Thomas Gown and his companions have escaped from captivity, but only by fleeing deeper into the unknown, to face new dangers. They are carrying a secret that could save the world, though, and they have a duty to take it to those who can make use of...
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Krassban arrived back in Arnor six hours later, having teleported to the edge of the Shadow and flown the rest of the way with the Wings of Achollus.
Arriving at the Imperial Palace, he collapsed them back to their storage size and tucked them into one of his storage pouches, not wanting to be encumbered with them. Then he marched in through the west gate, knowing that Algol would already be aware of everything that had happened and would be waiting for him. Had he been alive, his palms would have been sweaty and his heart pounding, but being an undead rak the only outward sign of his nervousness was a slight dimming of the fiery points of light that served him as eyes.
“I am a loyal servant of the Shadowlord,” he told himself as he strode nervously down the vast corridor, as large as a small cathedral. “He will be merciful to me.” He repeated it over and over, trying to make himself believe it.
He arrived at the throne room sooner than he would have believed possible, and the doors opened for him to walk straight in. Inside, Algol was sitting on the Imperial throne, partly concealed by the ghostly images of all the Emperors that had ruled from here, all merged together to form the Sum of all Emperors which screamed its anguish to the whole world as if it were a true ghost, aware of the horror that had befallen its once mighty Empire. Behind him, the Circle of Raks was standing. Eleven of the most powerful beings in the world including Malefactos, the new arrival, restored to his normal form.
Krassban knew what to do, having seen other raks in the same position, and walked straight up to the throne to kneel before it. “My Lord,” he began in the dry, rattling voice that was characteristic of all young raks. “I regret that I have to report the complete destruction of the Ilandian Shadowarmy.”
He waited fearfully for the demon rak to respond. Algol simply stared back at him, though, his gaze cold and unforgiving, and Krassban found himself babbling on, unable to bear the terrible silence. “An army of Skorvos fell on us, destroying our encampment with an unholy earthquake and cutting us off from our Zombie army. We fought back, but just when we were winning the Beltharans came out of the city to join the battle. Priests of Samnos and Skorvos fought together against us, and together they destroyed us.”
Algol remained silent. The silence dragged on as the other raks watched with mild interest, wondering what fate their master had in store for their unfortunate comrade. Krassban forced himself to wait, but Algol simply continued to stare at him until the younger rak could stand it no longer.
“My Lord, please!” he begged. “It was not my fault! No-one could have foreseen it!”
Finally Algol spoke, and his voice was as cold as the touch of the raks standing around them. “Another failure, Krassban? Thy record hath not been good in recent years.”
“It wasn’t my fault!” begged the younger rak. “Surely you can see...”
“Firstly the Sceptre of Samnos,” interrupted the demon rak. “Thou wast charged with the minor duty of stopping a group of youngsters from finding and bringing forth the Sceptre of Samnos. Ye sent a hundred of thy best men, including a wizard. A hundred Shadowsoldiers to stop six children, and they failed. The Sceptre was recovered and delivered safely to the Theocracy of Samnia.”
