Interruption Two

Interruption Two

Most evil mages lived in a gated community located in a pocket dimension outside of the normal parameters of time and space. They used to have their own individual estates spread throughout the various kingdoms they tormented, but enterprising Chosen Ones kept breaking into their homes when they weren’t even on the clock. Several evil mages had lost their heads that way, and their insurance did not cover death when they were not actively participating in an evil scheme, which left too many of their families with no monetary relief.

Leaving the pocket dimension required an annoying amount of paperwork because the person who had designed the system was an evil mage who enjoyed bureaucratic torture. However, because they were all evil mages, most of them ignored the rules and simply came and went as they pleased.

Cyril didn’t want anyone to know that he was going on a vacation in the Desolated Lands, so he had to bribe the guard to let him through without the proper visas. Since it was a pleasure trip and not work-related, his carriage was simple and understated, but contained all the possible comforts they would need for this trip. His wife was delighted with everything it provided—books, board games, tea, snakes, whiskey—and then promptly fell asleep five minutes into the drive.

Reaching the Desolated Lands took most of the first day of travel. Near evening, the carriage stopped, and Cyril got out to stretch his legs. As soon as he stepped outside, he knew something was wrong.

It was not a wasteland.

In fact, it was a rather pleasant village with happy people calling out to each other as they worked. Laundry dried on the lines, the fresh scent perfuming the air. A group of girls sat giggling outside of a shop, eating ice cream as they gossiped. A man and woman walked down the street arm and arm, heads bowed together, lost in their own little world.

“Well now!” his wife exclaimed as she stepped out of the carriage. She smacked Cyril playfully on the shoulder. “This isn’t how you described it at all!”

“No, no it isn’t,” Cyril agreed, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. He purposefully lingered behind as his wife flounced ahead of him to get them a table in the inn’s dining room.

Cyril made a motion like he was raising a hood over his head and his travel clothes transformed into a dark cloak, hiding his face and suffusing him in an aura of shadows. With a snap of his fingers a minion appeared before him, a small purple imp with black, glimmering eyes.

“How may I serve you, Your Dark Excellency?” the imp squeaked ominously.

Passersby slowed their pace, staring at the pair of them. Cyril would have to finish his work quickly. “What do you see?” he demanded.

The imp looked around, its blue lips curling. “A happy village.”

Interesting—so it wasn’t only Cyril. “I want you to do some recon, gather some information.” Maybe they hadn’t made it to the Desolated Lands yet and they were in some other kingdom on the edge of it.

“Does His Dark Majesty require any specific information?”

“Find out the name of this place, which kingdom it resides in, and why they’re all so damn happy.”

“Of course, Your Shadowy Highness.” The imp bowed deeply then popped out of existence.

Cyril lowered his hood and the clothes returned to normal. He met his wife in the inn and kissed the top of her head. “Well, darling, it looks like this vacation will be much more fun than I thought.”