Chapter 130: The Druid's Submission
Psychic flames swept across the battlefield in a controlled torrent of destruction. The corrupted village vanished beneath the fire, consumed by power that left nothing but ash in its wake.
The enemies turned to flee at the first sight of the flames, but terror made them clumsy. Malcador's fire moved with purpose, catching them before they could manage more than a few desperate steps. Ogres, goblins, and necromancers crumbled to ash within moments, their screams cut short.
Gale watched the inferno devour the entire settlement, his mouth dry as he witnessed such overwhelming force. This level of power exceeded anything he had commanded, even during his peak years as the Wizard of Waterdeep.
"It's been some time since I took direct action," Malcador observed, studying the settling ashes with the detached interest of a scholar.
"I feel somewhat rusty."
Gale stared at the Sigillite in complete disbelief.
'Rusty?'
'The man had just incinerated an entire village with casual ease, and he called that performance rusty?'
What did that make Gale's own abilities?
The Sigillite's single casting had eliminated every threat in sight with surgical precision. When the last flames died away, his soldiers spread through the charred remains to search for survivors or anything of intelligence value.
They discovered something worthwhile. On the blackened corpse of what had been the lead necromancer, one soldier found a thick spellbook.
The cover was crafted from some unknown leather that still radiated faint magical energy. Protective enchantments had somehow shielded it from Malcador's devastating flames.
The Sigillite accepted the tome and began flipping through its pages with genuine scholarly curiosity.
"Summon Undead, Speak with Dead, Listen to Death's Whispers," he read aloud, cataloguing the contents. The book contained various necromantic rituals and detailed sacrificial rites.
"Can you explain this world's necromancy to me, Gale?" Malcador offered the book to the wizard with respectful interest. "I'm unfamiliar with the local magical traditions here. I require a knowledgeable guide."
Gale was clearly the best candidate among their current company.
"If you don't mind learning from me, I'll gladly share everything I know," Gale nodded with growing enthusiasm.
"Knowledge has no boundaries. Humility serves us far better than pride," Malcador replied with approval. "Don't diminish your own worth, Gale. Your expertise is genuinely valuable to our mission."
"Thank you for saying so, Lord Sigillite," Gale smiled, his warmth reaching his eyes.
"While the soldiers continue their search work, shall we begin this lesson, Teacher Gale?"
Gale opened the necromancy tome carefully and began explaining the first spell, Summon Undead. Malcador listened with intense focus, absorbing every detail with the methodical hunger of a true scholar seeking new understanding.
This was one of the great joys of traversing different realities: encountering entirely new knowledge systems that simply had no equivalent in his own universe.
The Sigillite proved a remarkable student. His existing mastery of Imperial psychic arts provided a solid foundation that allowed him to adapt local magical principles with impressive ease and speed.
"Lord Sigillite, we've discovered an underground passage."
A soldier's report interrupted their impromptu magical lesson. The search team had found a carefully concealed entrance at the village's eastern edge, leading deep beneath the earth into unknown territory.
Malcador and Gale followed their guide to investigate the discovery. The passage opened within a seemingly natural hill, but the worked stone suggested deliberate construction as it descended into complete darkness.
Gale conjured a simple light spell, illuminating their path with steady radiance that pushed back the oppressive shadows.
"This most likely connects directly to the Underdark," he warned the group with obvious concern.
"We should prepare ourselves for encounters with hostile creatures."
His advice proved entirely prophetic. Deeper within the winding tunnels, they entered a vast underground hall where massive spiders had established their hunting grounds.
A Spider Matriarch ruled over her deadly brood, creatures devoted to Lolth, the Spider Queen, capable of spitting corrosive acid and weaving webs as strong as steel cables.
"An excellent opportunity to test necromantic theory in practice," Malcador raised his staff with scholarly anticipation.
Drawing upon his formidable psychic mastery and decades of spellcasting experience, he channelled the necromantic principles Gale had just taught him. The spell formation came naturally to his hands, as if he had been practising these techniques for years rather than minutes.
A summoning circle blazed to life with dark energy. Skeletal warriors emerged from the writhing shadows, hundreds of them, each wreathed in black mist with emerald flames dancing in their empty eye sockets. They carried weapons of yellowed bone and rusted metal, radiating an aura of death that made the surrounding air feel noticeably colder.
"Destroy those abominations," Malcador commanded with calm authority.
His newly summoned undead army surged forward to engage the spider threat. The accompanying soldiers joined the assault with professional coordination, their superior equipment and training making efficient work of the smaller arachnids.
At the same time, they concentrated their focused attacks on the dangerous Matriarch.
The Spider Matriarch was a creature of terrible and seductive beauty. Her upper torso appeared as that of an elegant woman, with attractive features, a slender waist, and an impressive figure that might have enchanted mortal men under different circumstances.
But her lower body revealed the truth: a bloated spider abdomen covered in coarse black hair. Eight heavily armoured legs ended in razor-sharp points capable of punching clean through solid stone.
Watching her precious brood fall to the skeletal horde, the Matriarch fought back with increasingly desperate fury. She crushed skeletal warriors with contemptuous ease, scattering their ancient bones across the cavern floor in violent displays of strength.
But Malcador continued his relentless casting. For every skeleton the Matriarch destroyed, ten more took its place in the endless tide.
Each undead warrior carried the very essence of death in its attacks, inflicting wounds that actively weakened and sapped the life force, causing the spider queen's suffering to increase with every passing moment of battle.
Eventually, sheer overwhelming numbers achieved what individual strength could not. The Spider Matriarch fell beneath the skeletal tide, her final screams echoing through the cavern as countless undead claws tore her apart with methodical thoroughness.
"Most impressive results," Malcador dismissed his summoned army back to the realm of death, studying the lingering necromantic energies with analytical fascination.
"Such magic could theoretically raise infinite armies given sufficient corpses and available power. Extremely dangerous in the wrong hands."
He now understood why the Imperium maintained such strict controls over these particular arts.
But complete ignorance carried its own tactical vulnerabilities; they needed to understand what enemies they might eventually face.
"Do we continue exploring deeper, Lord Sigillite?"
The soldiers had discovered several additional passages branching from the hall's far end. They descended further into impenetrable darkness, appearing to lead directly toward the planet's core.
Malcador cast a glowing sphere into one of the tunnel openings. It travelled for long minutes into the earth's depths before finally vanishing without ever reaching any visible terminus.
"No. We return to base immediately," he decided after consideration.
"Our current mission is to secure the area around our camp. These passages lead to the Underdark proper, far too extensive for our present objectives."
They emerged from the underground to find Perturabo returning from his own patrol mission.
The Iron Warrior's soldiers carried the unmistakable smell of blood and recent battle, their weapons still stained with fresh kills. The dense forest had clearly provided them with ample targets for elimination.
Forest goblins, wandering ogres, and various other threats had undoubtedly fallen to the Primarch's characteristically methodical efficiency.
Perturabo's personality might prove challenging to manage, but his execution of tactical objectives remained completely unmatched among his brothers.
"Lord Sigillite," Perturabo offered a crisp military greeting.
Malcador returned the formal gesture, then noticed the prisoner transport cart trailing behind the Primarch's main force. A single man sat within the iron cage, still alive and apparently unharmed.
"Your captive?"
"Claims to be a druid named Halsin, leader of something called Emerald Grove," Perturabo reported with his usual bluntness.
"I had intended summary execution, but he insisted he could provide aid against the Supreme True God. I brought him for Father's personal judgment."
"Druids are said to master nature's deepest mysteries and shapechange at will," Malcador recalled from his recent intensive studies of this realm's diverse traditions.
Each profession here seemed to follow distinct advancement paths with unique abilities, a genuinely fascinating system.
"I can indeed help you, Lord Sigillite." Halsin rose within his cage, offering what dignity his circumstances still allowed.
After personally witnessing Perturabo annihilate an entire goblin warband with nothing but his bare hands, literally punching their cult leader into scattered bloody pieces, the druid clearly understood that Emerald Grove could never hope to match such overwhelming martial force.
Learning that these powerful warriors actively opposed the Supreme True God had given him unexpected hope. Perhaps a strategic alliance offered far better long-term prospects than futile resistance.
"My aid is not yours to freely command," Malcador replied with subtle amusement. "Only the Master of Mankind himself determines your ultimate fate."
'Master of Mankind?'
'What manner of being dares claim absolute dominion over all humanity?' Halsin thought with growing confusion.
The guards escorted him directly to the command pavilion under careful watch.
When he finally saw the Emperor's absolutely perfect features, more flawless than any deity described in ancient legend, Halsin felt his earlier skepticism crumble like sand.
This was clearly no mere mortal warlord or ambitious king.
"Will you pledge eternal service to my cause? Will you dedicate yourself completely to humanity's advancement?" the Emperor asked with direct simplicity.
"Yes, Your Majesty." The words emerged without any conscious thought or hesitation.
In the Emperor's overwhelming presence, refusal seemed not merely impossible but utterly meaningless. "I offer everything in devoted service to your grand vision."
"Then you know the path to Moonrise Tower?"
Halsin nodded quickly with eager compliance. "I do, Your Majesty. With a proper map, I can provide detailed directions and guidance."
[End of Chapter]
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