A burst of blue light welled up in the room without warning. Anyone else would probably have been startled, but Dorn knew who it was, so he merely rose quickly from his chair, his composure unruffled.
His desktop was piled high with battle reports. Some were recent, while others clearly came from the past. The rolls of parchment were far too easy to pick out among the white sheets of paper, not to mention the wax seals on them. Some reports he had already read had been placed on a simple bookshelf behind him.
It was clear that during the days they had been moored at Ultramar, he had not been resting.
"Hello, Dorn." The Mage greeted him first, his manner natural, his expression open, even a little casual.
But Dorn certainly did not think he had come to chat for no reason. The Mage had never done such a thing with anyone, and even if he did, Dorn would not have been the one. In truth, he very much hoped the Mage had come to him with a duty.
Just as he was thinking this, the Mage winked at him.
"You—" His brow knitted tightly, then eased again. "—I understand. What happened?"
"Nurgle is invading."
The Mage's answer was brief and to the point. His very first words made the creases between Rogal Dorn's brows appear again. After a moment of silence, Dorn asked, "What do you need the Imperial Fists to do?"
"You really are... Forget it. I only want you to wait for the right moment to act."
The Mage shook his head and replied, "Through the Astral Beacon, I saw disease, plague, and death."
Dorn asked again, cautious and calm, "Do you know how many Demons there are?"
The Mage shook his head again. "The Warp