At the same time that Robert Drake was staggering back to his chambers, still trying to make himself believe what had just happened, twenty of the world's most powerful wizards were standing around a grave into which a coffin of solid lead was being gently lowered by levitation spells. An elderly priest of Tizar, Lexandria University's head of Theology, performed the funeral service, in which Malefactos, the universally acclaimed genius whose brilliance in all fields of magic had shaken the world in his youth, was finally laid to rest in a manner which would ensure his continued safety from the many supernatural enemies he had made in life.

     And what a send off he was getting! The wizards standing around the grave, paying their last respects to the man they had respected and feared for the best part of their lives, had enough power between them to conquer and control virtually any nation in the world, if they could spare the time from their neverending researches into new and ever more advanced forms of magic. Tragius Demonbinder, Lexandria's head of conjuration, was there, as was Rogin Rastellin, head of the fifth year in that part of the University that dealt with the education of apprentices. Elmias Pastin, head of extra-planar studies, stood at the head of the grave, between Archon Molleos, caretaker of artifacts and relics, and the shae Darien Timberlane, the chief historian. Almost every major post in the University was represented, a tribute to the awe and reverence with which Malefactos had been held. Not since the fall of the Agglemonian Empire and the death of the legendary Gilnor of Glitterwood had there been such a turn out, and it would probably be another few centuries before there was again.

     What an honour, thought Malefactos bitterly, watching from a window in his castle, perched high on a mountain overlooking the valley. And how many of them came to see me while they thought I was alive? When did they ever come to do me honour, to do homage to my vast store of knowledge and wisdom, to celebrate my accomplishments? Well, to Hell with them! I've finished with them now! He left the window and returned to his laboratory, ready to perform the last experiment of his life.

     It had been easy to make them think he was dead. He had created an exact duplicate of himself from a small sample of tissue he'd cut from his arm. He had then killed it with an Amulet of Death. The replica had been completely mindless, but he would have had no scruples about committing a murder if it had been necessary. He'd done many worse things in the past. Then he had placed the dead clone in his bed, where a servant bringing him his breakfast had found it the next morning. His supposed death had come as no surprise. Everyone had known of his gradually deteriorating condition, and the dead clone had been borne away with great ceremony and, Malefactos had noticed while watching through a spyhole from one of the many secret passageways that ran through his castle, more than a little relief.

     They're afraid of me, he'd thought, chuckling to himself as he watched them removing his spellbooks, his magical artifacts, his research equipment and his alchemical supplies, carrying them away for safe storage in the University. And well they might be! A frail cripple I might be, but they still have good reason to be afraid of me, and well they know it. All these years they've tried to pretend I'm not here, but they couldn't help the occasional worried glance up at the high ridge on which my mansion stands as if wondering what I'm really up to, what I might be hiding from the spies they planted in my household. Still, my status as a wizard of power should have earned me some measure of respect! They should have paid me my dues, treated me as a colleague, welcomed me into their fraternity. Instead, they're glad I'm dead. Not one of them is showing the slightest grief or regret over my passing.

     He was now the only occupant of the ancient stone castle. His servants had packed their belongings and left, glad to be away from the place, and once the Lexandrian wizards had satisfied themselves that nothing dangerous or of value remained in the castle, it had been sealed up forever. It would remain as a monument to the greatest wizard of recent times, but no living thing would ever again set foot within it, or so they thought. Soon, though, it would be true.

     He arrived at his laboratory, in a cavern deep within the heart of the mountain, and glanced around resentfully at the bare tables and shelves that had, until recently, been crowded with books, bottles, potions, papers and scrolls of every possible description. "Vultures!" he muttered angrily. "Couldn't wait for me to die, so they could get their greedy hands on all my treasures. Well, much good may it do them." He chuckled with amusement at how he'd fooled them, and then doubled over in excruciating pain as another attack seized him. He fell to the floor, writhing and gasping as bolts of agony shot through his frail body, each one worse than the one before. No! he thought in terror as the attack continued. Not like this! Not like this!

     Gradually, though, the pain passed and he slowly and painfully pulled himself back to his feet, using an empty shelf cabinet for support. "By the merciful Gods!" he gasped in relief. That had been the worse one ever. He'd really thought he was going to die that time. Then he giggled, a little hysterically. In view of what he was about to attempt, it would have been pretty ironic if he'd been killed by a mere disease of the body. He sobered quickly, though, when he realised that another attack, possibly the fatal one, could come at any moment. They'd been coming more and more frequently during the past few weeks, and he'd often had two attacks in the same day, sometimes within minutes of each other. I haven't got much time, he told himself. I must hurry.

     He spoke a word, and a secret door opened in the far wall of the laboratory. On the other side of that door was a secret passage and a flight of stairs, winding down even deeper into the mountain. He climbed carefully down, one step at a time, his hands pressed against the slimy stone walls on either side for balance, and as he went light spells activated automatically to illuminate his passage. He didn't want to fall and break his neck, not when he was this close to cheating death forever.

     At the bottom of the stairs, on the other side of another door, was another laboratory, one that no-one else in the world knew about. This was where he kept all his real treasures, the things he would still need after his transformation. Spellbooks lined the shelves, the originals from which the ones upstairs, which the Lexandrian wizards had taken, had been copied, and which contained spells far more powerful than any of his former colleagues would ever be able to cast. Spells that would destroy him utterly if he dared try to cast them in his present condition. Soon, though, he told himself as he gazed at them excitedly. Soon, if everything went well, he'd be able to cast any spell he wanted, all his old power and vitality would be restored. He brushed them lovingly with his fingertips as he walked past. Soon.

     On other shelves stood row upon row of magical items and artifacts, the cream of his collection. The ones that had been upstairs had been potent and powerful, but they'd been mere toys compared to these. Soon, he'd be able to use them again as well, and without all the unpleasant side effects that had sometimes accompanied their use. He laughed again. There might be certain advantages to leaving life behind, after all. Then he saw a portrait of a beautiful woman, someone he'd known in his youth, hanging on the wall opposite, and a great sadness and regret came over him. Trouble is, he thought, there'll be disadvantages as well.

     He put those thoughts out of his head. All that was part of the past, along with all the mundane, time consuming activities necessary to maintain a living body, like eating, passing waste and sleeping. From now on, he'd be able to devote all his time to research and the pursuit of power, with no distractions or interruptions. With his genius, and all eternity opening up before him, he would soon be the most powerful being in the world! Nothing would be able to stop him, not even death itself. All the aspirations and ambitions that he'd never been able to achieve in life would be his in undeath.

     Growing excited, he hurried over to the largest table in the room, on which stood a collection of equipment that would have alarmed any Lexandrian wizard who saw it. If they'd known what he was going to do, they would have done everything in their power to stop him, even if it meant blasting his castle to rubble and melting the whole mountain into a puddle of slag. That was why he'd faked his own death. By the time they found out what he was up to, it would be far too late to stop him.

     On the table, almost hidden among all the equipment, were the two objects upon which his future depended. A large, flattened globe of milky white crystal ten inches across and six inches high, and a glass phial containing a small quantity of colourless liquid. It looked harmless. It might have been only water, but it had been painstakingly brewed over several weeks according to a recipe he'd had to go deep into the Abyss itself to get. It was so poisonous that the tiniest drop splashed onto the skin could kill a man.

     He took the phial in his left hand, and put his right hand on the crystal globe, which had drained all the magic from a dozen of his most powerful weapons and artifacts during its construction. He then spoke the words of a magic spell, the last spell he would ever cast as a living man. He smiled with satisfaction as he felt it having its effect upon him. His soul, his very soul, was now linked to the globe. So long as the globe existed, his soul could never be completely separated from it. Satisfied that the first stage of the process had been successfully accomplished, he then broke the top off the phial and swallowed its contents in a single gulp.

     Agony greater than any he'd ever known swept through his frail body as the poison literally burned the life out of him. He tried to scream, but his lungs and vocal chords were already dead, and almost immediately afterwards his heart stopped beating and his guts shrivelled up into a tangle of leather cord in the pit of his stomach. His soul leapt from his body and several dark Gods reached eagerly out for it, greedy to add him to their own realms, to make him a soldier in their eternal struggle against the Gods of goodness and decency, as was the fate of all who died after having lived a sinful life. The spell he'd cast held onto his soul, though. Kept it firmly restrained, and powerful bonds of magical force drew it into the pearly globe he'd created for just this purpose.

     The poison continued its work, sweeping through his veins and arteries like acid, burning them away as it went; searing delicate tissues and destroying tendons and sinews. The old wizard's body shook and trembled, his head thrown back and his mouth wide open, smoke and flames shooting out and singeing his lips. His tongue had already been reduced to a small, black cinder at the back of his throat.

     As the poison completed its work, his flesh dried out and shrank, becoming stretched over his bones like old canvas, and his eyes shriveled away to nothing, leaving empty, staring sockets. Malefactos was now dead, but his soul remained, safely ensconced in the oblate crystal globe. This was the critical point. His soul had to leave the globe and try to re-inhabit what was left of his body. If he succeeded, he would become undead, with all the strength and vigour of youth restored, along with a whole new range of powers and abilities that he'd never had in life. If he failed, however, he would become truly dead, and his soul would be sucked back into the globe, there to remain for as long as it continued to exist. It would become his prison, and his existence would become an eternal nightmare from which there would never be any escape. For a moment he quailed in fear, but then all his old arrogance and self confidence came flooding back and he braced himself to make the attempt. If I fail, I fail, he told himself. I knew the risks, and I chose to take them. Let's go for it.

     His soul moved upwards into the dead, mummified hand, where it still rested on top of the globe. He went up the arm, through the shoulder and neck and into the head, where he spread himself out to occupy his entire body. The dead flesh was cold and hard at first, but soon a new softness and suppleness spread through it and it grew even colder, so cold that it would freeze any living creature that dared to come too close. He raised his arm experimentally, and it rose obediently in front of his eyes, where he examined it with interest. He tested his legs and, finding them to work perfectly, he walked over to a full length mirror to examine himself.

     He looked like a desiccated corpse, left under a tropical desert sun to dry out, but where his eyes should have been, there burned two brilliant but ice cold points of light that shone like pinholes into the fires of Hell. It had worked! He had cheated death itself!

     He threw back his head and roared his triumph. The sound echoed around the large stone room and penetrated to the very deepest of the network of tunnels and caverns that honeycombed the mountain, echoing and reverberaring until it sounded as if all the demons in Hell were down there, exulting in their new found freedom.
 
  

TO BE CONTINUED

Make sure you read the next volumes of the Chronicles of Tharia.

The Sword of Retribution

     Once again the armies of darkness are sweeping across the world and this time there may be no stopping them. Only by standing together can the heroes of civilization hope to prevail, but at this hour of their greatest trial the mightiest of their number is absent, fighting a less important war in the World Below, unaware of the deadly peril facing all mankind. He must be recalled to stand beside his brothers in arms, but to reach him a small group of volunteers must cross some of the deadliest terrain on or under the world, facing dangers beyond their ability to imagine…

The Caverns of Kronos

     Lost and alone, disheartened by failure and wanting only to go home, Thomas Gown and his companions face the darkest hour of their lives when they stumble across a remnant of the once mighty Agglemonian Empire. There they make a stunning discovery that could mean the salvation of the world if only they can get word to the desperate, embattled armies of civilization, but instead they face a lifetime of crippling servitude, hopeless prisoners of the insane tyrant, Lord Basil Konnen…

The Scrolls of Skava

     The fate of the world hangs in the balance. Belthar faces imminent defeat, and if the empire falls there will be nothing left to oppose the armies of darkness. One hope remains. One last all or nothing gamble, but for it to succeed the heroes of civilization have to find a way to team up with their bitterest enemies. Creatures every bit as evil as the Bone Prince but whose existence is also threatened by the undead hordes. Side by side, they must march together into the very heart of the Shadow…