“All of them?” asked Justarian Westin, the Director of the University. “All two dozen?”

     “Yes, Sir,” replied Tragius, still numb with the shock of what he’d seen. “Including the priests.”

     “Two dozen of our finest people, people we can ill afford to lose. Why did I let you talk me into this, Tragius?”

     “Sir, may I remind you that, technically, the operation was a success. We hit the Shadowlord, hit him hard, and without releasing him into our world in the process.”

     The Director stared at him as if we were mad. “I don’t believe you just said that!” he exclaimed. “Twenty four people, seven of them women...”

     “You have to expect casualties in times of war,” replied Tragius, his voice shaking a little. He tried to look the Director in the eye, but couldn't seem to lift his gaze from the clutter of papers and reports littering this desk.

     Westin stared at him for a moment longer, but then he lowered his eyes and nodded. “I’m sorry, old friend,” he said softly. “What happened wasn’t your fault. It couldn’t possibly have been foreseen, and I did agree to it so I have to take my share of the responsibility. We’ll give them all the care they need, don’t worry about that, and one day it may even be possible to...”

     Tragius looked at him but didn’t need to say anything. They both knew that a cure would never be possible. The twenty four people who’d been in the conjuration room would be in their present condition for the rest of their lives.

     "So now we wait," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Wait to see whether the Shadowarmies are affected enough for Belthar and Fu-Nang to take advantage of it. We should hear something within a few days or so."

     "Their sacrifice can't have been for nothing," replied Tragius. "The Gods would never allow such an injustice. I have to believe that what we did was worthwhile, that the tragedy that just took place served a higher purpose."

     “We'll know soon enough,” said the Director uncomfortably. He decided to change the subject. “How’s your other project going, the wraith?”

     “We’ve hit a couple of problems, but we still hope to be able to send it off soon,” replied Tragius gratefully. The Director knew nothing about Malefactos. Tragius had told him that they were going to try to coerce a wraith into being their spy in the Shadow. He’d even managed to capture a wraith, and had it imprisoned in his laboratory as part of the deception. If he succeeded in blackmailing the ark rak, he would release or destroy the wraith, and use it as the official source of any information the rak provided.

     “Do you need any help?”

     “No. Modesty aside, I am the authority on the coercion of evil spirits. If I can’t do it, nobody can.”

     Westin nodded. “Well, do the best you can. Frankly, though, I don’t fancy the chances of anything worthwhile coming of this, no matter how successful you are. How long is a wraith likely to last against the things it’s likely to meet in Arnor? What we really need is a vampire, like the Ilandians.”

     Tragius decided to take a chance. “Or a rak,” he said.

     The Director stared at him. “A rak?” he exclaimed in surprise. “Well, yes. Ideally, I suppose, a rak would be the best possible creature to spy out the Shadow, but you know how dangerous and unpredictable they can be. Besides, where would you find one? All the decent raks work for the Shadowlord. No, any rak good enough to survive as a spy in Arnor would be far too dangerous to us. Forget that idea.”

     Tragius decided to take another big risk. “It’s a pity the rules of the University forbid rak transformation. One of us could turn into a rak. A good rak loyal to us and...”

     “You know the dangers of that!” exclaimed Westin. “He might start out good and loyal, but how long would he stay that way? Raks, no matter how they start out, always turn to evil. Always. Ordinary raks, externums cheating death, are bad enough. Imagine a rak benefiting from a lifetime of University education. We’d be creating a monster we could never hope to control. No, my friend, forget that idea for good.”

     “Yes, you’re right of course,” agreed Tragius, hiding his disappointment. “It was just an idea, that’s all. I’ll be getting back to work on that wraith, then.”

     “Keep having ideas,” called out the Director as Tragius left. “Your next idea might be the one that saves us all.”

☆☆☆

     Once Tragius was far enough from the research buildings to be out of danger from stray magical influences, he teleported straight back to his rooms on the top floor of the conjuration building in the teaching complex. He busied himself for half an hour going through a batch of reports from his staff on the progress of his fifth year apprentices until there was a knock on the door and Raptor entered. “Did you still want to see me?” he asked. “After what happened, I mean.”

     “Yes indeed, more than ever,” replied Tragius. “The mission I’d like you to undertake is now even more important. More important than you can possibly imagine.”

     “I’m intrigued,” said Raptor.”What is it?”

     “I know of a young ark rak,” said Tragius. “Only newly transformed, so he’s not yet fully accustomed to his new condition. He still thinks and acts as though he were alive. You know I’m preparing a wraith to be a spy into the Shadow. Well, it occurred to me that a young rak would be even better, ideal in fact, and I think I know how to persuade it to co-operate with us.”

     “How?”

     “I’ve managed to find out where it’s making its new home, and it hasn’t had time to find a proper hiding place for its Ark yet. If we can get hold of it, the rak will do anything to get it back.”

     “And that’s where I come in?”

     “Yes. You and a few others. I’ve assembled a small team. Gwainos, Uthian, Franklos, Buxman. A couple of others you don’t know. The rak is still building its stronghold and probably hasn’t got all its defences in place yet, so you shouldn’t have any trouble getting in and out. Just go in, grab the Ark and get the hell out of there. Okay?”

     “You make it sound so easy,” said Raptor uneasily. “Just stroll into a rak’s stronghold, grab his most valued possession and then stroll out again, eh? And what’s the rak going to be doing while we’re doing this?”

     “That’s where I come in,” replied Tragius. “I’ve already approached it once and tried to persuade it to help us of its own free will. It will be expecting me to make another attempt, either using persuasion or force, so it won’t be suspicious when I do so. I think I can keep it talking for an hour, maybe two, that should be all the time you need.”

     “An hour?” said Raptor doubtfully. “That’s not very long.”

     “I assure you that you won’t need longer than that. His anti-scrying screen isn’t in place yet so I’ve been able to study the layout of his stronghold by crystal ball.” He produced some sheets of paper from a drawer. “This is a map I’ve drawn, and you can see I’ve marked the route you’ll need to take. The Ark is in this room here. As I said, all you have to do is dash in, grab it and dash out again."

     "He may already have some defences in place," mused Raptor, studying the maps. "Bloodsifters along here if I'm any judge, and he'd be a fool not to have at least one flayer already set up. The Gods alone know what else."

     Tragius nodded. "You’ll just have to deal with them as you come to them.”

     Raptor gave a low whistle as he examined the other pages. “This is some layout,” he said admiringly. “If he’d had time to finish it, it’d take an army of wizards to winkle him out. What’s his name?”

     “I don’t know,” lied Tragius. “I haven’t had time to find out. He calls himself Lord Skull. It doesn’t really matter. Raks aren’t like demons, knowing their true names doesn’t give you any power over them.” More’s the pity, he thought.

     “Lord Skull, eh?” said Raptor thoughtfully. “And where is this place? Somewhere pretty inaccessible, eh?”

     “You could say that,” said Tragius with a slight smile. “It’s on Sereena.”

     “Sereena?” gasped Raptor. “You mean the planet Sereena?”

     Tragius nodded. “Yes. Approximately fifty five million miles away at the moment, in the constellation of the centaur. Distance doesn’t matter to a teleport spell, though, as you know. You’ll all need cloaks of warmth against the cold, and necklaces of water breathing will enable you to breathe the atmosphere. They were created to allow us to breathe underwater, but they turned out to allow you to breathe any hostile atmosphere. Being on a dead planet also has the bonus that you won’t have to worry about encountering any living guardians.”

     “No,” replied Raptor. “Just undead ones, and probably a few magical creations as well.” He thought hard for a while. “I’ll do it on one condition,” he said at last. “I want to take Pastor Nuckwin as well. If we’re going to be up against undead monsters, I want to have someone with me who can deal with them.”

     “The Pastor?” said Tragius. Pastor Nuckwin was a cleric of Tizar, Goddess of Wisdom, and like all the followers of the Wise Lady he had a burning hatred for the abominations of undeath that contrasted sharply with their love and reverence for all living creatures, even evil ones. They had no power to repel the undead by the power of their faith alone, as the clerics of Caroli had, but all followers of Tizar whose faith and devotion were great enough were given a wonderful holy weapon by a special emissary of the Goddess. The Sword of Exorcism was harmless to any living creature. Its spectral blade, looking like a shaft of silver moonlight, passed harmlessly through living flesh, no matter how violently it was wielded, but against undead creatures it was devastating, and the mere act of drawing the sword was often enough to make them flee in terror.

     “Good choice. I think I can persuade him. I’ll talk to him today. I’m not sure how he’ll take the idea of forcing an undead creature to work for us, though. It might be best to keep a few things from him, like what exactly it is we’re stealing. If he found out it’s a rak’s Ark, he’s likely to try to destroy it.”

     “Surely, as a cleric of the Wise Lady, he’ll see the wisdom of it, though, won’t he? I mean, who other than an undead creature could penetrate to the very heart of the Shadow and tell us what’s going on there? It’s more than wisdom, it’s plain common sense!”

     “You don’t understand the depth of their hatred for the undead,” replied the older wizard. “This is one area where even their fabled wisdom is likely to break down. Best not to take the chance. And while we’re at it, this whole scheme is not to be discussed with anyone other than those going on the mission with you.”

     “For security purposes?”

     “That, and also because there are those who would be a little nervous at the idea of blackmailing a rak, even such a young and inexperienced one as this, and would block the scheme if they knew of it.”

     Raptor was shocked. “This mission doesn’t have the Director’s approval?” he gasped.

     “The Director doesn’t even know about it. This mission is far too important to be scuttled by small minded, short sighted fools, no matter how well intentioned. Do you have a problem with that?”

     Raptor gulped nervously, but steadied himself. “No,” he said. “I can see the necessity for this mission.”

     Tragius slapped him on the shoulder. “Good man! Pity we haven’t got more like you. All right then, let's have a closer look at the target area.”

     They both bent over the map, and as he explained some points of the stronghold’s defences, Tragius congratulated himself on a masterly piece of misdirection. By asking Raptor to keep secrets from Pastor Nuckwin and telling him that the mission had no official sanction, the younger wizard was fooled into thinking that he’d been taken completely into the older wizard’s confidence. It wouldn’t occur to him that Tragius was keeping one vital piece of information even from him, the identity of the rak, and with a little bit of luck he need never find out whose Ark he’d taken. Franklos was the only one who knew that, and he was only going so that he could make sure no-one else found out.

     Tragius had one moment of doubt as he contemplated the orders he’d given Franklos in the event that someone did find out, doubt that was heightened by the recent tragedy in the conjuration room. How many deaths would there be on his conscience before this war was over, one way or the other?

     He forced himself to remain resolute in his purpose. This is war, he reminded himself. We’re fighting for our very survival here, we can’t afford such things as civilised niceties at the moment. If the worst comes to the worst, that’s just too bad. The one thing that absolutely cannot be allowed to happen is for Malefactos to be destroyed before his usefulness to us is ended. He’s much more important to the outcome of the war than a handful of middling good wizards.