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The Fires of Our Faith – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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The Fires of Our Faith

Nicholas Werner

Florelia burned.

She watched the exhaust heat of the Exorcist missile tank scorch the very air around the mobile shrine as it crunched its way through rubble and ruin. It blared the litany of her commandery for the Sisters of Battle beside and behind it, loud enough to be heard over even the boltgun fire and the shattering of rockcrete and plasteel.

‘There is only one faith, and the Emperor is its god.’

The tank fired another salvo of missiles at the heretics’ blockades, the flame of their trails enough to singe the pavement below.

But not for this did Florelia burn.

From the barricaded entrance to the very heart of their heresy, the enemy fired volley after volley of las-bolts, as well as scattered shots from the few plasma weapons they’d managed to procure. Florelia’s power armour was more than sufficient to withstand a single lasgun blast, but repeated hits might well crack it enough for a lucky bolt to pierce through. The plasma weapons were another matter, more than capable of vaporising her if one were to find its mark. Thus far none had, but a few had come close, enough to sear the very atmosphere next to her face.

But not for this did Florelia burn.

Breaking from the cover of the Exorcist’s armoured bulk, Canoness Commander Florelia of the Order of the Argent Shroud dashed towards the entrance of her objective, where enemy guns bristled like spines on an echinoderm. Not even bothering to duck under any shots – for the God-Emperor Himself was her shield – she charged towards the defences, straight at the heretics, who first fired las-bolts, then curses, then screams of mounting terror.

By contrast, Florelia was silent during her assault – she did not cry out or even offer a prayer. But the charge itself, her very unwavering determination, was more deafening than the hymns of the mobile shrine. Behind her, equally silent, thundered her guard – Celestian Sacresant veterans, who had not needed to hear an order from her to know that they must join her in the direct attack. The heretics, naturally, hollered all manner of vulgarities at her, as well as promises that they would never take a step back.

But their words, as Saint Silvana had always said, were of no worth.

Florelia raised and fired her bolt pistol in one swift motion. There had been no need to aim; she had waited until she was practically at the barricade before taking her first shot. The man’s head erupted in crimson, the small shock wave of the explosive shell flinging the splatter across the face and eyes of the woman next to him. The woman flinched, just for a moment, but it was a moment too long. By the time she had jerked her head back, the Canoness had vaulted over the barricade, the power sword in her hand descending like judgement into the heretic’s very heart.

For this did Florelia burn.

Another nearby heretic on the wall swung his lasgun around, bayonet already fixed, slashing at Florelia’s arm. It was a hopeless attempt – her armour could easily deflect a glancing blow from such a feeble blade – but even so, her power sword sliced it apart in a perfectly executed motion. The heretic’s eyes had just enough time to register a reaction – perhaps surprise, or even a sense of awe – before Florelia turned the momentum of her parry into a slashing strike. He maintained his expression as he died.

The whole mass of enemies behind the barricade wall surged in towards this new threat in their midst, but even as they did so, Florelia’s Celestian guard was upon them, hacking at them with both grace and brutality. A handful of the enemies produced longswords, hacking away at the Sisters as best they could, but the Celestians, silent and towering in their silver armour, swatted their foes aside, their power halberds crackling with electricity and conviction in equal measure.

One of the heretics, an officer perhaps, yelled out a command to retreat loudly enough to be heard over the slaughter. The enemy began to fall back from the Sisters of Battle, and, to their credit, managed to do so in a semblance of order. They were good fighters, these heretics; Florelia had acknowledged that after her very first battle here, only a few months ago, though it seemed longer. Soldier to soldier, one might even argue that they were a match for the Astra Militarum regiment now fighting them across Aumora.

But they were not only fighting Astra Militarum. As the heretics fell back, the Canoness and her Celestian Sacresants stayed on them, slashing their rearguard to ribbons. The traitors might have had discipline, and they might have had courage, but it was faith that blazed in Florelia and her Sisters, in every beat of their hearts, in every swing of their arms. Doubt infected her not; there was no hesitation, no question. Florelia sang her battle hymns not with her voice, but with her assault itself.

For this did Florelia burn.

The retreating heretic mass finally disengaged from the attack, by simple virtue of the fact that the Sisters had killed everyone in reach of their weapons. They split into different groups, each one fleeing through a different doorway.

‘Halt, Sisters!’ Florelia cried, holding her power sword aloft. Her Celestian guard stopped at once, so quickly their white robes billowed around them. Behind them, Florelia could hear the rest of her commandery entering the building: squads of Battle Sisters, Retributors and Seraphim. But where to send them? She took a breath, and then took stock.

Above her, the God-Emperor of Mankind stared down at her, smiling.

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