The Imperial Courts of Justice sat within the heart of Hive Castle, a Gothic fortress nestled in and amongst the Planetary Government buildings, as well as the enclaves of the other Imperial Institutions. It lay along one of the upper hive’s most important boulevards, a single, straight, roadway that ran from one side of the spire to the other, meeting with other roads around the Governor’s palace like the spokes of a great wheel. The road played host to constant foot and vehicle traffic, black-suited Iberian Civil Servants rubbed shoulders with robed adepts of the Administratum whilst Mechanicus officials were borne down the road on great hovering chariots, ducking and weaving above the flow of wheeled transports. The courts were the centre of law and order on Iberia. Within great wood-panelled halls the civil courts of the local judiciary sat, adjudicating land disputes and monopoly laws, whilst in grander chambers the Supreme Court of Nova Iberia performed a continual evaluation of the activities of the House of Lords, ensuring the legislation they passed lay within the boundaries of the Lex Imperialis.

Since the arrival of the Inquisition, the building had taken on a slightly different aspect. Following the attack on the Precinct-Fortress, the Inquisitor elected to move his office to the Courts, so that he may better affect changes to the highest levels of authority. The few, small, windows on the building’s lower floors had been entirely boarded up with heavy metal plates, whilst the occasional glint of a sniper’s scope showed from the tallest towers. Behind the wrought iron fence that separated the compound from the rest of the hive grey armoured stormtroopers patrolled in pairs, maintaining a vigilant watch over the flocks of commuters that passed them by. Entrance to the courts was usually obtained through a great archway that led to heavy wooden doors. This route was now blocked by a dormant penitent engine, flanked by two Sisters in red armour. The crucified figure at the heart of the machine was hooded and bound by ornate parchment, his feeble form a living reminder of the power the Inquisition wielded. An irregular flow of ground transports drove in and out of a side gate that led behind the main building, each pausing halfway through as a stormtrooper scanned them with a device mounted on the end of a long pole. Occasionally, an air transport would land in the same courtyard, skilfully navigating its way beneath the enormous buttresses that held up the next level of the hive to set down amidst a carefully maintained garden, now covered over by a prefabricated landing pad.

Amelia, having disembarked from one such aircraft, now sat atop a gilt wood chair in a neatly kept waiting room outside what had been the Chamber of the Supreme Court, but now served as the Inquisitor’s quarters. On her way to see the Inquisitor, as she walked down the length of the great hall that marked the entrance to the building, she was passed in the opposite direction by a pleading figure, being dragged down the corridor by two Stormtroopers, dressed in the discreet finery of the upper-middle class he was wailing discordantly, his neatly polished shoes leaving black scuff marks on the pristine marble floor. This incident had set Amelia’s mind on edge, and she was making her best effort to maintain her posture on the chair, rather than slouch over with her head in her hands as the gentleman next to her was doing. At present, they were the only two people in the waiting room, save a wizened old man sitting behind the desk who served as one of the Inquisitor’s aides when he wasn’t staring in open disgust at his ‘guests’. Like many on the Inquisitor’s personal staff he wore armoured robes of a dark grey, with wiring emerging from a metal cowl and a skull upon each shoulder. Amelia’s nervous counterpart had fallen for this intimidation tactic, and kept furtively glancing towards him before wilting under his gaze.

In time the doors to the court opened up, and another of the Inquisitor’s staff held the door open as Marshall Taimur stepped out, followed by his bodyguard. He was armoured in a similar style of layered metal plates to the servants, but his armour was complete, and rather than a metal hood a metal collar rose up to encircle his face, giving him a more martial air. Though he had lost an arm in the Precinct, Amelia could no longer remember which, and the Marshall’s arms were both now covered in armour that ended in wickedly pointed metal fingers. His guard wore a similar suit of armour, but bore a heavy rebreather and a combat shotgun in place of the Marshall’s finery.

The servant holding open the doors then spoke, glaring at the seated man in much the same way as the other servant.

‘Margrave Soult, the Inquisitor will see you now.’

It was almost commendable, Amelia thought, the way the man stood, gathered himself, and put on a convincing false face of optimism before entering the hall. He had even takin a second to check his reflection in the brass of a nearby lamp, just to see if his tie was straight. A pity it was entirely wasted, his mind was still a torrent of fear and uncertainty, and the Inquisitor would inevitably seize upon those fears to destroy this man before their meeting was done.

As the heavy doors were closed and locked behind him Marshall Taimur made to leave before pausing over Amelia, looking down his hooked nose at her even as she maintained her study of the opposite wall.

‘Prime Agent Lafayette, isn’t it.’

The words were not a question and, now that she had been addressed, Amelia stood as politely as she could, so that their conversation could continue on more equal ground.

‘Yes sir. Is there something I can help you with?’

He raided his eyebrow slightly, a little disconcerting when his right eye had been replaced with a trio of cameras.

‘Not at all. You have my compliments on that tremendous engagement in the mountains. Not many people can say they faced down a Space Marine and lived, fewer can say they did it with a mere PDF regiment at their back.’

‘Thank you, sir. what Colonel Forjaz and the 43rd did was exceptional, as was the performance of your own Stormtroopers.’

Amelia was dredging up painful memories, but it would not do to deprive her soldiers of the glory they had earned.

‘Indeed, you have my condolences regarding Sergeant Flavius. He was one to watch.’

‘I must apologise, sir, you have me at a disadvantage. Here you are singing my praises and yet I am entirely unaware of your own efforts.’ Amelia said in an attempt to move the conversation away from uncomfortable territory.

‘That, Agent, is the story of my career.’ Taimur took the bait with the eagerness of the professional soldier with a story to tell.

‘Our Lord is a brilliant man, and he expects brilliance in return. I had ten thousand stormtroopers a month ago, three planetside, the rest in orbit. Now, thanks to that disaster in the precinct and the purges since, I’m down to nine. That may sound like a lot, put nine thousand good men in a city and you can hold it easily, but put nine thousand men on a planet and it becomes very lonely. That’s why it’s so important to use forces like the 43rd. We are a small, elite, force and we need local support. That’s also why that insufferable prick Governor Mazus is still alive, he’s well liked by the people, and that ensures the loyalty of the PDF.’

Amelia was starting to realise she needed to pay more attention to the politics of this world, now that she was back in the city.

‘The Governor’s still alive, I thought for sure we’d have shot him by now.’

Taimur laughed, a somewhat raspy laugh that spoke of a lifetime of expensive cigars and glasses of Port.

‘If only it were so. We suspect him of being involved, but the problem is that if we kill him without definitive proof then we may turn the people against us. It leaves us in the unfortunate position of keeping him content on his throne, whilst trying to destroy his palace. We got lucky with the nobility, they’d been pissing off the upper-middle class with their privileges, which left us free to openly pursue them whilst building up a successor government. That government’s not in place yet, naturally, which leaves me in command of the armed forces while the Loremaster Magister of the Administratum runs the apparatus of state. Luckily the Mechanicum and most of the Ecclesiarchy recruited from all walks of life, so there wasn’t much of a gap to fill there.’

‘I believe I understand, thank you Marshall.’

‘Anytime miss. If you will excuse me, I must be going. I have to redeploy our recon battalion to capitalise on your victory. Goodbye.’

Amelia smiled as he clicked his heels in a martial gesture and departed, followed by his bodyguard who hadn’t moved a muscle since they started talking. Two armoured figures, their grey armour out of place amidst the bright white and airy corridors of the courts, looking ready to take on the world and win. She returned to her seat, already missing having someone to pass the time with, and carried on waiting for another few minutes before the doors were again opened, and the Marquis stepped out. He was ashen pale, even the faintest hint of his false face had left him, and he clutched his hands together in a desperate attempt to find some spark of comfort. He failed, and was half escorted half shoved out into the halls by the desk-bound servant, whose face held the most evil grin Amelia had ever seen.

‘Prime Agent Amelia Lafayette, the Inquisitor will see you know.’ The second servant announced, holding the door open for her. Unlike the Marquis, Amelia didn’t pause in some fruitless attempt to console herself, but simply stepped through the doors and into the chamber beyond.

The chamber of the Supreme Court of Nova Iberia was a circular room topped by a high, domed, ceiling of stone. An ornate fresco depicted the Emperor writing the Lex Imperialis upon a great scroll, surrounded by a watchful crowd of judges, statesmen, soldiers and Space Marines encircling the emperor like students in a medical theatre. The room itself may once have held a vast circular desk that surrounded a mosaic depicting the planet as seen in space, with Hive Castle at the centre of the image, a steel monument amidst verdant green fields, white topped mountain ranges and rich blue oceans. Now, however, the desk had been removed, the windows shuttered, and banners hung from the walls, covering the lists of past judges to sit upon the Supreme Court. Where once the room may have been illuminated by the almost-natural light of the Upper-Hive it was now dark and gloomy, lit by innumerable candles and a few hanging lanterns. At the far end of the room a throne of carved grey stone and gold inlay had been placed on the very edge of the world, its proportions enlarged to accommodate the Power Armour of its owner.

The Inquisitor sat looking down upon Nova Iberia, like some conquering warlord of old surveying his new lands. He still wore his black power armour, whose finely polished surfaces and ornate gold filigree contrasted with tattered red robes that hung in irregular folds from beneath his pauldrons. Four servo-skulls, each branded with the Inquisitorial I, fluttered in the air about his head, gently moving in irregular patterns to and fro, surveying the room. Resting on his right armrest was a colossal powersword, its blade inert, whilst a great leather-bound book, the Liber Heresius, rested on the left armrest, beneath his gauntleted hand. Behind him, to the left and right, stood two Crusaders, noble warriors and defenders of the faith, each as still as a statue, and holding a massive two handed greatsword, their blades pointed up to the ceiling. Another two stood on either side of the door, as statuesque as their counterparts. A few robed servants waited against the far wall, ready to jump into action at a word of command, and a lone tech priest stood with them, holding a wrought iron box.

There was another figure, seated on the floor, leaning against the side of the throne. She wore tattered rags, held together by leather belts and heavy chains. Her head was entirely shaved, and much of it had been given over to extensive augmetics that coiled down her spine, running along her limbs like a misshapen exoskeleton. These cables and wires originated from a bulky machine nestled upon her shoulders, that contained small vials of liquid held in place by heavy screws driven directly into her shoulder. Her face was covered by a shroud that ended just below her nose, exposing a muzzled mouth. Her eyes, visible through small slits, were darting about the room as if she couldn’t quite focus on anything, and her limbs twitched occasionally.

Amelia strode amidst this menagerie, and dropped to one knee in the centre of the mosaic. Beneath her sat Hive Castle, the Emperor and his courtiers looked down on her from above while before her the Inquisitor fixed her with a disinterested gaze that nevertheless seemed to strip Amelia to her very soul. Amelia kept her eyes fixed firmly on the ground as she spoke, and she kept her mind firmly within the confines of her own head.

‘You summoned me, my Lord.’

‘Indeed, Agent Lafayette. Marshall Taimur has given me the after-action reports from yourself, the Colonel of the 43rd and his Stormtrooper on the ground. It makes for interesting reading. You are to be congratulated; you have single-handedly managed to shift the course of this investigation.’

‘Thank you, my Lord, but the credit cannot go to me alone. My staff performed excellently, and Colonel Forjaz went above and beyond in getting his regiment equipped for the assault.’

‘I have no doubt. You will doubtless be pleased to know that of the forty men placed under quarantine ten have been cleared to return to the regiment. When placed under interrogation most of them used you as a symbol to bolster their mind; it seems you have a knack for inspiring loyalty.’

Ten was a small number, but Amelia had expected the whole platoon to be killed, and she was gladdened by the news.

‘Because of your initiative in the face of adversity,’ the Inquisitor continued, ‘I have decided to grant you some small reward.’

He waved his right hand briefly and the Tech-priest stepped into the circle, bowing before the Inquisitor before setting down his iron carrying case. Amelia could here the sound of metal scratching against metal coming from within. As the priest slid open the lid of his package the scratching stopped, and Amelia saw an eagle’s head appear nervously out the top, its eyes adjusting to the light. It was shortly followed by a second head, this one hooded by miniature metal wiring, its eyes replaced with glowing red lenses. The double-headed eagle hopped up, perched on the side of the box with steel-tipped talons, and began to take in the room, the twin heads looking in opposite directions.

‘A Psyber-Eagle.’ The inquisitor broke the silence ‘A bioengineered creature designed to serve as a Psyker’s Familiar. All you need do is reach out with your mind, and name it. The bird will then imprint on you.’

Amelia was struck dumb, and knelt in silence for a few moments before looking up, as close to the Inquisitor’s eyes as she dared.

‘Thank you, my Lord.’

Even as she said these words she reached out with her mind, finding the Eagle’s animalistic consciousness. It seemed incomplete, like some part of it was missing, and Amelia expanded her own consciousness into that gap. Both heads stopped their searching and stared directly at Amelia, her two eyes meeting his four. All Amelia needed to do was speak his name, and he would be forever bound to her, an extension of her own will. Amelia thought back to the Raptor’s Nest, to the fleeting memory she had grasped in her comatose state. All she could remember was a faint golden light, and a single, profound, sensation.

‘Hope’

Her Eagle shot up at the word, taking flight to circle the chamber, ducking and weaving amongst the Inquisitor’s servo-skulls before perching itself atop a hanging lamp. Amelia could feel the beating of his wings, the rising currents of hot air from the candles, she could see herself through his eyes, a solitary figure kneeling at the centre of the world.

The Inquisitor’s eyes followed the bird as it flew, and the subtlest hint of a smile began to play across his face before he turned once again to Amelia.

‘Now for your task. As you know, I have handed the Raptor’s Nest investigation off to Interrogator Filburn, he is now responsible for the collation of that data. However, it has become clear that the Raptor’s Nest feeds a secondary site, one we have yet to identify. We suspect that this site is where the supposed ‘Master in the Mountains’ may be found. If the enemy have any coordinated leadership, it rests with this ‘Master’. Marshal Taimur has redeployed his entire scout battalion, as well as a brigade of local mountain infantry, across the entire mountain range to search for any additional sites.’

‘I want you to search through the Government records, to find any reference you can to our prey. I recommend you start with the Ecclesiarchy, one of their organisation’s key duties is to keep records of the divergence of the Imperial Cult within their diocese. It’s possible they may have logged some details that would help us pin down the identity of our foe. Do you understand your task?’

‘Yes, my Lord.’ Amelia said, preparing to leave

‘Good. One final thing, Agent. The after-action reports you sent detailed that you spent much of the battle comatose, but failed to mention a cause. What caused your sudden absence from the field?’

Tremors began in Amelia’s left leg, the foot bouncing up and down almost imperceptibly, and her right leg, still pressed against the floor, began to go numb with a thousand tiny pinpricks. For a single moment of weakness, she considered lying to the Inquisitor, making up some story about feedback from the Astartes death, before the sheer insanity of the thought hit her. Amelia lowered her head even further, and spoke.

‘I lost control whilst fighting against the Astartes, my Lord. The failsafes kicked in and I was rendered comatose whilst overcoming the psychic feedback.’

Silence reigned in the hall, even Hope had stopped preening himself by sharpening his claws. Eventually the Inquisitor spoke again, his voice shed of any hint of emotion.

‘Your honesty does you credit, though whether it speaks of moral fibre or simple common sense remains to be seen.’

Amelia said nothing, there was nothing she could say.

‘Do you know what this is?’

The Inquisitor gestured down with his left hand towards the wretched female figure sprawled against his throne. If she realised she was now the subject of attention, she made now indication of it. Amelia had her suspicions about the woman, and the possibility terrified her.

‘I think, my Lord… An Arco-Flagellant.’

There was another silence as Amelia struggled to unshackle her mind from horrific images of herself in that woman’s place, bound in cables and turned into a mindless husk, her emotions the product of chemicals designed to send her into fits of rage or keep her in unaware bliss.

‘The logical assumption, but you are incorrect. This is Korinthia Ariel. Once she was part of the retinue of a petty warlord on the feral world of Acciughe. She was his concubine, his adviser on civilised matters and his shaman. You see, when Black Ships came to take her she was nowhere to be found. Slavers had secreted her off world, knowing that there were many who would pay a high price for the services of a Pyrokinetic. She passed from master to master until she was given to the warlord in exchange for tainted artefacts.’

‘I had been pursuing the trade of heretical artefacts throughout the sector for quite some time, and had finally identified the ruins of Acciughe as the source. When my retinue stormed this warlord’s camp, she tuned her fires upon her former master before throwing herself at my feet and begging for my mercy.’

There was another pause, as the Inquisitor affectionately caressed the woman’s head with an armoured gauntlet like he was idly stroking a pet.

‘Do you know what the Ordo Hereticus does, Agent?’

Amelia was barely able to still her trembling mouth long enough to give an answer.

‘They seek out those who have turned from the Emperor’s light my Lord.’

‘Precisely, and that is the tragedy of our order. The foes faced by the Ordos Xenos and Malleus are inhuman, but every foe we face, every life we take, is a failure. We have failed, because someone has strayed from the Emperor’s holy light; someone has willingly cast aside their humanity.’

‘Most of those who have fallen on that dark path are forever irredeemable, their doubts too entrenched within their mind. On very rare occasions I find someone who regains their faith, someone genuinely repentant. I believe you have already encountered my first success, Korinthia is my second. Unfortunately, her ‘gift’ means that she cannot be afforded the same freedoms as him. Instead she is kept wholly unaware of her surroundings.’

‘The Magos Biologis of the Mechanicus have twisted her mind, and altered her powers. Rather than channelling the warp through psychic powers she now draws those same energies into her. Any psychic who tries to harm me will instead find their powers drawn into poor Korinthia, who disperses them much like a lightning rod. I am told that she is in constant pain, that she even draws in the faint warp presence every soul emits, ensuring she is never free of it. See how she twitches from simply being in the presence of another Psyker. Through this penance, she is earning her redemption and, when she finally expires, she may find herself welcomed back amongst the faithful.’

‘Prime Agent Lafayette. You belong to me as surely as Korinthia does, and if you cannot serve me as you are then I will remake you until you can. Think on this, as you go about your appointed task. Dismissed.’