The day dawned when they were due to leave Redhill to begin their missions, and the thirty operatives rose from their beds in a state of considerable uncertainty, wondering how all their carefully laid plans would be affected by the arrival of the old priest. Thomas had just emerged from the men’s communal bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, when he saw a small crowd gathered around the notice board in the corridor and he went over to see what they were looking at.

     It was a hastily written note, scrawled on a sheet of plain paper and bearing the signature of Brigadier Burton at the bottom. “Meeting in the main hall an hour after sunrise?” said a red haired young man standing beside Thomas. “What, everybody?”

     “That’s what it says,” said someone else. “Looks like we’re going to find out what this is all about after all.”

     “The sun’s already risen,” said a third man. “We haven’t got much time.”

     They all dashed off to dress and gulp down a quick breakfast, none of them moving faster than Thomas who was all too aware of the old priest’s opinions on punctuality. Anyone who was late for that meeting might as well cut their own throat.

     Apparently, other people had heard the same stories because, when the doors of the main hall opened and Resalintas, Burton and Wain entered, they found the room already full of curious, expectant people. The old priest climbed the steps up to the stage and looked down upon the assembled operatives, shifting his gaze from one to another in turn as if sizing up and judging each and every one of them individually. Thomas, standing beside Naomi, saw the black girl tense up when his gaze fell upon her. She locked eyes with him for a moment, but then her eyes widened and she looked away hurriedly. Thomas smiled to himself. There weren't many people who could endure the full power of his presence, the intensity of his personality, for very long.

     “God’s whiskers!” she whispered, awestruck. “So that’s Resalintas.”

     When the old priest’s gaze fell upon Thomas, the wizard was watching carefully for any hint of recognition, but there was nothing and the wizard felt almost disappointed as his gaze passed him over. Perhaps he simply doesn’t remember me, he thought. After all, what am I to a mighty and powerful man like him? He looked at his sword instead, the long, two handed hilt protruding from the scabbard he wore at his waist and gleaming magnificently in the light of the yellow sun shining in through the eastern windows. Although he didn’t know it at the time, he was at last looking at the Sword of Retribution.

     The Brigadier stepped forward to the edge of the stage to address the operatives. “I must apologise for calling you here at such short notice. A situation has arisen that forces us to drastically change our plans. All the missions for which you’ve been preparing yourselves are hereby cancelled. Instead you all have a new mission, far more important. Captain Resalintas will explain.” He stepped back and was replaced by the old priest.

     “As Brigadier Burton has explained, a situation has arisen. We have an opportunity to deliver a blow to the enemy which may allow us to turn the tide of the war. In order to take advantage of this opportunity, though, it is vitally necessary that we gain possession of a certain artifact. We do not know where it is, or even if it still exists, so your mission is to go out into the world, find it and return it to us as fast as you possibly can.”

     “What is the nature of this, er, artifact?” someone nearer the stage asked.

     The old priest looked down on him and paused before answering, almost as if in doubt or uncertainty. “They are called the Scrolls of Skava. So far as we know, they are simply rolls of paper upon which certain things have been written. They were written by a priest of Samnos called Skava who lived two thousand years ago in a valley called Millin Dell. It is the information we need rather than the Scrolls themselves, which so far as we know have no magical properties, although they may have had certain defensive or protective spells cast on them.”

     “That’s not much to go on,” said the same man. “Can’t you tell us anything more?”

     “No,” replied Resalintas. “I agree that it’s not much to go on, but you’ll just have to do your best. The one thing we do know is that they’re not in Ganapha Keep, beside the howling glacier. A few weeks ago we came upon information that suggested they might be there, but an expedition dispatched there found nothing. Every lead we had has led to a dead end, so now it’s up to you to succeed where we have failed. Seek out sages. Consult oracles. Do whatever you have to do but find the Scrolls. The opportunity they represent may never come again.”

     “Why?” asked the unknown man, hidden from Thomas’s sight by two huge Nyundians standing shoulder to shoulder in front of him. “What’s on them?”

     “You don’t need to know that,” said the old priest. “The great danger is that the enemy will find out, learn the nature of the opportunity open to us and take steps to neutralise it. If, by some chance, you manage to obtain the Scrolls, though, I have no objection to your reading them. If the information they contain is also in your minds, then that is security against their accidental destruction. If you are captured by the enemy, though, I expect you to kill yourselves before revealing it to them.”

     He’s serious, Thomas realised with a shock. He’d really expect us to kill ourselves. Mind you, anyone captured by the Shads would probably want to kill themselves anyway, rather than suffer torture and torment at the hands of shologs and goblins. All prisoners taken by Shads were killed eventually anyway, and raised as zombies to fight against their former friends and allies. Suddenly, the old priest’s command didn’t seem anything like as unreasonable.

     Having nothing more to say, Resalintas then stepped back, to be replaced by Brigadier Burton again. “Not all your preparations will have been in vain. You’ve got to start your search somewhere, so you will all go to those parts of the world where your original missions were to have taken place. You were chosen for those places for good reasons, and those reasons still stand. Flying carpets will take you there, but they're still needed in the war so you can only have them for six days. That should be enough to get you to your destinations. After that, they will return to us automatically and you’ll be on your own.”

     He paused, looking out at the assembled operatives, and Thomas did the same. Thirty two people of all races and nationalities. Wizards, clerics, swordsmen, trackers, even reformed thieves. People with every conceivable skill and talent comprising five of the sixteen wolf pack teams working for the Beltharan Empire. From what Thomas had gathered during his time at Redhill, the kind of mission they were being given was exactly the kind of thing that a single team was usually given. For five teams to be given the same mission was, he thought, unprecedented.

     The other eleven teams are still out on missions, Thomas mused. If it's this important, I wonder if they'll be given the same task when they report in. Seeing the serious look on the faces of all three officers, he was suddenly certain of it.

     “The carpets should be arriving later today," the Brigadier continued. "You’ll leave the moment they arrive. Good luck. Dismissed.” He stepped back, and a babble of excited conversation broke out in the hall.

     “By the Gods!” exclaimed Jherek, stroking his trophy cords thoughtfully. “We thought it would be something big, but ah never thought...”

     “That chap up front were right,” added Arroc. “There’s not much ter go on. Just a name, the Scrolls of Skava. How are we supposed ter find it with nothing more than that ter go on?”

     “We found the Sceptre of Samnos,” pointed out Diana, “even though all we knew about it was its name, so it’s not completely hopeless.”

     “It’s not the same,” said Thomas, however. “That time we were able to consult the, the...” He wanted to say the Emerald Oracle, but the hypnotic blocks put in his mind by the Oracle were still as strong as ever and he couldn’t speak of it in front of people who didn’t already know of it.

     The Winterwells knew what he was trying to say, though, and nodded in agreement, but Naomi and the trogs frowned in puzzlement. “The what?” asked the black girl curiously.

     “Nothing,” said Thomas, looking away to hide his frustration.

     Naomi snorted in annoyance. “More secrets!” she snapped. “Better not tell me in case I’m a Shadowspy.”

     “It’s not that!” protested the wizard. “And anyway, it doesn’t matter. The fact is that we can’t go back because...” His voice broke off and his face brightened with dawning wonder. He hadn’t asked his question! The Emerald Oracle allowed every thinking being on Tharia to ask one question, and one question only, in their lifetimes. All the others had asked their questions, but Thomas hadn’t asked his, wanting to keep it in reserve in case he ever wanted to know something really important. They could go back to the Emerald Oracle, and he could simply ask it where the Scrolls of Skava were! It was so simple it was breathtaking!

     Before he could open his mouth to speak, though, complications began to occur to him. They couldn’t lead Naomi and the trogs to the Oracle. The hypnotic blocks in their minds just wouldn’t allow it. They’d have to go without them, or else drop them off somewhere while the four of them went on alone. “I’ve got to speak to the Brigadier,” he said, and began pushing his way urgently towards the stage.