Hanus Osterlan, meanwhile, was ducking down behind a large, straggly clump of razorleaf bushes as a division of Shadowsoldiers marched past, accompanied by a horde of zombies and a company of shuffling, grumbling ogres. He crept quietly away, making his way from boulder to boulder, until he rejoined the group of half a dozen other wizards who were going to ambush the rak.

     “That road’s as busy as the Taran Kingsway!” he swore as the others gathered around him. “It’ll be pure luck if the road’s empty when the rak comes.”

     “It’s just a change of shift,” replied Jorn Stonnar, a middle aged wizard with greying temples. Jorn was right at the pinnacle of his power, having advanced as far as he ever would along the road of increasing knowledge and skill. The plateau of ability he had reached lasted for about ten years in most wizards, after which age would begin to take its toll and he would begin to decline again.

     He wasn’t one of the University’s star wizards, though, being only mediocre in power, and even at his pinnacle he wasn’t quite the equal of Hanus. That was why it was the younger, blonde and bronzed Hanus who was in charge of this detail, instead of the older man. He’d returned from his post as the personal wizard of the Ninth Earl of Ussex at the request of his good friend Barchil Bloodhand to lend his aid to the renegade wizard, and seemed to be taking the reduction in rank and status quite well.

     “Things should quieten down in a minute,” he added confidently.

     “But what if the rak’s travelling in the company of the new shift?” asked a third wizard, a promising young man by the name of Corak Highdoor who’d already collected a long list of impressive achievements despite being only in his mid twenties.

     “I’m sure Tragius would have mentioned it if they were,” said Hanus. “Come on, let’s get in position.”

     Sure enough, the column of Shadowsoldiers eventually passed away, leaving the high mountain road quiet and empty again. A quick scan with a scrying spell showed that there were only a few stragglers still to come, and that they wouldn't arrive until well after they'd engaged the rak. Just to make sure, though, one of the younger wizards teleported down to divert them away. It wasn't impossible that some kind of stalemate might develop between the wizards and the rak, and they wanted to make sure there’d be no interruptions. No reinforcements for the undead.

     “I know I don’t have to say this,” said Hanus, grinning to cover up the warning in his eye as he looked at each of the others in turn, “but you’ve all got your Amulets of Undead Protection, haven’t you?" Five hands slipped into their robes and held up amulets for his inspection. “Good,” said Hanus, smiling in relief. “Just making sure.”

     “Just how much protection can we expect from these things?” asked Corak, examining his amulet closely. “Are they as good as the real thing?”

     “Tragius wasn’t able to fix their magic permanently,” replied Hanus, “so they’ll gradually lose their power, but they’re good enough for the time being. Just don’t let any of them get too close. Now, you all know what to do?”

     “We take the lesser spirits one on one and let you handle the rak alone,” replied Jorn. “Young Corak here hangs back in reserve, in case any of us gets into trouble, in which case he jumps in to help. It sounds good in theory, but it still leaves you trying to handle a six hundred year old rak all alone.”

     “We’re not engaging them in a fair fight,” pointed out Hanus. “We’re ambushing them. Hopefully, it’ll all be over before they know what’s happening.” He glanced down the still empty road. “They should be here any time now. Everyone cast your invisibility spells.” They did so, and a moment later the six wizards faded out of sight.

     The five undead spirits arrived a few minutes later. The wizards heard the warhorse before they saw it, heard its terrible wailing and screaming and the sound of its ironshod feet striking the hard, rocky path with the force of thunderbolts. Then it came into sight. A giant skeletal horse all in flames, setting alight everything within a dozen feet of its passage and leaving a trail of fire behind it, blazing in the darkness like a crack in the world. It was galloping with terrible speed, much faster than any normal horse and rivaling the speed of a diving eagle as it carried its nightmarish rider on its way to the unfortunate city, and even though the waiting wizards had steeled themselves for this confrontation, they still felt a stab of fear as they caught their first glimpse of the creature they were daring to ambush.

     Just crouch down, thought Corak, shivering and sweating with fear. Just cower down behind this rock and maybe it won’t see me. He’ll just go on past and I’ll be safe. Please, please, just don’t let him see me!

     The other wizards, all invisible, all trembling with fear despite their resolve to carry out their mission without wavering, made their way into the middle of the road to block the path of the oncoming monster. The thunderous galloping of the undead warhorse grew louder, echoing between the walls of the valley and bringing down a small avalanche of stones and gravel. Before them, the road became too bright to look at as the flames loomed larger and closer, speeding towards them a fast as an express train, but the wizards had to look anyway in order to cast their spells and, with their material components gripped fiercely between feverish, trembling fingers, they began to speak the magic words. If this went well, they might achieve total success with their first salvo and it would all be over, but deep in their hearts they all somehow knew that it wouldn’t be so easy.

     Their spells were carefully timed to come to fruition simultaneously, while the onrushing undead were still about twenty yards away, and that part of the plan at least went as it should. Each of the wizards standing beside Hanus had targeted a different spirit, and as the spells hit their targets the spirits gave unearthly wails of anguish as their ethereal forms were torn apart and destroyed, ending their undead existence and sending them finally to the judgement of the Gods. The spell cast by Hanus, though, the spell aimed at the rak himself, went terribly, disastrously wrong.

     It was impossible to say what caused it. Maybe there was interference from the other wizards, casting their own spells so close beside him, or maybe his hands were shaking too much with fear to properly control the delicate energies he was summoning. Whatever the cause, the effect was that instead of a smooth flow of magical energy towards the rak, there was a violent explosion that destroyed their invisibility spells and threw the five wizards across the road to lie dazed and half stunned, their robes tattered and smoking, and that left Hanus himself lying unconscious in the path of the oncoming monster, his hands reduced to charred, bloody stumps.

     The rak started in surprise and half reined in his terrible warhorse, unsure of what was happening, but then the tiny blazing points of light that served it as eyes brightened with glee and a wicked grin spread across its shrunken, mummified face. This was more like it! He spurred his mount into a gallop and steered it straight towards the unconscious wizard, lying like a broken doll in the middle of the road.

     “No!” cried Corak in terrified horror, but he could do nothing as the monster bore down on Hanus and could only watch helplessly as the wizard burst into flames and a moment later was trampled into the dust by the ironshod hooves of the flaming, skeletal beast. “No! Oh Gods! No! No!”

      By some miracle, the rak failed to hear the young wizard screaming his outrage and terror and turned his attention to the other four wizards, struggling unsteadily back to their feet. He pointed a shrunken, bony finger at the nearest of them, spoke a word and a pencil thin line of fire traced its way between them, engulfing the wizard in a blossoming ball of fire. The rak laughed in glee, throwing back its head and making the warhorse rear up on its hind legs, whinnying its own triumph and exultation at the power of its master. The rak pointed his finger again and a second wizard exploded in flames. He pointed his finger a third time, this time at Jorn Stonnar. The elderly wizard, still on his knees, his head still ringing with the force of the explosion, could only stare back helplessly and wait for the end.

     Before the rak could strike again, though, the road vanished in a burst of dazzling light as a bolt of lightning struck it full in the chest. The rak was thrown from his warhorse, which whinnied in terror and galloped away, abandoning its master as thunder crashed around them, bringing cascades of rock tumbling down from the surrounding mountains. Corak screamed in fury as he came running from his hiding place, preparing to cast another spell, determined to destroy the rak even if it meant the end of his own life.

     The rak recovered with terrifying speed, though, faster than any living creature, and another pencil thin line of fire traced its way from his pointing finger, striking a boulder in front of the young wizard. The boulder exploded in a shower of sharp, jagged fragments, one of which struck Corak on the temple, tearing his scalp open and stunning him. He fell at the side of the road, blood fountaining from the wound and spreading out in a wide puddle that slowly soaked into the dusty ground.

     The younger wizard’s attack had given his two older colleagues time to recover, though, and before the rak could turn his attention back to them he was hit by a pair of Sunstrike spells which sapped his energy and temporarily blinded him with a halo of golden radiance that lit the whole valley as brightly as day. The rak screamed as the dazzling light burned his eyes, and the two wizards hit him with spell after spell in an attempt to keep him off guard. If he was able to launch a counter attack, they were finished.

     Jorn, meanwhile, edged his way over to the trampled and burning remains of Hanus’s body, trying hard to avoid throwing up at the awful sight. He kicked gently at the charred and mangled corpse until a large, blue tinted crystal rolled out of the flames, and he snatched it up with a hand wrapped in layers of cloth, knowing that it would be hot enough to burn him. He then turned back to the battle, where his colleague, Alfra Campernel, had the rak on his knees.

     “Don’t kill him!” warned Jorn as Alfra prepared to cast another spell, tears running from his eyes and his face set in a grimace of horrified fury as the bodies of his friends burned around him. “If you kill him, their sacrifice was for nothing!”

     Alfra ignored him, though, continuing to shout the magic words, half mad with grief and rage, and the other wizard had to grab him and shake him to spoil the spell. “He’ll reform, you fool!” he shouted into his face. “We haven’t got his ark! His soul’ll flee back to it and in a few days his body will reform! Think, you fool! Think!”

     Slowly, sanity returned to the other wizard and he nodded. “Quickly then!” he said, indicating the rak, still on his knees. “Before he recovers!”

     Jorn nodded and ran over to the undead creature, close enough that he could feel the intense cold that radiated from its body; a cold so intense that it threatened to freeze all the marrow in his bones and turn his blood to ice.

     He held the crystal out towards the creature, spoke a word, and it began to glow with a soft inner light. Seeing what he intended to do, the rak tried to back away, but it was too late. He was caught. The crystal glowed steadily brighter and the rak began to scream as he felt its power flooding through him, causing him agony beyond anything he’d known since his transformation. Then, gradually, the tiny, burning points of light that served it as eyes grew dimmer, fading like the last embers of a dying fire, until they went out altogether, leaving nothing in the middle of the road but a shrunken, mummified corpse.

     Jorn stared in fascination as the corpse began crumbling into dust, and Alfra came over to join him. “Got him?” he asked. Jorn nodded, holding up the crystal, now glowing as brightly as a trog glowbottle. “The soul of a rak,” he murmured in fascination. “Let’s hope it’s worth the lives of three good wizards.” Suddenly he gave a guilty start as a thought struck him. “Gods!” he cried. “We’ve forgotten about poor Corak!”

     They ran back to him, still lying unconscious by the side on the road surrounded by an awfully large patch of damp earth, stained brick red by his blood. He was lying as still as death and for a moment the other two wizards feared the worst, but then they saw the little trickle of blood, still flowing from the terrible wound in his temple, emerging in fits and starts in time with his pulse, and they breathed a sigh of relief. Alfra pressed a hand to the wound to stem the flow of blood while Jorn tore strips from his robes to make bandages.

     “We’ve got to get him to a cleric,” said Alfra, looking anxiously down into the young man’s terribly pale face. “And fast!”

     “You see to it,” agreed Jorn. “I’ve got to get this crystal back to Elmias’s place.”

     Alfra nodded and gathered the young man into his arms. “We’ll see you back there,” he said. “We shouldn’t be long. A few healing prayers is all it should take.”

     Jorn nodded and the two wizards backed away from each other so that their spells wouldn’t interfere with each other. Jorn spoke a series of magic words and a transdimensional tunnel opened in front of him. They glanced at each other one last time, silently wishing each other luck, and then Alfra spoke the words of a teleportation spell. He and Corak vanished and Jorn ducked into the tunnel.