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.”

     “They were just unlucky,” pleaded the younger rak. “It was a huge country, vast tracts of wilderness, and we had no idea where they were headed. They...”

     “They were acting under thy orders!” roared Algol, leaning forward in the throne to glare down at him. “And then there wast the farce of the Orb of Proofing. Another hundred Shadowsoldiers, another wizard, and this time thou wast given a dragon as well. A dragon! And this time it was not enough that they did fail. They were all killed. Including the wizard. Including the dragon! Thy men, acting under thy orders, were wiped out to the last man by a mere eight men, six of whom were the same six youngsters who did cause thy first humiliation.”

     “My Lord, I beg of you...”

     “And yet I did show mercy,” continued Algol, his voice softening. “I did forgive thee. I did allow thee to retain thy command and lead thy army into battle. Despite thy earlier failures, I was confident that ye would find no difficulty in overcoming the feeble defences of Belthar’s southern provinces and making thy way through the Rahm corridor. My other Generals have done well, even those whose armies were destroyed by the Sceptre of Samnos. The failure there was thine, not theirs. Thou art the only one of my Generals who hast repeatedly failed me. Three times now thou hast failed me. Three times!”

     “My Lord, give me another chance!” begged Krassban, falling on his face at Algol’s feet. “I will not fail you again, I swear it! Just one more chance!”

     “Just one more chance?” said Algol, considering. “And if thou dost fail me again?”

     “Then I will accept whatever punishment you see fit to inflict upon me. But I will not fail you again, I swear it. You will find me your most loyal, most faithful servant. I will do whatever you ask of me. Please, my Lord! Give me the most humbling, most menial tasks, I'll do anything if you’ll only give me one more chance!”

     Algol rubbed his chin thoughtfully, pretending to consider it. Krassban knew that the demon rak was just playing with him for his own amusement and that of the other raks, who were watching the exchange with interest. Algol had already decided upon his punishment, but Krassban desperately hoped that it would merely be something humiliating, something degrading, to make an example of him to the others. Raks, even stupid errant raks, were much too valuable to simply destroy the way you’d destroy a wight or a wraith, and he was hopeful that, after a suitable period of chastisement, he would have his rank restored and become once again a General of the Shadowarmies. Hopeful, but still terribly afraid. Algol was capricious and erratic. There was simply no telling what he would do, and he had the power to do anything. Anything at all.

     “Very well,” said Algol at last, and Krassban almost fainted with gratitude. “I will give unto thee one more chance. But be warned, Krassban. Fail me again and there will be no end to thy suffering. Every creature in the Pit, be they ever so wretched, even unto the lowliest Wum-Gubba, will look unto thee and give thanks to the Gods of Darkness that their anguish be not so great as thine.”

     “I’ll do anything!” begged the young rak, who knew that he wasn’t exaggerating. “Anything!”

     “A new army shall be sent against Ilandia,” said the demon rak. “Another hundred thousand. No more than that in case the Sceptre of Samnos hath been moved south, although I do not believe the Beltharans to be so foolish. Ye will lead that army, Krassban, and ye will accomplish thy original purpose. To conquer Ilandia, conquer Rahm, enter Belthar itself and bring chaos and confusion behind the ranks of the enemy.”

     The younger rak was jubilant with joy and relief. “I will, my Lord,” he swore earnestly. “I will bring such destruction and terror that they’ll think the Gods Themselves have taken up swords against them. Of course, I won’t be able to enter Belthar itself until next year as the crescent moon glacier will have thawed before I can reach it, but as soon as it freezes over again next winter..."

     “Thou willst enter Belthar this year,” said Algol with deceptive calmness. “Thou willst cross the glacier before it doth thaw in the warmth of spring. I shall be most disappointed if thou dost fail to do this. Most disappointed indeed.”

     The fiery points of light nestling in Krassban’s empty eye sockets turned a cold blue with terror. “But, but, my Lord,” he stammered, his dry, rattling voice catching in his shrunken, undead throat. “That is not possible! The glacier is only just becoming passable again now, and will remain so for only five months. We will have a two thousand mile journey to reach them, fighting battles all along the way."

     Algol leaned forward in the throne again, his face twisted in pure malice and gleeful amusement. “Then thou hadst better hurry, hadn’t thou?”

     Krassban scrambled back to his feet and fled from the throne room as though all the demons of the Pit were after him, and if he'd still been human he would have wept with shame and fury as a ripple of laughter rose from the other raks behind him. Krassban cursed bitterly and imagined the revenge he would have against Algol and the other raks one day. If only he were powerful enough. If only he were brave enough.

     Then he almost screamed the names of his Captains and Leiutenants, summoning them into his presence and threatening them with his own punishments if they failed to respond fast enough, because a favourite way for the small and inadequate to deal with abuse from above is to pass it on to those below.

☆☆☆

     Algol watched him go, chuckling to himself, and then waved his hand, dismissing the other raks. They all left the room, returning to their own tasks, but the demon rak made a signal for Malefactos to remain for a while, and as soon as they were alone he rose from the throne and stepped over to stand in front of the younger rak.

     “Well, young one,” he said in an almost fatherly tone. “Hast thou had time enough to accustom thyself to thy new surroundings?”

     “I think so, yes,” replied Malefactos. “There’s a lot to learn here, and it’ll be a long time before I’m as familiar and comfortable with this place as the others, but I think I’m settling in well. The others have made me feel very welcome. It’s just like being part of a new family.”

     “These words do please me,” said Algol. “And thou hast also much to teach thy new colleagues. Their training was primitive and unprofessional, and it is an astonishment to me sometimes that they did survive long enough to undergo the transformation. Thou, however, hast been trained in the University, an institution that does rival the one in which I did receive my own training so many long ages ago. Thou willst share thy teachings with all equally, holding nothing back, so that all may equal thee in performance of the one art. Only Krassban shalt thou not teach. I have not yet decided what his fate shall be.”

     “It will be as you command,” said Malefactos, bowing his head.

     “That is good,” said Algol. “But that shall not occupy all thy time. When thou art not teaching, thou willst assist in the maintenance and widening of the Puncturium.” He looked at the younger rak and his eyes fixed upon him with an intensity that unnerved him considerably. “A short while ago, thy former colleagues in the University did dare to launch a direct attack upon the Shadowlord himself. What knowest thou of this?”

     “Nothing, my lord, I swear it,” said Malefactos. “There is a set of templates in the University’s artifact repository that can open a direct two way portal between this world and the Pit, but I have never seen them and I thought that they would never dare to use them.”

     “A set of templates that can open a direct two way portal between this world and the Pit!” breathed Algol in excitement. “Canst thou duplicate these templates?”

     “No, I’m afraid not,” replied the younger rak. “They were created by one of the immortal wizards, he was quite mad. The secret of their manufacture is far beyond me.”

     “Then mayhaps we can steal the originals,” mused Algol. “With them in our possession, we would no longer need the Puncturium. The Shadowlord could step through the portal directly into this world. Years of work would be saved.”

     “They would never allow them to fall into our hands,” said Malefactos. “They would rather destroy them.”

     “No matter,” said Algol, his eyes shining wickedly. “The University should be attacked anyway, to punish them for their wicked attack upon the Shadowlord, and if the templates should fall into our hands, so much the better. The University hath done much to assist our enemies, and its destruction would do much to hasten our victory.”

     Malefactos was also gripped with excitement, but for a different reason. My ark! he thought excitedly. If we break into the artifact repository, I’ll be able to steal my ark back. I’ll be free! I’ll grab it and teleport back to Sereena before they know what I’m doing.

     “My Lord,” he said therefore, “I beg you to let me lead the attack force. I also have reason to hate the University.”

     Algol smiled indulgently. “We shall see,” he said. “Be diligent in thy labours and nothing shall be denied thee. This world shall be thine to rule when it is conquered and I do move on to other worlds. Thou art the greatest of all the inhabitants of this world. Bright indeed is thy future in the service of the Shadowlord.”

     Malefactos had not the slightest intention of remaining in the service of the Shadowlord a second longer than absolutely necessary, but he kept his mental mask firmly in place, certain that the elder rak would be reading his mind, and he did his best to look eager and ambitious, like all the other raks. My ambitions lie far beyond this miserable little mudball, he thought contemptuously. I will still be growing in power and learning long after this pathetic little planet has been scorched to a cinder by the Day of Fire.

     The mental mask fooled the elder rak yet again, and he nodded in satisfaction. “Go thou to the casting chamber,” he said. “Karm shall tell thee what to do.”

     Malefactos bowed his head in submission and left the throne room through the doorway indicated, leaving Algol all alone with only the Sum of all Emperors and his own thoughts for company.