The Caverns of Kronos

Mission Report

     Malefactos lost no time in heading for Lexandria University, speeding across the Great Lake, across deserts, mountains and vast areas of flat grassland as fast as his Robes of Flying could carry him. He flew in full daylight for most of the way, ignoring the burning in his rak eyes that the yellow sun caused him, and he was seen by many people as a fast moving speck of darkness high up in the sky. Others didn’t see him, but felt a momentary chill running up their spines as he passed, as though someone had stepped on their graves. They stopped whatever they were doing, a look of puzzlement and vague unease passing across their faces, and shuddered for no reason they could identify before shrugging dismissively and forgetting all about it.

     He arrived in Lexandria Valley just after sunset, opening a temporary gateway for himself in the valley’s protective dome of magical force with a single word and a contemptuous flick of his fingers. He spared just one brief glance at his old castle, looming dark and forbidding on top of the ridge that had been named after him, before activating his Robes of Flying again and swooping like a monstrous bat towards the senior wizards’ living quarters.

     Tragius had just settled into his favourite armchair with one of his spellbooks and a steaming mug of Lydian tea when the small window and half the wall exploded inwards and the rak landed in front of him, the tiny, burning points of light that served him as eyes blazing fiercely. “Malefactos!” exclaimed the wizard, jumping to his feet and sending mug and book flying. “You’re back!”

     “Perceptive as always,” replied the rak acidly. “I have completed the mission upon which you sent me and now I want my ark back.”

     “First tell me what you found out,” demanded the wizard. “Did you see Arnor? Did you find out what’s happening in there?”

     “Oh yes,” replied Malefactos, his skull-like, mummified head stretching into a cruel grin. “Oh yes. I would presume to say that I have learned all of their most important secrets.”

     “Then tell me!” demanded Tragius eagerly. “Tell me all of it!”

     Malefactos did so, telling it all in sequential order, starting with his arrival in the outlying town where he’d met the ghost Sharmos Attwin and going on from there. He told the wizard everything he’d seen. The hundreds of thousands of living Shadowsoldiers being kept in reserve, waiting for the Sceptre of Samnos to use the last of its three charges. The millions of zombies and other undead who would accompany them. The weapons and war machines being  and the hideous transformations the old Agglemonian cities had undergone in the hands of their new masters. He described it all in soul destroying detail, relishing every word as he saw the effect it was having on the old wizard.

     Tragius’s eyes were wide with horror, and he seemed to bend under the weight of the terrible news. Years seemed to settle on him like snow on an old, weather-beaten tree, and the spritely, wise old man who’d still had years of active life left in him despite his age came to resemble more and more a frail, doddering wreck, fit only to spend the rest of his life dribbling and mumbling incoherently as nurses fed him and cleaned him up. After just a few minutes he was teetering on the edge of madness.

     The effect was everything the rak could have wished for, and he gloated inwardly as he continued speaking, savouring his revenge for having been blackmailed into the spying mission. Unfortunately, though, his oath, sworn in the name of the Gods Themselves, meant that he had to tell him everything, including what had happened at the palace itself. After one last lingering pause during which he stared at the wizard, therefore, savouring his distress one last time, he told the rest.

     It took Tragius a moment or two to realise that the tone of the rak’s report had changed, but then he looked up, a new glimmer of life in his tired, bloodshot eyes. Malefactos was amazed at how quickly the transformation reversed itself, the wizard standing straight again as new life and vigour entered his ancient limbs. The years fell away, and by the time the rak had finished speaking it was the old Tragius standing there once more, grim and determined. The news of the terrible strength of the Shadowarmies still terrified him, but now he had something to counter the fear. Now he had hope.