The Ecclesiarch himself had requested her prescence, and that had piqued her curiosity somewhat. It had been months since she'd last seen him, at the Feast of St. Baldred. Together they had toasted the death of the traitor Philanthropus, a rare moment of happiness amidst the constant reports of worlds falling to aliens and heretics. What was becoming of the world, she wondered, that so many chose to forsake the Emperor?

Then the tramp of many feet upon flagstones, and she abandoned her thoughts. He was probably a long way off, the echo within the vast corridors of the Ecclesiarchal Palace was strong indeed. Above her, the ceiling stretched away, probably a mile or more distant, supported by mighty pillars of marble, as old as time. The sheer scale of it humbled her, and she approved. Here was a place of total peace and serenity, the darkness kept away by the grace of the Emperor and his appointed vassals.

Then she saw the procession advancing down the passage, the fumes from the censers curling around the banners and staves that the Ecclesiarch's bodyguard carried. She stepped out from behind the pillar, and awaited their arrival. Why did he need a bodyguard, here in the second most holy place in the galaxy? He should trust to the Emperor, as she did. There was nothing to fear while He kept watch over them.

And then they arrived. The censer bearing attendants stood to one side, as the Ecclesiarch and his Sororitas minders, as well as a number of lowly Deacons and functionaries, approached her. As usual he wore his robes of office, white and voluminous, and secretly she wondered how they were cleaned, or whether there were more than one set. Upon his head sat his mighty mitre, half again as tall as he was and, so it was said, made of solid gold. Snaking wires, sprouting from somewhere within his cloak, were attatched at regular intervals to this immaculately sculpted work of art, millennia old. Beneath it, his wizened face. He was old now, she knew not how old, but he had certainly been here when she had still been a novice, and she didn't doubt that he would still be here long after she had gone. The skin hung loose from his bones, and a large mechanical device was attatched to his left eye, yet more wires linking this to the skull-shaped camera sitting upon his shoulder. He leaned heavily upon his ebony staff of office, yet when he spoke his voice was steady and rang with a tone of authority and inner strength.

'Come, Prioress, will you not walk with me awhile?'

'As His Holiness wishes.'

And then she was swept up into the procession, a Battle Sister making way for her to walk alongside the Ecclesiarch, thankfully at his left hand, away from the gruesome skull. She didn't know what it was, but something about those things made her skin crawl. Maybe it was the fact that they had once belonged to real people...

'I must speak to you of a matter of most grave importance.' he said, keeping his gaze fixed upon the path ahead, sparing her from the camera's watchful eye. 'And I trust you will let no one else know that this conversation took place'

'But what of His Holiness' attendants?'

He chuckled. 'Worry not, they will not be telling anyone. I had their tongues removed at birth, so that they might better observe their vows of silence.'

At that she inwardly winced, but she knew better than to question. They were lucky to hold such auspicious positions, very few were blessed enough to attend to the Ecclesiarch himself.

'You may have heard of the recent events at Pyrrhus.' he continued.

'The recovery of the STC database?'

'Yes. Apparantly, things didn't quite go according to plan, and now the Fabricator-general is most upset. He is holding me responsible for the whole sorry affair, and has swayed most of the Senate round to his point of view.'

'And what does this have to do with me?'

He smiled grimly, and turned to look at her. 'You have a habit of getting straight to the point, Abbess. The Senate wants to bring the Sister in charge of the expedition here to Terra, to stand trial for her 'crimes against humanity'. If such a thing were allowed to happen, I fear I would lose what little power I have left, and further restrictions would be placed upon our department. This cannot be allowed to happen.'

'You don't want her to reach Earth?'

'Correct. Should she fail to arrive, I'm sure that this whole thing will blow over. There will be no evidence, and surely some new crisis to occupy our attentions...'

'You want her assassinated?' The word left a bitter taste in the mouth, even more so when applied to a fellow Sororitas.

'No, the council would never approve, and my involvement must be unknown, otherwise things will just get even worse, if that is possible. No, it must be an... accident. I'll leave it up to you to work out the details, I must be going. I have to find a planet to denounce. A little crusade should prove enough of a distraction for my fellows to forget this incident. Ah, I believe these are your quarters. Emperor be with you.'

'And with His Holiness also.'

As the Ecclesiarch and his entourage swept on up the corridor, she paused in the doorway of the Convent. An accident? He made it all sound so simple, as if he planned such things everyday. Not that she doubted him for an instant, of course. As the representative of the Emperor his actions were above doubt. As were hers... But to have a fellow Sister killed? Maybe even the whole vessel? She had the means, of course. Upon each and every ship of the Ministorum she had her agents. It would be a simple matter to get an astropath to transmit a coded message to one of them, and then events would run their course. After all, the ends justified the means... Sighing, she stepped into antechamber, desperately searching for a way out of this unenviable situation. But there was none save the one that had been given to her....

When he was sure that he was alone, Korvuss gingerly edged out from the hidden alcove. Interesting news indeed, and he was sure that his masters in the Ordo Hereticus would reward him greatly for such information. Slipping his cowl over his face and clasping his hands together before his chest, he set off to tell them.

***

'Your soul is mine.'

Hesperides turned away and started to run. But it was no good. She could not outrun the daemon, and had been foolish to even try. It grabbed her by her hair, and flung her to the ground on her back. Then it loomed over her, its dark bulk blocking out even the ebon light of that black place. She tried to scream, but found that she had no tongue. the daemon was, even now, swallowing it down its infernal throat. She felt its claws upon her body, its breath upon her face.

Wait - daemons didn't have breath.

***

She was in the white place again.

Just another nightmare, she told herself. After all, no daemon could get in here. Not through the consecrated walls of any ship of the Emperor. She was in the safest place imaginable.

But if that was true, why did the dreams still come?

'Ah, I see that there is no need to wake you, Sister.'

Coronis again. She was always there, always there to give encouragement, to tell her that her condition was improving. Apparantly it hadn't improved sufficiently for her to be in contact with anyone else on board. And so she'd been stuck in this room, this white.... room. Floors, ceilings, walls, even the bed was white. And that was all that was here. Nothing that could possibly distract her from her meditations.

She looked up to see Coronis standing in the doorway, dressed in the long white robe of the Order of Serenity. She got up off her 'bed' and stood facing her.

'You have come to tell me that I am free to leave this place?' she asked hopefully, but she already knew the answer.

'Regretably, no. You are to be detained here until we reach Terra, then you can leave. If it was up to me, I'd let you go, but it's not. This comes from the Ecclesiarch himself. I'm sure that it's for your own good.'

'Then why are you here?'

'Do I have to have a reason? I just came to see if you were all right.'

'I'd be a lot better if you'd let me out of here. Honestly, there's nothing wrong with me. You're a Hospitaller, I'm sure that you can see that. The Ministorum need never know.'

'I'm sorry to say that I can't see your condition improving. And now I must leave you. You don't know what I'm risking just being here. May the Emperor watch over you, sister.' Coronis told her, maybe a touch of sadness in her voice, as she stepped outside and closed the blast door behind her.

Hesperides just sank back down onto the bed.

There was something going on here, something they weren't telling her. Maybe the daemon had got to them, was holding her captive? Even as she sat here, it could be planning to-

No, that was just paranoia. That was why she was here. She had to lose those thoughts, get back to how she was before. Then everything would be alright again.

But she could never be like she was before. Prada had seen to that.

***

'And how is your new hand, sir?'

Inquisitor Prada considered the question for a moment. The bionic hand that the tech-priest had installed seemed to be functioning perfectly well, at least as good as his other hand. But maybe that wasn't what the question was about. Perhaps it was an inquiry as to how the operation itself had gone. Fairly standard procedure, his refusal to have anaesthetic applied had brought him slightly closer to understanding the Emperor's eternal pain, thus broadening his spiritual horizons. But he knew the answer that his comrade wanted to hear.

'Still hurts like Hell.'

'I heard that you had it done without painkillers. Why?'

'Inquisitor Schiller, I take it that even one as young as you knows that it should be every man's sole desire to bring himself closer to the agony of the Emperor, so that we might better appreciate the sacrifice that He underwent for us. But enough of this theology. That is the domain of the Ecclesiarchy. What news have you of the Sororitas expedition to Pyrrhus?'

'The Vengeful Mace is en route to Terra even as we speak, sir, but I have been informed by one of our colleagues in the Ordo Hereticus that certain factions within the Ecclesiarchy do not want it to reach its desired location. Apparantly the Scourge of Sin is on an intercept course, its Captain under the impression that he is pursuing a rebel vessel. His orders are to destroy it.'

'And what course of action have our brethren taken?'

'In order for the power of the Ecclesiarchy to be kept in check, the Vengeful Mace must reach Earth, no matter what the cost. I believe a number of Black Ships have been commissioned to stop the Scourge of Sin,or at least to ensure that the accused reaches Terra to stand trial.'

Prada had been unprepared for this. Black Ships firing upon Imperial vessels? Things had to be really bad for such an order to be given. Was there something about all this that they weren't telling him?

'Your contact seems to know a lot.' he mused, sliding the comment into the conversation almost as an aside.

'He, ah, is merely well informed.' Schiller was clearly worried.

'I don't suppose you are willing to tell me his name?'

'Why should that concern you, sir? I've told you what you wanted to know-'

'You have told me nothing, Schiller. You thought you could sell me information that you obtained through spying on a fellow Inquisitor. But you came to the wrong man, and I have exposed your crimes. Guards!'

As the doors slid smoothly, yet slowly, open, Schiller turned to his accuser, pointing a finger. Prada noticed that it was shaking.

'But you told me to!'

'Did I? I think you'll find that I didn't.'

Two power armoured figures strode into the room behind Schiller, one of them saluting Prada.

'Lord Inquisitor?'

Prada pointed at Schiller, hand as steady as a rock. 'Take him away, and place him in one of the questioning rooms. I will interrogate him later.'

Each guard grabbed one of Schiller's arms, dragging him off his feet as they carried him back down the corridor. Even as the door closed behind them, Schiller gave vent to one last cry:

'But you told me to do it!'

Prada put the incident to the back of his mind. He could question the traitor later at his leisure, and maybe the torture would do something to cheer him up. Ever since she'd cut his hand off he'd been in this rut of melancholy. And this new development was doing nothing to improve it. In all his years as an Inquisitor, he had never heard of a Black Ship being sanctioned to attack. It was unprecedented. Either this mission was of world shattering importancy, or something was wrong. If it was important, someone would have told him exactly why, and they hadn't. That left only the possibility of a problem within the Inquisition itself. It was his duty to the Emperor to find the root of this problem, and to burn it out. And he knew just where to start.

***

Captain Yarrow drummed his fingers idly on the arm of his chair.

'How much longer until we reach the target?' he asked again.

At his elbow, Lieutenant Nilgood turned to look at the nearest Servitor. Over its shoulder, upon the screen that its gaze was fixed upon, he noted the information needed for the calculation.

'Sir, given the speeds of both the Scourge and the Hammer, I would estimate that we shall intercept in an hour's time.'

'Thank you, Lieutenant.' He tried to sound as gracious as possible, but that was hard when Nilgood was such a... Nilgood.

His attention to detail was phenomonal, and his uniform was always spotless. He demanded that protocol be used to the letter for even the most routine missions, and his voice was kinda funny. But that wasn't what annoyed Captain Yarrow. No, what annoyed him was the fact that he insisted on standing at his shoulder the whole time, as if he were waiting for him to drop dead so that he could take his place. He wouldn't have been surprised if he was plotting something, but the chances against it were phenomonal. His service record was as clean as his uniform.

Never the less, he could do with a few moments alone. Or at least, alone save for the whole of his bridge crew save Nilgood.

'Nilgood, go and fetch Sister Lemnia. I have something to discuss with her.'

Yarrow winced at the click of Nilgood's heels.

'At once, sir.'

Yarrow waited until the hiss of steam and slam of metal indicated that the doors had closed again. Then he breathed out. Peace. At the helm of his ship, without anybody peering over his shoulder. In control.

'Switch on the main view screen.' he ordered.

And it was done. One moment a blank emptiness, then the swirling miasma of the Warp. It may have disturbed other men, but Yarrow found it strangely comforting. He leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on the console before him, and waited.

***

Sister Lemnia of the Order of the Key sat alone in her room, praying. She knew that a confrontation with evil was approaching and, although she personally would not be involved, she prayed to the Emperor to aid her.

She was disturbed by the opening of the door. At once she was on her feet. Who could possibly disturb her now, during a designated prayer session? But then she recognised the familiar silhouette.

'I take it you have a good reason for disturbing my meditations?' she demanded haughtily.

'Oh, I think I have the best possible reason.'

There was a smugness in the voice that she didn't care for. Was he not aware of her position? Now he was raising something in his right hand. The smallest of sounds, and something stung her neck. The room began to swirl, and then everything went black.

***

'I trust you have a good reason for disturbing me?' Captain Hunas demanded.

'Yes, sir.' Lieutenant Garm saluted his commanding officer as he walked onto the command deck. 'A unidentified vessel has appeared off our port bow.'

Great, Hunas thought to himself. A routine mission just got complicated. The Vengeful Mace was not equipped for combat, and in any case it had been years - how many now, six or seven? - since he had led a ship to war.

'What's it doing?'

'Nothing, sir. It's just keeping level with us, as if it were waiting for something. And all our attempts at astropathic communications are being blocked.'

'Bring us back into real space. If and when that thing decides to attack, I don't want to die in the Warp.'

'Aye, sir.'

There was nothing else to do. Without any means of sending a distress signal, and forced to travel in normal space, he could only hope and pray that some Imperial vessel would chance upon them on its journey. But he wasn't counting on it. Then Garm spoke again.

'It's following us, sir. And so is something else!'

'What do you mean, Lieutenant?' Hunas demanded, storming down to the scanner station, pushing Garm aside to get a better view of the screen. 'By the Emperor, it's an Imperial warship! We're saved!'

But his surprise and relief soon gave way to surprise and disbelief. Their saviours were launching a torpedo salvo at the Mace itself, tiny little blips flickering across the blackness of space.

'What the-'

This couldn't be happening. Fired upon by a friendly vessel, and now the unidentified black ship was interposing itself between them and the torpedoes! There'd be some strange tales to tell once they reached port again, if they ever did reach port again...

'Sir! More incoming vessels!'

They didn't need to tell him, he could see it all unfolding upon the scanner before him. The torpedoes had all impacted on the black ship, without any apparant effect, and now the so-called 'Imperial' ship was surrounded by three other such craft. It was an intriguing spectacle, but somehow it all felt like predators fighting over a scrap of meat...

'Lieutenant!' he called, swinging his gaze from the screen to the young officer. 'Get us back into the Warp and as far away from here as possible!'

And in that brief moment that he turned from the screen, he couldn't possibly have noticed the small blip launched by the Imperial vessel, the blip that was following in the Mace's wake...

***

Nimuennir awaited Conranor's arrival. He had forseen today's events already, and anticipated the humans' reactions, but the opinion of another would be welcome, as would the company of one of flesh and blood. Spending so much of one's time with the souls of the dead may grant enlightenment, but it did not dispel the ever-present threat of loneliness.

Nimuennir turned a fraction of a second before Conranor entered the chamber, causing the wraithstone beads that hung in the doorway to give vent to a melodious tune. Nimuennir himself had composed it, a long time ago, when he still desired to follow the Path of the Musician, before he was made aware of his true calling. But the occasional pang of regret was all that remained of that time now, for the future was of much greater importance to him now than the past. Right now though, the present was foremost in his mind.

'I have consulted the runes.' Conranor told him, bowing slightly before his teacher. Straightforward and to the point, Nimuennir thought - but was that a good thing?

'And what have you seen, pupil?' the Farseer replied, returning the bow. This was where he would discover whether the young Warlock was worthy. He hoped that his years of tutoring had not been wasted.

'I saw the one you spoke of, but I fail to see the significance.' The nonchalance was disquieting.

'Ah, so gifted in the reading of the runes, yet unable to see that which is as plain as day.' Nimuennir sighed, turning for a moment to consider the exquisite intricasies of the Cirforgaliel painting upon the wall, its subtle hues and hidden meanings. Then he looked back again. 'No matter. Conranor, you shall accompany me on my journey, and see for yourself the 'significance' of this mon-keigh. I trust that you will be ready to depart within the hour.'

'If it pleases you, I am ready now.' No, too eager.

'Conranor, the very fact that you think yourself ready for this expedition shows me just how unprepared you are. There is much we must do before we set off to this... Vengeful Mace.'

'As you wish.' Conranor bowed again and left the room.

Nimuennir paused for a moment before he followed the Warlock. A sudden premonition, or just a feeling of apprehension? He just couldn't shake the feeling that he would never see this place again. But then he banished his doubts and strode through the beads, their harmony following him down the corridor.

***

Hospitaller Coronis paused as she passed the door. Maybe she should look in again, just to make sure things were all right? There was no one around, they need never know. She dispelled the notion almost as soon as it had surfaced. The Materfamilias needed time to herself. Besides, why was she so concerned, anyway? Hesperides' problem was something she was not able to help with. It was all out of her hands, a pain that she couldn't heal. And that was what was really dispiriting. All of her knowledge, and still Hesperides was doomed. She had known her since they were novices together back on Terra, and, although they had gone their different ways within the convent, she felt she knew her well enough to know that she couldn't be responsible for what they were accusing her of. What defined the Battle Sister was her devotion to duty. She would never break a direct order...

What is this? she asked herself. Starting to believe her story about the Templars? Maybe she's not the only one with troubles of the mind...

Then there was a sickening crunch, the scream of tearing metal. It echoed down the corridor. With the instincts of a born healer, Coronis ran towards the sound to see if anyone was hurt.

The cacophony had been closer than she had thought, just around the corner in fact. Something seemed to have embedded itself in the hull of the ship, and had managed to penetrate this far inside. A servitor lay across the floor from it, trying to right itself despite the fact that both its legs had been severed. Coronis ran to it, kneeling over its prone form. It may not have had any mind to speak of, but still she didn't like seeing any creature in pain. As she reached inside her robe to draw out a sedation tool, something struck her across the back of the head. She crumpled soundlessly to the floor, her lifeblood dripping onto the chest of the servitor, which was still writhing like a thing possessed.

***

How long to go now, she wondered. Coronis had not been to see her for several days now, was that some indication of time? She wished she'd paid more attention on the journey to this Emperor-forsaken place, maybe even timed the voyage.

But there was no point dwelling on the past. Emperor knows, she'd spent long enough on her confrontation with the Inquisitor, wondering what she could possibly have done differently, whether there was some way to have avoided this situation. The really galling thing had been the fact that she had been helpless. The Emperor had deserted her in her hour of need. And now she was being delivered to her enemies, within the shadow of the Palace itself. A grim irony.

But while she lived, there was hope. She closed her eyes, letting her mind be at peace. With no thoughts to cloud her, she prayed. She prayed to the Emperor for his protection, for some form of aid that may yet save her. She had given so much to his service, was she not deserving of something in return?

Who was she fooling. The Emperor didn't care about her, he hardly cared about anyone. Only those in power could afford his favour, while those below them suffered. It had taken her so long to realise this. She opened her eyes. Might as well resign herself to her fate now.

Then the door opened.

It didn't open in the normal manner. Rather than sliding jerkily into the ceiling, it fell flat across the floor, the noise making her jump. She scrambled to her feet quickly, backing away to put the bed between her and her visitor.

As it stepped inside, she caught her breath. Its very movements were precise and measured, stalking in a manner not dissimilar to that of a bird. This bird was covered in plates of darkened metal however, the only colour coming from its eyes, with blazed the ruddy colour of Hell itself. The rest of its head was twisted, spikes and taloned appendages apparantly part of the armour, yet seeming so natural. Its hands were talons of blackness, one of them grasping a serated blade more than half the height of the creature itself. The hum of a dying chainsword motor drifted through the silence, accompanied by the amplified breathing of a man out of breath.

'You will come with me.' it said.

The voice broke Hesperides out of the spell that had held her in place. The voice had been so cultured, so calm, she could barely believe it had come from this walking nightmare before her.

It raised its free hand towards her, as if expecting her to take it and let it lead her to her doom. If this daemon thought that she despised life enough to give it her soul so freely, it had another thing coming. With no weapons to hand she was forced to throw the bedsheets over it, hopefully buying enough time to get past it and out through the door.

It was not to be. Even as she let go, the claw snaked out and wrenched the cloth from mid-air. It shook its head. That was probably why it was so surprised when Hesperides brought her fist down on its wrist. The other talon opened, the chainsword clattering to the floor. Then it swung around on her, discarding the bedding and punching her to the ground. Its strength was phenomonal, and Hesperides was left winded on the floor.

'Enough!'

The voice was so commanding that even Hesperides involuntarily jerked to a sitting position. Her breath in ragged gasps, she looked up to see another creature enter the room. This one was dressed in long robes of black silk, adorned with foreign and heretical rune markings. It wore no helm, so its origin was not hard to discern.

'Eldar!' she spat, gobbets of blood spilling from her mouth.

The robed alien knelt beside her, its hands on its knees. Its face was painfully thin, and so pale to be almost white. It had not a single hair upon its head, but a pair of grey eyes that stared into the soul. It reached out a gloved hand to take her by the chin, but she ducked back, cracking her head on the wall.

'So typical.' it sighed. 'More willing to endure more pain than to let another help.'

'I want none of your help, witch that you be.'

'As you wish.' The Farseer eased himself to his feet, rather carefully, she noticed. 'I do feel honour bound, however, to apologise for Forelir. His is the path of the Warrior, and the only time he meets mon-keigh usually is to kill them.'

'Then just let him get it over with. I'm sure there's nothing you aliens like more than killing defenceless women.'

Nimuennir waved Forelir back, and the Exarch stepped back outside the cell.

'I am not here to harm you, woman. Instead I am here to warn you. You are what we call... an instrument of fate, in your tongue. You are but a pawn in the immense plans of the cosmos.'

'I am nobody's pawn!' Hesperides spat. 'I serve the Emperor, and follow no will but his.'

Nimuennir was totally unfazed by this. It was typical of the mon-keigh, especially those as fanatical as these sororitas, to be unaware of, or actively deny, the preordained paths of fate.

'That may be' he said, 'but I believe you are very important, that you can alter the path of destiny. There will come a time in your life where you will make a choice, maybe insignificant at the time, but a choice with far reaching consequences either way.'

Hesperides had heard tales of the Eldar, how they stole children from their cots and corpses from their graves, just to fulfil their debased desires. How they scoured entire worlds, giving no explanation and disregarding the word of the Emperor. How they were idolators, spilling their own blood willingly for the appeasement of their false god. But most of all, the tales told of their treachery. Not for nothing did the saying go 'trust not the Eldar'...

'You seek to win me, to corrupt me, with your flattery, your promises of power. But I am not as arrogant as you would seem to think. I will deny you with every fibre of my soul.'

'Strong words for one so young. Yet it is my duty to educate you...'

Then Forelir returned. He carried in his arms a limp bundle.

Hesperides looked up as the Exarch returned, and recognised immediately what she saw. The robe was stained with blood, and the head twisted at an odd angle, but she recognised the face.

Coronis.

'No!' she screamed. 'What have you done to her, you unclean alien scum!?!'

She snatched up the chainsword from where it lay, and swung it, with strength born of fury, at the Farseer. Unready, the Eldar took the blow across the chest, runes and gemstones exploding as the whirling blades scoured through them. Yet still he stood. As Forelir dropped the body of the Hospitaller to the ground, Nimuennir swept his arms through the air, words of another tongue gushing from his mouth. Even as Hesperides lashed out at him again, a ripping noise heralded the completion of his spell.

As the Eldar crumpled to the floor, the space behind him collapsed in on itself, a swirling miasma of darkness forming from nowhere. Had Hesperides known the ways of the Eldar she would have known it to be a webway portal. But she was ignorant.

'What witchcraft is this?' she hissed, laying the blade at the seer's throat.

'Too late now.' croaked Nimuennir.

With a roar, Forelir sprang at the Battle Sister, no weapon in his hand, yet none needed, for his mandiblasters were already singing into life. Hesperides ducked to avoid both the spinning discs and the Striking Scorpion's own razor sharp claws, and then fell backwards.

Into the webway.

Forelir, foremost Exarch of the Striking Scorpion Aspect of the Craftworld of Ulthwe, followed her. The portal closed behind him.

***

For a while the room was silent, save for the gasps of the dying Nimuennir. Then Conranor entered, rushing to kneel beside his fallen mentor.

'She wouldn't listen...' the Farseer managed.

The Warlock could feel the after affects of a warp opening radiating around the room, and managed to guess what had happened.

'Where did the portal lead?' he asked.

Nimuennir looked up into the azure eyes of his pupil, reading not only the concern for his health, but also the lust for revenge. He was not ready for the responsibility. There had been so much he had to teach him. Too late now.

'I know not...' he managed, and it was the truth. 'I thought to escape her wrath, but there was no time...'

His head jerked once, and then the scene shifted. No longer was Conranor above him. It was someone else, illuminated from behind, face in shadow. Yet he could tell that it was smiling, whoever it was...

'Nimuennir?' Panic had entered Conranor's voice, but he knew that his master could no longer hear him.

Strange. He had thought that his teacher's death would have brought some emotion, but there was none. He had been taught well in controlling his feelings. Taught by the best. Yet still he clenched his hands to fists. Why had he not forseen this? He could have warned him, and he would still be here.

He got to his feet, and gazed around at the barbaric chamber, devoid of colour and life. Beside the Farseer's body lay that of a mon-keigh. He tilted his head to look her in the eye. The blood staining the face had done little to improve her unbalanced features. Truly these creatures were to be pitied, hardly any wit or knowledge, and yet also cursed to be but a pale shadow of the Eldar form.

A figure appeared in the doorway. It was one of the Guardians from Nimuennir's entourage, but he couldn't tell which. With those yellow helms on they all looked the same. Organised in a way these aliens never could be.

'Who was she?' the Warlock asked, though he knew full well the answer.

The Guardian followed his gaze. 'I know not. We found her dead when we arrived.'

As his head moved to look at the prone form of the Farseer, Conranor cut him silent before he could speak.

'I will explain later, and we can all lament together once we have returned home. What do you have to tell me?'

'The mon-keigh are aware of us, Warlock.' the Guardian told him. 'We met a couple close to where we found this one, but they have escaped in one of their primitive craft. It will not be long before others come to investigate. What would you have us do?'

Conranor consiered the question for a moment. It was the first time anyone had ever required him to make a real decision, not one based on hypothetical reasoning and tricks of logic. It was the first time he would give a command.

'First, retrieve the seer's spirit stone, and then we will take our leave of this place. Forelir is beyond our help now, as I know not where he is. When we reach Ulthwe I will be able to consult the Council, and I'm sure that they will be able to aid us in our search. Nimuennir believed that this mon-keigh was important, and I am not going to let him die for nothing. We will find this ... 'significant' one and continue his work.'

'Lord Warlock!' The Guardian's tone was not encouraging.

Conranor turned, and then saw the cause of his distress. In his hand was held the Farseer's spirit stone, the jewel that would save Nimuennir's soul from the Thirsting One. It was broken, shattered by the teeth of the chainsword.

His mentor was gone. Devoured. The one who had discovered his talents, who had raised him through the greater part of his all too short life, taken. And for what? Some dirty little mon-keigh, who may or may not be important. An ignorant alien who had cast Nimuennir into a place of eternal pain. She too would know the same, this he promised himself. They would all know.

He screamed his anguish, and pointed accusingly at the Guardian before him.

'We will be avenged for this crime against our very spirit! I want them all dead! Not one mon-keigh aboard this drifting pile of rusted metal must live to see another dawn! Khaine will have their blood, and their souls too, to do with as he pleases, to visit upon them every agony that they have done to us!' He wrenched his rune inlaid dagger from its sheath at his waist and ripped it across his palm. 'This I swear before the eyes of Khaine, by my own lifeblood!'

The Guardian hesitated for only a moment, but in the eyes of the enraged Warlock it was treachery.

'Well? What are you waiting for? KILL THEM ALL!'

As the terrified Eldar vanished back through the doorway, Conranor fell to his knees before Nimuennir's corpse.

'Do not worry' he whispered to it, 'This is only the beginning. We will find the one who did this to you, and when we do, the fires of Khaine's fell sword will seem like paradise compared to what I will do to her! You shall be avenged!'

Then he let his head drop, and the tears come.

***

The Ecclesiastic train swept up the corridor, on into the heart of the Convent Prioris. Rich tapestries and stained glass windows decorated every available surface that was not occupied by a statue of a Saint, or the Emperor himself. The banners of the Orders Militant hung from the rafters of the impossibly high ceiling, where dark cherubim and floating skulls flittered.

The Ecclesiarch had to admit that he was impressed by how well it had all gone. Had the Eldar attack been a coincidence, or had she managed to arrange it somehow? It was a question he would have to put to her personally. However it had happened, the expression on the faces of his fellow High Lords had been one to treasure. Especially the metal skull of the Fabricator General. He struggled to supress a grin, and failed.

The Battle Sisters before the door to the Prioress' personal chamber stepped aside as his deacons opened the door. He left them behind and walked forward into the darkened room.

'Somebody turn the illuminators on.' he said.

As the lights flickered into existance, the first thing he noticed was the limp form hanging from the ceiling. He recognised it immediately. With a noose of thick rope around her neck, the Prioress dangled above the ground, an ornately carved chair lying discarded a few feet away.

He grasped his rosarius and muttered a prayer of warding as the corpse's swinging brought its dead eyes to gaze upon him. To think that it had been living and breathing but hours ago...

'Why would she do this?' he asked his nearest attendant. But he couldn't turn his head, couldn't drag his gaze from that thing.