Chapter 129: Divine Negotiations
"Why not humble yourself a bit and gain the help of the Goddess of Magic? That would give you a greater advantage, allowing you to stand in an invincible position."
The Emperor's expression remained neutral, calculating. "Enemies? Friends? These distinctions are temporary. With sufficient benefit, adversaries become allies, and allies become obstacles."
Elminster frowned. "You consider reconciliation with the Supreme True God?"
"I value results above sentiment," the Emperor replied.
"I will commune with the Goddess and attempt to secure better terms," Elminster said carefully.
"Then work quickly. Reply before others present superior offers, or I shall seek alternative partnerships."
The Emperor's tone showed complete indifference to divine favour.
Elminster held back a sigh. In his centuries of service, he had witnessed many reactions to divine attention. Most mortals trembled with reverence, desperate to prove their worthiness.
However, this mortal negotiated with the gods as if they were potential business partners. His manner suggested not merely a lack of reverence, but an active willingness to challenge divine authority itself.
"I shall return with an answer swiftly." Elminster bowed and departed.
At the camp's entrance, he encountered Gale emerging from the perimeter.
"Elminster?" Gale's voice carried genuine surprise.
Elminster was legendary, an archmage whose name was whispered in the halls of Candlekeep, a Chosen of Mystra herself. His presence indicated the Goddess's direct interest.
"Gale," Elminster studied the younger wizard. "So you are indeed here."
"You came to see His Majesty?" Gale glanced toward the camp, then back at the elder mage.
Elminster nodded grimly. "The Supreme True God's influence spreads like a plague. Should their servants succeed, this realm faces catastrophe. Mystra has sent me to persuade these outsiders to act against this threat."
"What was the outcome?"
"No agreement. His demands were..." Elminster paused, "unprecedented."
"What did His Majesty want?"
"Knowledge of the Weave's fundamental principles."
Gale's eyes widened. Such knowledge was Mystra's core domain. No deity would surrender such power.
"The Goddess has specific instructions regarding your situation, Gale," Elminster continued.
"What did she say?" Gale forced a laugh. "Is she having regrets about ending our arrangement?"
"Show proper respect for your patron," Elminster warned. "You carry an Orb of Annihilation. If detonated, it could destroy the Supreme True God. This represents your path to redemption."
Gale's forced smile vanished. "That's not amusing."
"It wasn't meant to be." Elminster's tone carried finality.
"You have made grave errors. Mystra has shown unprecedented patience, never fully abandoning you despite your transgressions. Now you must choose: regain her favour or face complete abandonment."
Elminster opened a shimmering portal and stepped through without another word.
Gale stared at the closing gateway, his expression shifting from forced confidence to bitter resignation.
"You appear troubled."
The voice carried wisdom earned through millennia of service. Gale turned to see Malcador approaching, the Sigillite's staff bearing the sacred aquila.
"Lord Regent," Gale bowed respectfully.
"Formality isn't necessary, Gale." Malcador moved closer, his ancient eyes reading the wizard's distress. "I see uncertainty weighing upon you. Perhaps sharing the burden would help."
Gale hesitated. The shame of his failures felt too heavy to voice. But Malcador's patient kindness reminded him of mentors from his youth in Waterdeep.
The story poured out: his rise as a prodigy wizard, the fame that came with exceptional talent, and Mystra's favour that elevated him to Chosen status. More than that, he had believed himself to share something more profound with the Goddess than mere divine selection.
"To prove my worth equalled any god's, I sought to recover something precious that was lost," Gale admitted.
"In ancient times, the archwizard Karsus created a twelfth-level spell, Karsus's Avatar. He briefly ascended to godhood, stealing a fragment of the Weave from Mystryl, Mystra's predecessor. Mystryl died protecting the Weave from his hubris."
Gale's voice grew heavy with regret. "I thought if I could return that stolen fragment, the Netherese Orb, Mystra would be grateful beyond measure. Instead, my curiosity led to disaster. The Orb merged with my body, constantly devouring my power. I must feed it magical artefacts or it will detonate, taking me and everything around me with it."
He laughed bitterly. "When Mystra learned of my 'gift,' she withdrew her favour entirely. I've wandered ever since, searching for a cure while avoiding magical starvation. The Mind Flayers captured me during one such journey."
Malcador listened without judgment. When Gale finished, the Sigillite spoke with gentle authority.
"You committed no crime save inexperience. A talented youth simply misunderstood the nature of divine attention."
Gale looked up, startled.
"Focus on what lies ahead, not what is lost. The past may have been beautiful, but it remains the past."
"If I did nothing wrong, why did Mystra abandon me?" Pain flickered across Gale's features.
"Do you truly believe a god could love you as mortals love?" Malcador's voice carried patient wisdom.
"She hears countless prayers daily and responds to multitudes of faithful servants. Did you imagine you were the first talented worshipper to earn her attention across millennia of existence?"
The words hit like physical blows. "You're saying..."
"What you interpreted as love was recognition, a reward for exceptional service. Such attention has been granted to others before you. Elminster himself likely received similar favour. Those intimate moments you treasured were commendations for performance, nothing more."
Gale struggled to process this revelation. "But the connection felt so real..."
"She possesses eternal existence while you measure your life in mere decades. Why would an immortal being form lasting attachment to someone who will age and die in what, to her, is an instant?"
The brutal logic was undeniable. Gale had mistaken divine reward for personal affection.
"Those chapters have closed," Malcador placed a steadying hand on Gale's shoulder.
"You serve a greater purpose now. A future awaits that will eclipse any achievement you might have claimed through divine favour. The only requirements are focus and loyalty."
"Come. We have work ahead. Reports speak of a village beyond the Woodland Swamp, corrupted by necromantic influence. It requires investigation."
Gale nodded, finding unexpected comfort in a purpose beyond personal redemption. He followed Malcador toward their next objective.
They led a well-equipped strike team through the marshy terrain. The village they found was larger than expected, but completely abandoned. Disease had driven out all life years ago, leaving only ruins choked with vegetation.
Yet life had returned, of a sort.
Goblins, ogres, and necromancers lurked among the collapsed buildings. All bore the taint of the Supreme True God's influence, transformed into willing servants of the growing cult.
The ambush came as soon as Malcador's team approached the village perimeter.
The ground shook under heavy footfalls. Dust clouds erupted from crumbling structures as massive ogres, three to four meters of muscle and bone, charged from concealment with earth-shaking steps.
These were formidable opponents. Their thick hide turned aside most weapons, while innate magic resistance deflected many spells. They healed from wounds that would kill lesser creatures, making them ideal shock troops for any commander.
Behind them came goblin warriors shrieking battle-cries, their curved blades glinting in the dim light filtering through the swamp's canopy.
Necromancers began their dark work, chanting in voices like grinding stone. Necrotic energy swirled around them, carving glowing circles into the earth. Skeletal warriors clawed their way from the tainted soil, green flames dancing in empty sockets as they advanced with unnatural hunger for living flesh.
"Quite the welcome party," Gale muttered, worry creeping into his voice.
At full strength, these enemies would have posed little threat. But the Netherese Orb continued its constant drain on his magical reserves. High-level spells remained beyond reach, leaving him feeling helpless against such numbers.
"Nothing worth mentioning, Gale."
Malcador stepped forward, raising the Sigillite's staff with its sacred aquila gleaming. Psychic energy gathered around him like a rising storm, sending winds howling across the corrupted village.
He struck the staff's base against the ground with finality.
"Return to dust."
[End of Chapter]
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