Under this Sign (40K-Maladar)

[Imperial Overlord]

The Lex Imperialis shuddered as her void shield's failed and heavy shells exploded against her starboard side, smashing weapon batteries and creating waves of fire that swept through galleries and passages.

"Starboard batteries maintain fire!" Captain Tregel ordered. Not that he was going to have very many operational guns starboard if this shelling kept up. "All available crews to damage control. Lock dorsal turrets on the raider." Crewmen and servitors rushed to obey orders and try to save the dying ship.

The Ork raider off to starboard continued to close on the Lex Imperialis. It was an ugly ship, armour plate welded to a crudely designed hull packed with guns and engine tubes. Its heavy shells continued to smash agains the Lex Imperialis's hull, blasting terrible holes in it, as the Ork Kroozer in front of the Imperial battle cruiser continued to pour fire from its port side guns into the stricken Imperial vessel.

Tregel tripped a switch on his command throne, signaling direct to the inquisitor who lurked at the back of his command deck. The interface plugs that tied him to the throne allowed him to vox cast direct to the Inquistor's armour without actually vocalizing any words. "Inquisitor, in a few minutes, one way or another, this ship will die. I have a good chance of taking both of those Ork bastards with us. The planet is too far for savior pods, but within range of our interceptors. If you leave now you have a chance of getting out on time."

"Understood captain. All men die. Not all men die well." With that Maladar turned and entered the lift, sending it plummeting down the command spire.

"Turn twenty degrees port," ordered Captain Tregel as Maladar headed to the launch bays. Ready engines for full burn." His helmsman wasn't a fool. He knew what his captain's orders meant. So did the rest of the men on the command deck.

As the Lex Imperialis slowly maneuvered under a hail of enemy fire, her own dorsal lances achieved a target lock on the approaching raider. The turn ended and the great engines fired. A moment latter, the lances fired.

The ork raider had already suffered multiple collapses of its power fields from the Lex Imperialis's starboard guns. The lance beams blazed through the remaining power fields, which collapse a fraction of a second after being hit. Armour blasts into vapor under the touch of the lance beams. Propellant, fuel lines, and the air itself burns under the hellish power of the lance beams. The bow of the raider becomes a furnace.

Tregel turned his attention back to the Ork Kroozer. The Ork ship was slowly turning to bring its prow guns to bear, but it wouldn't be able to do so in time. Tregel smiled. The Orks had killed his ship. Now it was his turn to do the same. "The Emperor protects," he whispered.

Maladar exited the rail car that had taken him to the hanger bay. The huge inquisitor was wearing his customary suit of power armour and armed for battle, in anticipation of possible boarding action. Maladar stalked across the bay. "Hanger master!" he bellowed and voxed. "Ready the longest range craft. Now!"

"Inquisitor," the hanger master began, " our longest ranged vessel won't be readied in time. There are a pair of Condor class vessels that will be able to reach the planet."

"I'll take one. Priority to their launch. Get me a tech priest and as many armsmen and extra supplies as possible."

"Your will Inquisitor." The ship shook under the impact of Ork weapons. Men staggered or fell. Maladar trotted towards the Condors. They were sleek ships, arrow head shapes nearly forty meters long. Turrets with paired lascannon were located on the craft's chin and back.

The six man crew of each Condor included a tech priest. They were long range interceptors, built with emphasis on speed and range. The lascannons provided the ships with long range, hard hitting firepower while giving up a minimum of space.

Maladar boarded the nearest Condor and belted himself in. The ships were cramped, with most of the interior space going to engines, power plants, surveyor systems, and the cogitators that analyzed the results.

The vox crackled. "Impact in less than two minutes. Inquisitor, you had best fly. May the Emperor watch over you."

"Supply status?" Maladar barked.

"Nothing loaded," the pilot responded. "Just the standard. Sealing the ship for launch in one minute. Check offthe crash launch list. And beprepared for your stomach to go through your spine."

"Initiating fuse reactor," came the tech priest's voice. "Power to all systems. Maneuvering thrusters on line. Main engine passes initial checks. All umbilicals detached. Craft is ready to launch."

"Here we go," came the pilot's voice. "Hanger confirms launch." For a moment, nothing happened. Then the blast doors retracted. A power screen held the atmosphere in place as naked void was revealed.

Then Maladar was slammed back in his chair as the magnetic rails flung the Condors out of the dying ship. The two great ships were visible to the naked eye as the dying Imperial ship was bore down on the Ork ship, intent on ramming it broadside and taking it with it to the grave.

"Firing the engines," said the pilot and the Condor lurched forward on a tail of plasma. As the two ships sped away, the two ships silently collided behind them. The Imperial ship was ablaze over half of its length, life giving oxygen now being consumed to fuel life ending flame. The Ork ship collapsed around the armoured prow of Imperial ship, nearly cut in half as atmosphere jetted out of the huge rents in the Ork vessel's hull. The tip of the Lex Imperialis's prow protruded from the ork vessel like an arrow head that passed through flesh but whose shaft was still embedded. The doomed vessels were locked together and their engines stilled. They would drift now, subject to the whims momentum and gravity.

Maladar turned his attention away from the dying ships towards the cloud covered green and blue planet ahead. Near Terran normal with buildings large enough to register on the long range auspexes. during their preliminary survey. The life their could be human, greenskin, or some other type of xeno. Maladar would find out soon enough.

[Hawkwings]

Ahh, a good old shipwreck story. With Maladar! I look forward to more

[Ford Prefect]

Ah Maladar; it's been awhile.

[technomage]

Chalk up another space hulk in the galaxy.

[Imperial Overlord]

The planet, identified by a long alphanumeric string that Maladar didn't bother to try and remember, loomed larger in the cockpit window as the Condors closed. The flight crew were wired into their ship through interface plugs, directly accessing the controls of the ship as well as the data and workings of the machine spirits.

"What is our status?" the Inquisitor asked.

"Still good to make a landing," said the pilot from his recessed acceleration couch. "You'll want to strap yourself back in in four minutes. Hitting atmosphere will be rought.

"Understood," Maladar growled. "Surveyor results on the planet?"

"Still well in the habital range. Pollution emissions, large structures that appear to be cities, no contact on all channels. A lot of land under cultivation, some wasteland as well. Radioactives present in the atmosphere, probable use of atomic weaponry."

"Intensity?"

"Nothing serious, but it tells us the locals do have something stronger than black powder and rifled cannons if they want to make trouble and they are willing to use it on each other."

Maladar grunted. "Good to know. What is your name?"

"Pilot Officer Ransom sir. Gerin Ransom."

"Keep it up," said Maladar. "Will we have enough fuel for in atmosphere flight after we land?"

"Enough for a few trips, but after that . . ."

"Understood," said Maladar.

"Also, sir, this beauty handles like a brick in atmo. She's meant for the void."

"I'll keep that in mind. Try to land us somewhere out of the way. Someplace I can interrogate a few locals and find out what we are dealing with."

"What if they aren't humans?"

"Then we will kill as many of them as we can before we die," said Maladar.

"Better strap in sir. We're about to hit atmo."

The Condors were sturdy craft and survived the fiery cauldron of rentry without harm. The interceptors streaked through the upper atmosphere, angling for a mountain range that was a somewhat distant from several large population centers, the best the pilots could do on this crowded world. They dropped beneath cloud cover and few over rolling hills covered in green grass before beginning a landing approach over a field.

The landing included more than a few bumps and jostles, but was otherwise without incident. Ransom checked the status runes. Mostly green. "We seem to have made it to the ground in one peace. Everyone can unbuckle and move."

Maladar cycled the hatch and extended the steps down. They creaked under the weight to the armoured inquisitor. He touched soft earth and looked around. Snow capped mountains towered nearby and slate grey clouds covered most of the sky. They were on a plain of rolling hills and broad field, mostly covered in grass but dotted with clumps of trees and brushes. Temperature indicators showed it to be warm outside, but with a signifigant windchill.

Maladar stepped around the cooling hull of the Imperial interceptor and moved towards higher ground to get a better look at things. Two members of the flight crew, garbed in their black flight suits, began to check the exterior of their craft for damage and to perform what rites they could. Such was the proper function of their station. Maladar's duties were different.

After several minutes of walking, the huge inquisitor reached a good observation spot. Maladar increased the magnification of his autosenses and scanned the distance. Three kilometers away a heard of small animals was being driven away from the landing site by a pair of bipeds on what looked to be horses. They were wearing heavy clothes, but they were probably humans.

Or they could be Eldar Exodites. Maladar peformed a ritual of peperation on his bolt pistol and then gazed out again. More riders this time, rising over the crest of a hill to meet the herders. Definitely human.

They passed the herders and continued towards the Imperials. They bore banners with the heads of three long muzzled beasts on a red background. Many of them wore gleaming breastplates and carried long barrelled guns of one kind or another. Some carried lances. There were nearly one hundred of them.

Maladar voxed the Condors. "Locals are coming. Return to your vessels and power the turrets."

"As you command," came Ransom's voice. "Are they hostile?" he asked.

"As of yet unknown," responded Maladar. "If they are, we shall send them to the hell of the warp that awaits all unbelievers."

[Vehrec]

Sometimes we want to read about epic intriuge and the fates of worlds.
Sometimes we find we need to read about the scourgin of heritics.

And then there are the times when notthing less than an Exterminatus will do. When you need it blown up, cut to pices, and scattered to the winds, accept no substitutes. Pick Inquisitor Maladar.

[Imperial Overlord]

The horse warriors came closer. With his autosenses Maladar was able to easily make out more details. They were a light skinned people and armed for war. Their rifles seemed to be short barrelled carbines that lacked exterior magazines. They wore plumed helmets and armoured cuirasses of individual design and many wore brillian cloaks or had additional plumage attached to their armour. About half of them wore the spotted or stripped hide of some kind of beast over their clothes, presumabley a predator of some sort. Sabers and pistols were worn as secondary weapons.

Maladar waited patiently as they closed. A dozen riders on either side moved forward from the main group, ready to attack Maladar's flank. The inquisitor did not move, as if he had become a giant obsidian statue ornamented with gold. The riders dropped their pace and finally stopped, some thirty yards away.

One of them called out something in an incomprehensible langauge. The machine spirits in Maladar's armour could not translate it. Maladar raised his hand. "In the name of the God-Emperor of Mankind, I greet you my human brothers."

The leaders of the horse warriors began immediately talking among themselves. This continued for another minute and then one moved forward. He was young, maybe his late teens or early twenties. He had long blonde mustaches and a gilded felinoid on his armour. He pointed at Maladar. "Emperius? Humanitas?"

Maladar thumped the plaston of his power armour with his fist. "Emperius. Humanitus. Maladar." He then pointed at himself and the two Condors. "Emperius. Humanitus." Then he getstured widely, including the horsemen in the group. "Humanitus."

"Humanitus," the horseman agreed, mimicking Maladar's gesture. Then he thumped himself in the chest. "Bodis." However much their language had changed in isolation, clearly whatever they originally spoke had some root words in common with Imperial Gothic. With the aid of the machine spirits of the Condors and his armour, there was a good chance Maladar would be able to rapidly learn the language.

Having established the possibility of friendly relations, now was the time to encourage the idea that Imperials made better friends than enemies. Maladar activated his vox. "Is a turret powered?"

"Yes, Inquisitor."

Maladar picked a tree almost a kilometer away from where he stood and well away from the horse warriors. It was near the top of a hill, making it an excellent focus of a demonstation. He sent the image to the Condors. "Target that tree. Wait for my signal to fire."

"Yes inquisitor."

Maladar pointed at the Condors and then at the tree. "Behold our power!"
he shouted. Eyes followed his gestures. Then he triggered the vox. "Fire."

Eye hurtingly bright beams of scarlett destruction seared the air. The trunk of the tree exploded like a bomb as the water flash vaporized. Chunks of charred and burning wood were sent high into the air. The barbarian warriors were smiling very brightly and whoopped in celebration.

Beneath his helmet, Maladar's eyes narrowed. They wanted that firepower on their side and that meant only one thing: war. Nothing was out of the reach of the architect of victory if he possessed the wit and the will to seize what he desired. And who would be better at that than an Imperial Inquisitor?

--------------------------------------------------------------

Maladar returned to the Condors, the blonde warrior following. "Come out and meet our guest. He's not to be allowed inside, but be respectful otherwise. He's some sort of chieftain's son and he's going to help us learn the language."

The Imperials exited the craft, the flight crew without their helmets on, but the two techpriests kept their robes. "Introduce yourselves in turns. Ransom, you first. I need to speak with you."

"Yes inquisitor," Ransom replied and then introduced himself to Bodis. The pilot exchanged a forarm grip hand clasp gesture with the barbarian and then moved to join the inquisitor. "How may I be of service?"

"Suppy situation?"

"We have emergency ration packs in each ship. Flareguns, vox units, water purification kits, lights, tools, powerpacks. Six laspistols, a lasgun, and chain blade cutting tool that would make a nasty weapon. Solar recharger for the equipment as well the birds' batteries. We can stretch it out for a while, but we have bare bones survival gear."

"The locals may have resources and facilities that we can adapt to our own purposes," Maladar said. "Bodis may be a horse warrior, but he is a horse warrior armed with slug throwers and someone on this world has atomic power. I doubt that the breastplate is typical Feudal World steel either."

"Sir?"

"I came from one of those worlds. Plate armour isn't much use against good slug throwers. They were all wearing it. Either their enemies have worse weapons, or the steel provides good enough protection to be worth the weight and expense. And that means good steel."

Maladar shrugged. "It doesn't matter. We will found out the truth soon enough. The atomics matter far more than the steel."

[Ford Prefect]

I think this is going to be real interesting; what with meeting a group of 'barbarians'.

[Jadetear]

I like it! Well written... Keep it going. Please

[Imperial Overlord]

Bodis stayed with the Imperials, helping them learn the language. Every day women of his tribe, the Mazenjar, came by, riding on horses and guiding their herds. Bodis explained that women saw to the herds during times of war. They wore riding boots, heavy trousers, and thick jackets over colourful blouses and scarves. Rifles hung on their scabbards.

The women smiled and delivered sacks of food and wine every day, providing a strong incentive for some of the Imperials to learn the language. Bodis explained that raiders and bandits were always a threat and that the women learned to shoot as girls alongside the boys. Maladar nodded in understanding.

Bodis demonstrated his weapons when asked. His pistols were both six shot revolvers that were reasonably accurate at close range and not at all accurate beyond that. His rifle was a single shot weapon that carried six rounds inside and was accurate to up to half a kilometer.

Bodis was in turn very impressed by demonstrations of the Imperial lasweapons with their hard hitting punch, accuracy, capacity, and range. They spared with swords, Bodis proving the better of all but Maladar and Ransom. The horse warrior could beat Ransom about a third of the time, but the inquisitor always won.

After a little more than a month the women brough gifts as well as food when they showed up. Boots, wool trousers, a heavily embroidered tunic, and a fur lined black cloak suitable for a very large man. Cili, a leggy blonde with her hair bound in a long braid, smiled as she handed the bag to Maladar. "Our Voivode Zoltan wishes you to join him for a dinner."

"Thank you," Maladar said. The woman was smiling because the inquisitor was wearing his helmet and not exposing her to the horror of his face. "I will accept, of course."

"An escort and horses will be sent." And so they were. A dozen warriors on horseback with a huge horse for Maladar. They extended their hands in greating. Maladar returned the gesture in kind and clumsily mounted the steed.

The camp was about an hour away, having relocated to be closer to the Imperials. A small city worth of yurts were set out, each sporting colourful banners from poles by their entrances or from their tops. The tribal symbol of three panthlion heads could be seen on most banners.

They lead him to the central yurt, larger than the rest. A dozen men, mostly middle aged were sitting crosslegged on cushions around a low table. An equal number of women were serving food and drink. Most flinched upon seeing Maladar.

The inquisitor was not a pretty sight. The skin of his blad skull was ragged and curved in burn scars, parts of it held together with gold sutures. Beneath the ravaged flesh, the giant's eyes showed his fierce determination and his will to conquer and destroy. Subtlety was not a skill Maladar normally employed, but he would need it more than ever. Kyra Neven and Jolan Gix could do this a dozen times better than he could, but neither of them was here. He would have to suffice, have to win these men over on his own and that would only be the beginning.

Maladar sat at the place offered to him, opposite the chief. "Please be welcome, Inquisitor Maladar of the Imperium of Man," said the voivode.

Maladar smiled, a disconcerting expression. The chieftain had obviously practiced that. "Thank you Voivode Zoltan of hte Mazenjar. Your courtesy and honour are justly praised." The bearded nomad beemed. The woman sat down next to the men, obviously the wives and daughters of the prominent men in the tribe.

"The sky folk are welcome in our lands, but the time of peace is ending," said Zoltan. 'It is the duty of all men to fight to defend their lands, allies, and at the command of their liege lord."

"Such is true," responded Maladar.

"Our master, the Autarch Karnes will soon call us to his side. The Autarchs of the Northern Dominion are hard men, but most have been fair and honourable men. Such may not be said of the Overkings of Shazu, tyrants and monsters and the current Overking, Teryaku, is the worst of the lot. He wishes the whole world to be reduced to slaves beneath his feet."

"You wish me to aid you in your war."

"Yes. The Overking has many powerful weapons of war, but none of his flyers are as great as yours."

"I see. I will be pleased to aid your people and serve the autarch if it does not contradict my duties to the Emperor."

The nomads nodded. A man must preserve his honour. Or at least the appearance of it. Zoltan paused. "There is a matter which we would value your council."

"Of course," Maladar responded. This is a test, he thought. They wanted to know if he could deliver. Fair enough.

"The Siskani have long been an enemy of ours and now they maybe bending their knee to the Overking."

"So you and the autarch wish that they were made an example of, or at least brought to heel."

"Yes."

"Then I will go with some of your men and scout their domain so I may know the foe."

Zoltan nodded. "Thank you my friend."

Maladar smiled back. "You are welcome."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Several hours latter the feast had finally ended.

"My husband," began Ilona, Zoltan's senior wife. It was the custom of the Mazenjar that the wisest of the women would advise the men in council and it was one of the things that had kept them strong and prosperous. "He knows it is a test."

A grey haired warrior by the name of Tarcal nodded. "He is no fool. We shall see if we bring a useful knight or a great lord before the autarch."

"And if we bring a great lord?" asked Cili. "We should takes steps to bind him and his fortunes to us."

"If he is a great lord," Zoltan agreed.

[Ford Prefect]

'Useful knight'. Hah, I can just imagine Maladar strolling through gunfire unopposed, then picking up a horse, just because he can.

[Vehrec]

I always find myself looking for parallels to earth. What I see here is that maladar has landed in 'Mongolia' in the midst of a brewing war between 'Russia' and 'China.' Hence, the lower tech level that surrounds him.

[Imperial Overlord]

"Here," said Bodis, "take a closer look." He handed the binoculars to Maladar. The two men were on horseback, overlooking a rolling plain. Maladar took the field glasses and focued on one of the towers.

Under magnification many details became clear. It was a thick cylindar of concrete nearly fifty meters high. A metal torret set with a long barrelled gun topped the tower. Lower down were two rings of cannon. There was a tower about every kilometer.

"Rifled cannon?" Maladar asked. Military words had been quickly added to his vocabulary over the last month and a half.

"Yes," Bodis replied. "Heavy machine guns as well. The concrete is hardened and reinforced."

"And you have to pass through this gap to get to the Siskani."

"Yes. Beyond the citadels lies their fields and their city. The big guns on the towers outrange most field pieces. If you wish to fight the Siskani, they will meet you here in battle."

"What is there army like."

"Like that of most. They have calvary to scout and attack the flanks, with heavy infantry making up the core of the army. Battlewagons, field pieces, and rocket launchers for support."

"How is the heavy infantry equipped?"

"They are giants, like you. Some who are from ordinary men, but large, others from warrior blood." Probably with altered gene-runes, like his ancestors. "They wear heavy armour that covers most of their body. The armour has techmagic which gives its wearer bursts of great strength. They fight using rocket rifles, which often fail against their armour, until they close. Then they use great hammers, maces, and axes in close quarters."

"The armour is pretty tough then."

"Yes. Our bullets won't penetrate, but not all the body is covered."

"How many men do the Siskani have?"

"A few thousand cavalry, fifty thousand heavy infantry, perhaps a hundred battlewagons. More men to man the citadels and the walls. Maybe one hundred thousand fighting men, more for support. A small army."

"Small?" said Maladar.

"Small. The legions of the overking are said to number almost a billion men."

"A billion man army," Maladar whispered.

"Yes. He even has squadrons of fliers. And hellfire."

"Atomics."

"Yes, that is the old world. He is finishing his southern campains. Soon his eyes will turn to us."

Maybe I landed in the wrong place, though Maladar, but there isn't much I can do about it know.

"The Siskani, who is their ruler?"

"Battlemaster Castrin."

"Where can he be found?"

"In his palace, in the city. He wears the gold insignia of his rank. You intend to assassinate him."

"It seems the easiest way."

"His palace is a fortress."

"So you have said. Does he have witches?"

"No, those with such powers are burned by the Siskani."

"Then he does not have long to live," said Maladar.

[Singular Quartet]

No pskyers? No problem.

[Ford Prefect]

Maladar is so sure of himself; he's from the Tyrus school of 'yeah, I know what's going to go down here, because I'm going to make it go down like that'. Plus he's a big guy wearing a suit of power armour.

And psuedo-Space Marines!

[Imperial Overlord]

"He said what?" Zoltan asked. The voivode was standing at the entrance of his yurt.

"He said he would kill the battlemaster."

"That's what he said? No strategium to destory the border citadels, no way of harassing their men? That he would kill the battlemaster?"

"Yes uncle."

"Then he is either mad or mighty. You know him best."

"The Emperor-men command mighty arcane workings. Even the least of them knows great secrets and is learned in occult crafts. All of them regard him with awe. I think he will conquer."

-----------------------------------------------------------------

As the Mazenjar spoke among themselves, Maladar walked into the lands of the Siskani. The symbol of the Inquisition had been removed from his armour and instead the the crossed axe of the Siskani had been added to his breastplate.

A patrol of outriders neared him, a dozen men in all. Their gear was similar to that of the Mazenjar but of lower quality and less flamboyant, with the exception of a man with a crimson plume on his helmet. Maladar reached out and he clouded the leader's mind.

"You can pass," said the leader, Maladar's words tumbling from his lips. He turned his horse and went back the way he came, his men trailing in his wake.

Maladar walked into the overlapping fire lanes of the border citadels without fear. He passed under their terrible shadow and saw the snouts of their cannons and crude stubbers that promised death to any army that attacks. He saw the iron doors in the rear of the towers, position under murder holes as he passed by.

Before him stretched kilometer after kilometer of carefully laid out fields and irrigation ditches. An army of men, women, and children worked the fields. To the side, near the mountain slopes where the land was poorer, herd animals grazed. In the distance was Siskani.

The city was enormous, built up in tiers on the side of a mountain. Its sprawl filled dozens of square kilometers. Smoke rose to the sky from a thousand smoke stacks. Defensive towers and the halls of the Battlemaster's citadel rose to the sky.

Maladar walked past the endless fields. The sun fell in the sky as he walked and then dusk gave away to night. A thousand lights could be seen on the walls and in the upper city. Maladar's autosenses revealed the full extent of the Siskani's fortifications, from the rank upon rank of dragon mouthed cannons to the fire sprayers and roof mounted rocket batteries. Thousands of men manned the wall. And they were all useless.

Maladar walked through, bending the mind of the commander of the score of guards stationed by the gate. They were men almost as large as Maladar, armoured in in steel and ceramite plate that covered their chests, shoulder, forearms, and lower legs. They wore a padded suit of heavy leathers underneath and a backpack that connected to the rebreathers on the fron of their helmets and the power cables that ran beneath their cuirasses and vambraces.

The leader carried a bulky chainsword of presumably local manufacture. The others carried fearsome maces and axes forged from hard and dense alloys that would be fearsome weapons in the hands of men as powerful as these even without their augmented strength. Half were armed with what only could be some kind of bolter, big bore rifles fed from curved magazines. All that fearsome killing power useless as they stood by and let Maladar pass.

He walked through the sprawling metropolis, a city not much less than a hive. He passed the teaming mass of workers and labourers as he walked by the kilometer long factory complexes belching black smoke into the sky. His gaze flickered over fossil fuel powered power plants and barrack like tenements as he rose up into the city. Men with heavy truncheons guarded the houses of the more prosperous and the great greenhouses which supplemented the fields and roof gardens in feeding the city. He looked back at the mighty wall and its defenders, analyzing the placements of its defences and guard towers. He paused to rest for a moment and then carried on.

It was dawn by the time he neared the battlemaster's palace, a great blocky structure that was barren on adornment. He was passed through the outer wall the same way he had done earlier, fogging the minds of lesser men. He walked through the wall and up the stairs where two score warriors stood guard with gold washed armour. None gainsaid him.

The interior of the Battlemaster's palace was stark white, accented with red carpets and banners and gold leaf. The crossed axe motif was repeated emblazoned everywhere. Maladar walked down its long, cold halls, heading towards the flickering of minds disturbing the warp.

He found several servants cleaning up a large bloodstain off the floor. The cowered before him. He rifled through a woman's mind, finding the location of one close to the battlemaster. She collapsed, twitching. The other servants gasped. Maladar turned around and walked away. He headed up a set of carpeted stairs and down a hall, stopping at a door.

He turned the handle. Locked. He burned through the lock with a blast from one of his digital lasers and stepped through. Two servants in red and gold livery were waiting on a six men gathered around the a table. They wore heavy overcoats and robes of gold shot silk and velvet. Thick gold chains and medallions of office dangled against their chests and heavy rings were worn on their hands. "Who are you?" a grey bearded man barked. Just the man Maladar wanted.

Even thought the Siskani burned witches, there would be some sensitives in the palace. It was best to use no more psychic power than necessary. Maladar spread his hands and triggered his digital lasers. The two servants fell, holes burnt into their chests. A psychic hammer blow from Maladar's mind stunned the grey bearded man, the man who matched the image from the servant girl's mind. Deep red laser beams struck the rest in the neck, face, and upper chest.

It was all over and seconds. Seven men were dead or dying, the eight lolling in his chair. Maladar brutally ripped open his mind. No need to worry if the subject understood what was happening. Maladar wasn't going to leave him alive. He found what he needed.

The chamberlain collapsed on the table, blood running from his noes and ears. Maladar reached over and snapped his neck. He then exited the room and headed back to the stairs. He resumed climbing.

A small eternity latter he reached the floor he wanted. He stalked passed the lines of men in gold washed armour that stood at attention in each alcove. Maladar passed them without a word. At the end of the hall a pair of warriors stood guard over a pair of elaborate double doors worked with the images of axe wielding warriors fighting dragons. The warriors were armed with chain glaives.

He clouded their minds. "I can pass," he ordered.

"Yes," said one and they opened the doors for him. Maladar walked into the battlemaster's dining room. Four warriors stood guard, one in each corner. A dozen servants hurried about attending to the only people in the room, a man, two women, and three children at the far end of the room. Behind them he could see a set of glass double doors and a balcony. The woman wore plain gowns of silk and the children were dressed in simple gowns and the boy in dark green tunic and pants. The man wore a similar clothes, but half covered with decorations of scarlet and gold.

"Who are you?" the battlemaster ordered. He was nearly two meter tall and clean shaven, with dark hair going to grey at the temples. He was broad shouldered and seemed to be in good shape.

Maladar stepped forward. "I am Maladar," he replied. "Inquisitor of the Imperium of Man, servant of the God-Emperor of the Mankind."

"I have heard of no such petty chieftain," said the battlemaster. "How did you get in here?" The guards were advancing now.

"To insult the Master of Mankind is heresy and the penalty for heresy is death," intoned Maladar. "Surrender yourself to him now and you and your family will be spared and granted dominion in his holy name. You will also be absolved of your ignorant blasphemy."

"You are mad."

"If I am mad, how did I pass all your guards?" said Maladar.

There was a flicker of doubt, and fear, on the battlemaster's face. "Kill him!" he shouted.

Maladar shot the closet in the face with a digital laser, burning through his skull and boiling his brain. The faceless man fell. The others came on. Long claws extended from grooves in Maladar's armour and power fields activated.

He parried the first chainglaive at the haft, cutting the weapon in two. His other claw stabbed the warrior in the heart. Blood gushed from the wound. The other two were coming around as the servants attempted to scatter. Maladar shot one in the exposed upper arm, causing him to drop his weapon. The other came on. Malader's lightning claws tore apart the blade of the chainglaive and then opened the warrior's throat to the spine.

The double doors had swun open now and more warriors were pushing in. Maladar unleashed a fusillade of fire from all four digital lasers against the battlemaster and his family. He struck both girls in the chest and the boy in the face. The blonde woman was struck in the neck by a ruby beam, the brunette twice in the chest. The battlemaster was struck twice in the chest. The slaughter had taken but two seconds. Maladar wheeled to face the column of warriors.

Lightning crackled around his fingers and bolts leaped to strike the head to the column. Men screamed and dropped their weapons, their flesh blackening and their skin shriveling and burning. Maladar drew forth more power and sent additional arcs lashing down the column. The sweetly sick stentch of burnt flesh filled the air as the last man fell.

Maladar turned back to the battlemaster. He was coughing, bloody froth oozing out of his mouth. He had been blasted in the lungs by Maladar's lasers. The inquisitor raised his foot and smashed down. Blood and brain splattered the carpet. Behind him came the sound of more men running to the scene. Heavy men in full armour.

This is where things became complicated. He checked his bolt pistol. Jolan Gix's plans tended to not leave these kinds of problems hanging around at the end. Too bad he wasn't here to give advice. Maladar shrugged his massive shoulders. He had yet to find be a problem that would not eventually yield to his will.

[Ford Prefect]

A well executed slaughter. Just what I expect.

[LadyTevar]

Well-executed, indeed... and a very bad pun, Ford.

It's the getting out that Maladar forgot to plan for.

[Ford Prefect]

Well-executed, indeed... and a very bad pun, Ford.

Mwahahahah!

It's the getting out that Maladar forgot to plan for.

Everything yields against the proper application of brute force!

[Singular Quartet]

Violence can solve all problems. It's just a matter of using enough.

[Imperial Overlord]

Maladar walked to the double doors, opened them, and stepped out onto the balcony and looked below. It was thirty meters to the courtyard, give or take. Maladar tore open the railing and walked into the air. His telekinetic powers transformed what would have been a plummet to a graceful glide that took him over to the very gates of the citadel. The gate guards opened up with their rifles, sending rockets into the air past Maladar or bouncing off his armour.

His digital lasers flashed as he shot them in the face and neck, slaying them. More shots came from the stairs, impacting on his armour but failing to penetrate. Maladar turned and sent a wave of terror through the warp, touching the minds of the guards on the steps and unmanning men. The turned and fled, overwhelmed by fear. Maladar sent another wave of terror coursing over the palace wall, driving the defenders to flee.

The black armoured warrior walked the streets unopposed and why not? Only those in the palace new that the battlemaster had been slain. No one else new that the warrior in the magnificent armour was the killer and a hunted. All who saw him only saw his obvious status and moved out of his way.

His time was limited. Soon the whole city and the domain would be hunting him and even his strength had limits. But he was a student of Kyran Neven and a colleague of Jolan Gix and the ways of subtlety and cunning were not strange to him, even if they were not his prefered paths.

He hurried through the streets, his armour lending strength to his muscles and increasing his pace. All he needed to do was reach the lower quarters ahead of the notice reaching the warriors patrolling the streets. He had a chance, but he couldn't use his psychic gifts to obviously.

He ran through the streets, pushing himself to the limits of his strength and endurance. He was like a charging bull through the Siskani streets and they made way for him. He passed from the upper tiers to the lower.

Panting he reached out with his mind, sifting through the surface thoughts of those nearby, looking for what he needed. He found it. Exhausted he staggered through the streets. Only a little more.

His time round out. They must have had some sort of vox or transmitter system connecting parts of the city for a band of warriors were coming toward him. He needed his strength for one last great feat. He had none to spare on the five men who were charging towards him.

He raised his bolt pistol and fired. The first shot failed to penetrate a warrior's breastplate, but the second did. He methodically shot the next warrior in the face, and the first shot was good enough to blow through the third's armour and destroy his heart. Then the survivors were upon him.

A spray of digital lasers struck the fourth about the neck and upper torso. Blood geysered from warrior's neck and he fell. The fifth smashed the bolt pistol out of Maladar's hands with a blow from his mace and then knocked Maladar down with a blow to the shin.

The warrior raised his mace for a great two handed blow. Maladar triggered a burst from a digital flamer into the warrior's face. He fell, head ablaze. Maladar retrieved his bolt pistol and rose. He was not inclined to mercifully finish off the dying. He limped forward, the warrior's blow having had enough force to bruise Maladar through his armour.

He reached out with his power, clouding the minds of all nearby. One last, great effort. He swayed, but he did not fail. He never failed. He staggered into the building. There was a row upon row of carts. He smiled and almost passed out.

He closed the door behind him. No one outside would remember him coming in here, but there would soon be search parties. He began to strip off his armour and pile into a cart. Laboriously, piece by piece, he removed his harness until he stood naked and unarmed. He covered the armour with a tarp and closed his eyes.

Strength slowly returned to his body. He reached out again psychicly and a woman brought him a set of her husbands clothes. He fogged her mind and sent her away. Her husband was a big man and the clothes barely fit. Simple sandals, trousers and a hooded tunic. Enough.

Maladar waited and grew stronger. More warriors came. Maladar fogged the minds of those searching the building so they ignored his cut. He grovelled like a peasant and they ignored him. Fools.

He waited through the day and towards sunset when the carts that had delivered the food tithe went back into the villages. He joined their line and again convinced the guards to pass him without inspection. He followed the road towards the far farms.

It was well into the night when he neared the end of the farmland. Twice roving patrols had stopped him and if it was not for his mastery of biomancy his hunger would be great. His body still needed fueling, but that wasn't too far off. He redoned his armour and walked through the night.

In the darkness he was invisible to men who lacked the wonderous technosorcery provided by the Mechanicus. He passed under their noses and the border citadels were only specs on the horizon by the dawn came. He was not yet beyond their reach, but soon he would be. He had won.

His victory was not over the Siskani, although it did involve the death of their battlemaster. Let them know fear, they did not matter. His victory here would take him to the court of the autarch not as a supplicant but as victorious commander with unmatched weapons at his disposal. From there he could truly begin his campaign to bring this world into the Imperium of Man.

[Ford Prefect]

he's so ambitious, and can be quite resourceful when he needs to be.

[Imperial Overlord]

he's so ambitious, and can be quite resourceful when he needs to be.

He's quite intelligent, just predisposed to using brute strength and striking directly and that works well for him. He's immensely physically and psychicly powerful and he usually the resources an inquisitor can call upon. Now that he no longer has the luxury of relying on brute force, he must draw upon other resources to accomplish his goals.

[Imperial Overlord]

"There it is," said Zoltan. The voivode was at the head of two score horsemen at the crest of a hill. "Carasto, seat of the autarch, capital of the Northern Dominion." Maladar urged his horse forward for a better look.

Carasto was huge, even larger than the city of the Siskani. A long wall encircled the city, but the city was not a grim fortress-foundry like that of the Siskani but full of gleaming white buildings. Smoke billowed from a few smoke stacks, but the sky was mostly clear.

"Pretty," said Maladar, "but not much in the way of defences."

"This is the heart of the Northern Dominion. If an invader reaches this far all is already lost," said Zoltan. He urged his horse down the hill, towards the city.

"Why hasn't the overking attacked yet. His armies are greater, are they not?"

"Yes, and he possesses great and terrible weapons. But the nations of the Bezinder mountains between us are well fortified and protected by difficult terrain. They are also poor and no great prize. So instead the Shazu's eyes have turned east, to the great riches beyond the sea. The overking's warlords have enjoyed great success, or so it is said, and they have sent back regiments of janissaries and mighty tribute to their master."

"So war is coming," said Maladar.

"It is likely. Once his armies have finished subjugating the lands of the east, the overking's eyes will shift northward."

"And both the Shazu and the Northern Dominion make war in the same manner as the Siskani?"

"Yes, although it is said the easterners do not."

Maladar nodded. "Then there is much I can do to bring victory to the autarch."

The riders crossed the fields in front of the city. Unlike the Siskani, the farm land did not directly adjacent to the city. Maladar swept his hand across to indicate the field. "This is used as a mustering field?"

"When the autarch marches to war," Zoltan replied. They neared the yawning gates of Carasto, which were flanked by two battle wagons. The armoured vehicles were five meters tall and ten meters long, possessing four heavy wheels on each side and a stubby cannon in the front. Smaller guns with bullets shields studded the sides and tops of the battle wagons. Men were half out of the hatches, manning the weapons but clearly bored.

A warrior in the now familiar powered plate stepped away from his fellows by the gateway. Like the others he wore the lightning bolt insignia of the autarch's men. "Warriors of the Mazenjar," he said loudly, "I great you in the name of our ruler, the great and benevolent Autarch Karnes, may his wisdom never fade."

"Warrior," said Zoltan, "as voivode of the Mazenjar I great you as fellow servant of our glorious autarch, long may he reign."

"It is the will the autarch that you and your guest proceed directly to his palace. He wishes to meet this 'Emperor's man'."

"As the autarch commands," replied Zoltan. He turned to Maladar. "You appear to have impressed the autarch."

"Good," Maladar replied. The passed through the gates and into the city. Unlike the Siskani the streets were lively with men, women, and children, moving to and fro. Many of the women wore brightly coloured scarves or blouses.

"This place does not look like it is ready for war," said Maladar.

"The war machine of the Northern Dominion requires support, from farmers to herdsmen to factory workers," replied Zoltan. "Some of those men produce guns and armour in the factories. Do not be fooled because the sky is not black with soot."

Maladar nodded and the group continued on into the city. The autarch's palace spread across the top of a broad hill, surrounding by other monolithic structures of government. Statues of heroes and lightning wielding eagles lined the way and stood on roof tops. Armoured warriors stood sentry or walked in patrols.

Maladar turned to the robed man riding next to him. "Your opinions tech adept?"

Tech Priest Senistan Draglos turned towards the inquisitor. Much of the tech priest's body was still flesh, a consequence of his junior status. Mechadendrites were hidden by his hood and the internal replacements were of course not visible. Implant sockets dotted his wrists, forehead, and shoulders. "My lord inquisitor, I can see numerous areas where improvement can be made. The cannons for one and those battle wagons are crude. With the secrets of Mars . . . . but they are the secrets of Mars."

"That will be resolved in time. In a matter that profits the Mechanicus." Maladar's tone brooked no argument.

"As you say inquisitor."

[Ford Prefect]

It's a real teaser this one; I want to see what Maladar does!