cogitator terminal and a huge desk covered in maps. She had an icon of the Emperor-Guardian-of-Souls on a small wall altar, with an old Aquila necklace and a votive candle burning. There was only the one bench, and no chairs. With a gesture, she directed us to kneel.

Palatine Elin looked young. Almost untouched, since her habit hid her scars. But she was thirty-six years old and had fought her first battles in the Ork war of 722. During the Dimmamar-axis counterattack, she had traveled across hundreds of light years—seen battle by the light of seven different stars. She had slain a daemon. She had seen the Angels of Death with her own eyes.

She knelt down beside us and bowed her head. We bowed our heads, too, and were silent.

That is how we came to meet Inquisitor Grendel.

❖ ❖ ❖

​

Grendel looked like an ordinary man. Tall, but not strikingly so, with that broad male build that is muscular and fat at the same time. His dress increased the effect of ordinary solidity: thick, sturdy-looking, upper-class in a formal, restrained way. Slightly martial in its cut. Like a Guard officer dressed for a night out in a district known for crime. I wondered what calibers the cloth was rated to stop.

There was nothing special about his face. Short gray beard, short black hair. Small eyes under a thick brow, creased deep for frowning in the center and for smiling at the corners of the eyes. Light skin made dark by sun. I've seen a thousand men who looked the same. It would be easy to forget that he had the authority to declare war, to dissolve dynasties, to commandeer armies, and to kill without reason, limit, or excuse.

He looked each of us over for a full minute, one at a time. He began to speak, quick and direct.

"Palatine Elin, I request that your force be turned over to the execution of my orders. I have a procedure in place which has a significant chance of locating an active Eldar presence. I will require a compact infantry force capable of operating under the psychosomatic disruption Marisa calls the Fear. It will engage and rapidly destroy platoon-level threats, including Eldar and heretic forces, likely in urban terrain. Possibly in supernatural terrain. I want yours."

Elin did not hesitate. "You have only to command," she said.

"Indeed. I command you to decide whether or not to grant my request."

We all stayed kneeling with our heads bowed, but I think I caught the ghost of a smile on Elin's face.

"Yes," she said. "I grant it."

"On to Marisa, Tara, and Verity. They have a record of success. I understand that they are not integral to the function of any active unit. Confirm."

"Yes," she said.

"Give them to me."

She paused longer than I could understand. An Inquisitor had ordered, so I do not know what she was deciding.

She said: "Marisa, Tara, and Verity, you are relieved of your duty rotation and released from all enforced rest. You are now detailed to the Inquisitor's service."

"Good," he said. "Tara, my interrogator did not interview you. Are you satisfied with 'the Fear' as a working appellation for the enemy psychosomatic weapon?"

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"Yes, my Lord," said Tara.

"Yes for yes, no for no, 'my Lord' or 'Inquisitor' if you need my attention. We will call it 'the Fear'. Your records show you all fought the Eldar in the 736 campaign. Was it close-quarters work?"

"Yes," I said. The others were more hesitant. "Tara and Verity are a year younger," I answered for them. "They fought, but the worst was over."

"Satisfactory," he said. "I have other Eldar fighters coming. But I believe in success. Those who have prevailed oft prevail again. Please rise. We have work to do."

He and Elin cleared her desk and leaned over it. She briefed him on our convent. He had questions. He didn't care about history or theology, but he cared deeply about ritual and tradition. He wanted to know about how we called for air and artillery strikes, and if anything in our communications doctrine deviated from the Tactica. He didn't care about room clearing doctrine. He wanted to know our battle prayers and makeup traditions, whether our priest was integrated into our order of battle, how we handled casualty evacuation, who our patron saints were, if we had a surgeon, and what to do with our dead. Half of the time, he sounded like a higher commander preparing to integrate us with supporting forces, which surely he was. The other half of his questions made less sense, except that I think he was trying to catch a glimpse of what made us who we are—or perhaps what we would become, if we broke.

Tara, Verity, and I stood in the corner feeling uprooted and ignored, trying to steady ourselves with prayer. Our turn came soon enough. He pivoted to us without a word to dismiss Elin—so Elin in turn became a spectator.

"My blessing upon you, and my prayer for the soul of Gwen Gless," he said. "In the name of the Emperor." He made the sign of the Aquila, and we did likewise in startled conformity with his prayer.

He didn't wait for any more response than that. "Your effectiveness is degraded by her loss. I believe that adding a replacement will not suit my needs. Assess whether or not a fourth woman of your order could seamlessly replace her."

"Given a few weeks, yes," I said. "There are several." His choice of words hurt, but I had already been thinking about it. How Gwen's armor would go to a novice, and the novice would go to a squad, and the squad would send one of its own to fill the gap that Gwen had left, once the novice was ready for her final vows. It had been so for most of us, when we were novices, not so long ago. It could be done in reverse order—heal our team now, heal the squad later.

"Slower than I wish," he said. "I hope to be done with this in a month. Assess whether you could integrate with a supporting element of my choosing, as the assault element of a short squad."

"Yes. We train for this. But—Inquisitor. There are problems we can't solve with three. Even with a support element. Cross-intersections, some room shapes. Not without leaving a sector blind."

He wanted to know if we could add a fourth Sister and integrate the fireteam in three days. I didn't know, but Elin said yes, she would make it possible. We discussed briefly. Grendel would provide a servo-skull like the one we shared with Isela's other units. His was better: in addition to its many-jointed optical limb, it had a compact las-weapon, fire-authorized remotely or with a local override. We would supply all weapons and gear, including magazines, but he would supply replacement ammunition and explosives. He had a sniper-medic and a tech adept that he wanted to task with us, and he was considering a grenadier. He would supply the vehicle crew and vox control. We wouldn't have Surs. I hadn't expected to have him. It was enough of a gift that he was even alive.

After a few minutes, the Inquisitor was satisfied.

"It will be so. You will serve me in three ways. First: I desire your perception and your inferences, as on day 198 against the Fear. Second: I have use for violence. Third: the enemy may employ the Fear; you are a proven Fear-functional element. Marisa will have squad command."