The Caverns of Kronos

The Moon Trogs - Part 8

     The moon trogs cheered up considerably, however, when they heard about Grand Central, and the fact that the old Agglemonian teleportation network was lost and buried underground, and when Thomas told them that the key to the teleportation chamber was lost, possibly destroyed, and that without it they could never go home, the relief felt by the moon trogs was so great that it was gushing from them in waves, although they were polite enough to express their sympathies and say how sorry they were for them.

     “Does the loss of the key mean that, as well as you being stranded up here, no-one else on Tharia can follow you up here?” asked one of the moon trogs, the Manir of the Dellseam clan.

     “That’s right,” agreed Thomas emphatically. “That’s why the Agglemonians locked the door in the first place, to stop anyone from following them up here. When we came up, the locking spell had weakened, allowing us to open it without any effort, but in so doing we ‘jarred it loose’ so to speak, restoring it to full power. A powerful wizard could probably unlock it easily enough, but a wizard that powerful could probably teleport up here under his own power anyway. Certainly no-one else will be able to use the chamber to go in either direction until the locking spell weakens again.”

     “And how long will that take?” asked the moon trog.

     Thomas shrugged. “It took three hundred years the first time. It won’t take that long this time, because most of the locking spell’s magic has dissipated, faded away, but we’re definitely talking about years here. Possibly decades.

     “Unless someone finds the key,” said another moon trog. He was a younger looking individual bearing the emblem of a wolf’s head with glowing red eyes, one that none of the Tharians had ever seen or heard of before. He stared at them suspiciously, as if he knew exactly what they were up to.
“That’s right,” said Thomas, resisting the impulse to say more than that. The wrong word now could be disastrous.

     Shaun then took over the narrative and told of their time in the human city. Their exploration of the dead central region and their subsequent capture by the Konnens. He dwelled heavily on his and Matthew’s misery in the Konnen dungeons while the others were forced to fight for them against the Traldians, wanting to emphasise as strongly as possible that they were the enemies of the Konnens, that they would never assist or co-operate with them in any way.

     Jerry then took over, describing the human city and its inhabitants in detail; their misery at being forced to fight people who hadn’t been their enemies (although they were now, undoubtedly), and how they’d finally managed to escape.

     “That was when we discovered that you were in much more immediate danger than that presented by the teleportation chamber,” he said.

     “What do you mean?” asked Abar-Dhan, leaning forward apprehensively.

     “We didn’t know how long we’d be wandering around in the caverns before finding safety,” explained the tiny nome, “so we decided to steal some food from their kitchens. We discovered they’d been making a large quantity of this.” He produced a packet of Konnen trail rations from a pocket and held it up for them to see.”

     “What is it?” asked the High Manir.

     “A concentrated foodstuff,” explained Jerry. “Small and light enough that a man can carry several weeks worth of food around on his person, containing everything he needs to survive.” He grinned to himself. “Except water.” He grew serious again. “We’ve only been able to think of one reason why they would need such a concentrated form of food as this. As soon as the Konnens have conquered the Traldians and united the city, they intend to march on you.”