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CORONATION

Tomorrow might indeed have been a better day, but Ben Holiday never had a chance to find out.

He dreamed as he slept, dreams of truth and fantasy. He dreamed of Annie and of finding her alive again, his exhilaration at being with her and loving her blunted by a pervasive sense that she could not stay and he must lose her once more. He dreamed of Miles, bluff and cynical as he reminded Ben at every turn on a journey through a Chicago filled with Bonnie Blues that he had told him so. He dreamed of lawyers and courtrooms in which kobolds hissed from jury boxes and judges had the look of shaggy dogs. He dreamed of high rises and concrete parkways and soaring over all a dragon as black as night. He dreamed of demons and knights, of faces in the mist, and of castles that shone like the sun.

He dreamed, and the world slipped away from him.

When he came awake again, it was morning. He lay within his sleeping quarters, a vast chamber of tapestries and silken hangings, of polished oak and heraldic stone sculptures. He lay within his bed, a great canopied sarcophagus of oak and iron that looked as if it might successfully double as a barge. He knew it was morning by the slant of the light through the high arched windows, though the light remained gray and hazy as the mist without screened away its color. It was quiet within his room and quiet in the rooms without. The castle was like a stone shell.

Yet there was warmth in that castle. Sterling Silver was a dungeon to look upon and it lacked the visual appeal of even the most spartan, avant-garde, chrome-and-steel Chicago high rise, but it had the feel of a home. It was warm to the touch, from the floors that he had walked upon to the walls that he had brushed against. The warmth was in the air, despite the mist and the gray; it flowed through her like a life blood. She was what Questor Thews had called her. She was a living thing.

Waking up inside of her felt right. It felt secure and comforting, the way it was supposed to feel when one woke within one’s own home.

He stretched and glanced over to the nightstand on which he had placed his duffel and found Questor Thews sitting on a high-backed chair, looking at him.

“Good morrow, Ben Holiday,” the wizard greeted him.

“Good morning,” he replied. The good feelings evaporated in a rush as he remembered the wizard’s gloomy revelation of the night before—that he was a King without retainers, army, or treasury.

“You rested well, I trust?” Questor asked.

“Quite well, thank you.”

“Wonderful. You have a busy day before you.”

“I do?”

“Yes, High Lord.” Questor was beaming. “Today is your coronation. Today you shall be crowned King of Landover.”

Ben blinked. “Today?” He blinked again. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Wait a minute, Questor. What do you mean, today is the coronation? Wasn’t it just yesterday that you were telling me that the coronation would not take place for at least several days because you needed time to inform all those that needed informing?”

“Well, ah … yes, I did say that, I admit.” The wizard screwed up his owlish face like a guilty child. “The trouble is, it wasn’t yesterday that I said that.”

“It wasn’t yester … ?”

“Because this isn’t tomorrow.”

Ben flushed and sat up quickly in the bed. “Just what in the hell are you talking about?”

Questor Thews smiled. “High Lord, you have been asleep for a week.”

Ben stared at him in silence. The wizard stared back. It was so quiet in the room that Ben could hear the sound of his own breathing in his ears.

“How could I have slept for a week?” he asked finally.

Questor steepled his hands before his face. “Do you remember the wine that you drank—the wine I provided?” Ben nodded. “Well, I added a dash of sleeping tonic to its content so that you would be assured of a good night’s rest.” He gestured with his hands. “It was in the magic I used, just an inflection of the voice and a twist.” He demonstrated. “The trouble was, I overdid it. The dash became a thimbleful. So you have been asleep for a week.”

“Just a little mistake of the magic, is that it?” Ben was flushed with anger.

Questor fidgeted uneasily. “I am afraid so.”

“Well, I am afraid not! What sort of fool do you take me for? You did it on purpose, didn’t you? You put me asleep to keep me here!” Ben was shaking, he was so mad. “Did you think I had forgotten the ten-day withdrawal clause in my contract? Ten days were allotted me to return to my own world if I wanted my money back, less the handling fee. Don’t tell me you didn’t know that! Now eight of those ten days are gone! It’s all rather convenient, don’t you think?”

“One minute, please.” Questor had gone stiff with indignation. “If it were truly my intention to keep you in Landover, High Lord, I would not have bothered to tell you about the sleeping potion or the lost days of sleep at all! I would simply have let you think it was still only your second day in Landover and all ten days would have passed before you realized differently!”

Ben regarded him silently for a moment and then sat back. “I guess you’re right about that.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I suppose I owe you an apology, but frankly I’m too mad to apologize. I’ve lost a whole damn week because of you! And while I’ve been sleeping, you’ve gone right ahead with the plans for making me King—sent out the invitations and everything! Good thing I woke up on time, isn’t it, or you would have been faced with a bedside coronation!”

“Oh, I knew you would awake on time after I discovered the problem,” Questor hastened to assure him.

“You mean you hoped you knew,” Abernathy interjected, appearing through the bedroom door with a tray. “Breakfast, High Lord?”

He brought the tray over and set it on the nightstand. “Thank you,” Ben muttered, his eyes still fixed on Questor.

“I knew,” the wizard said pointedly.

“Beautiful day for a coronation,” Abernathy said. He looked at Ben over the rims of his glasses. “I have your robes of office ready. They have been altered to fit exactly as they ought to.” He paused. “I had plenty of time to measure you while you slept.”

“I’ll bet.” Ben chewed angrily on a piece of bread. “A whole week’s worth of time, it appears.”

Abernathy shrugged. “Not quite. The rest of us drank the wine as well, High Lord.”

“It was an honest mistake,” Questor insisted, brows knitting.

“You make a lot of those,” Abernathy sniffed.

“Perhaps it would please you if I simply quit trying to help at all!”

“Nothing would please me more!”

Ben held up his hands pleadingly. “Hold it! Enough, already!” He looked from one to the other. “I don’t need another argument. As a lawyer, I got my fill of arguments. I need answers. I said last night that I wanted to know the whole story behind the sale of this Kingdom—well, not last night, but the last time we talked, anyway. So maybe this is the time for it, Questor.”

The wizard rose, cast a dark glance at Abernathy, and looked back again at Ben. “You shall have your explanation, High Lord. But you must settle for hearing it as we travel to the Heart. The coronation must take place at noon, and we must leave at once in order to be there on time.”

Abernathy headed for the door. “His anticipation knows no bounds, I’m sure, wizard. High Lord, I will return with your robes shortly. Meanwhile, try eating a bit more of the breakfast. The castle’s magic continues to fail, and we may all soon be foraging the countryside for sustenance.”

He left. Questor glared after him, then turned hastily to Ben. “I will only add, High Lord, that, with two days remaining, you have sufficient time to use the medallion to return to your own world—if that should be your wish.”

He hesitated, then followed Abernathy out. Ben watched them go. “A whole week,” he muttered, shoved the breakfast tray aside, and climbed from the bed.

They set out within the hour—Ben, Questor, Abernathy, and the two kobolds. They left Sterling Silver and her barren island on the lake skimmer, slipping silently through the murky lake waters to the meadow beyond. From there, they passed back into the forests and the mist.

“It would be best to start at the beginning, I suppose,” Questor said to Ben after they had entered the forest trees. They walked a step ahead of the others, shoulder to shoulder, the wizard with the studied, swinging gait, shoulders stooped and head lowered. “The problem with the throne began after the death of the old King more than twenty years ago. Things were much different then. The old King had the respect of all of the people of Landover. Five generations of his family had ruled in succession, and all had ruled well. No one challenged the old King’s rule—not Nightshade, not even the Mark. There was an army then and retainers and laws to govern all. The treasury was full, and the magic protected the throne. Sterling Silver was not under the Tarnish; she was polished and gleaming like something just crafted, and the island on which she sits was the most beautiful spot in the land. There were flowers and there was sunshine—and no mists or clouds.”

Ben glanced over. He was dressed in a red silk tunic and pants with knee-high boots and silver stays. Abernathy carried his ceremonial robes, crown and chains of office. “Questor, I hate to have to tell you this but your explanation is beginning to sound like a bad fairy tale.”

“It grows worse, High Lord. The old King died and left but a single son, still a youth, as heir to the throne. The son’s guardian was a wizard of great power but dubious principle. The wizard was more father to the son than the old King, having cared for the boy after his mother’s death and during the old King’s frequent absences from court. The son was a mean-spirited boy, bored with Landover and displeased with the responsibilities his birthright demanded of him, and the wizard played upon this weakness. The wizard had been looking for a way to escape what he viewed as his own limited existence in Landover for some time; he was court wizard then—the position that I now hold—and he thought himself destined for greater things. But a court wizard is bound to the throne and the land by an oath of magic; he could not leave if the throne did not release him. So he employed his considerable skill with words and convinced the boy that they should both leave Landover.”

He paused, and his owlish face turned slightly toward Ben. “The wizard is my half-brother, High Lord. You know him better as Meeks.”

“Oh-oh.” Ben shook his head slowly. “I begin to see the light.”

“Hmmmmm?”

“Just an expression. And will you quit saying hmmmmmm like that? My grandmother in her dotage used to do that every time I said something to her, and it damn near drove me crazy!”

“Sorry. Well, the trouble with leaving Landover is that when you go, you take nothing with you. The magic won’t allow it. Neither my half-brother nor the old King’s son could stomach that! So they devised a scheme to sell the throne to someone from another world. If someone from another world were to buy Landover, then my half-brother and the old King’s son could collect the proceeds in that other world and thwart the laws of this one which would prohibit them from taking anything out. That way, they could live comfortably wherever they were to go.”

“How did they decide on my world?” Ben asked.

“Research.” Questor smiled. “Yours was a world in which the inhabitants were most likely to be attracted to life here. Landover was the fantasy that they dreamed about.”

Ben nodded. “Except that it really isn’t.”

“Yes, well.” Questor cleared his throat. “Time passed while my half-brother subverted the old King’s son, while the son grew to manhood, and while they schemed to break their ties with the land. The son never really wanted the throne in any case; he would abandon it quickly enough, whatever the conditions imposed, so long as he could be assured that he would be well looked after. It became the responsibility of my half-brother to find a way to make that happen. That took some thinking and some maneuvering. While all this was happening, the kingdom was falling apart. The magic works on strength of commitment, and there was precious little of that. The treasury emptied. The army disbanded. The laws broke down. The population began to lose its sense of unity and to drift into armed camps. Trade between them all but ceased. Sterling Silver had no master and no retainers to look after her, and she began to fall under the Tarnish. The land was affected as well, withering and turning foul. My half-brother and the old King’s son were left with the problem of selling a, ah … how do you put it in your world, High Lord? … oh, yes, a ‘pig in a poke’ … to some unsuspecting customer.”

Ben stared upward into the trees beseechingly. “You have such a way with words, Questor.”

“Yes, but you see, High Lord, it doesn’t have to be that way—that’s what I have been trying to explain to you. A King of strength and wisdom can restore Landover to the way it once was. The laws can be put back—especially by someone like you, who understands the nature of laws. The treasury can be replenished, the army can be restored, and the Tarnish can be cleansed. That is why I donned the mantle of court wizard when it was discarded by my half-brother. That is why I agreed to help my half-brother seek a buyer for the throne. I even wrote the words for the notice of sale.”

“You wrote that pack of lies for the sale item in the catalogue?” Ben asked in astonishment.

“I wrote it to attract the right kind of person—one with vision and courage!” A bony finger jabbed at Ben. “And it is not a pack of lies!” The finger dropped away and the lean face tightened. “I did what was necessary, High Lord. Landover must be made new again. She has been allowed to waste away with the fragmenting of the old King’s rule, and a loss of the magic will destroy her completely.”

“We have heard this speech before, Questor,” Abernathy muttered from behind them. “Kindly put it to rest.”

The wizard shot him an irritated look. “I am speaking only what needs to be spoken. If you are weary of the speech, close your ears.”

“Questor, I’m not following your part in all of this.” Ben brought the conversation back around to the subject at hand. “If you feel so strongly about what Landover needs, then why did you let your half-brother and the old King’s son run it into the ground in the first place? What were you doing all those years that followed the death of the old King? Where were you while the throne of Landover sat vacant?”

Questor Thews held up his hands imploringly. “Please, High Lord—one question at a time!” He rubbed at his bearded chin fretfully. “You must understand that I was not court wizard then. My half-brother was. And while I don’t like to admit it, I am not the wizard that my half-brother is. I am a poor second to him and always have been.”

“Where is my quill and scroll,” Abernathy exclaimed. “I must have this in writing!”

“I am improving, however, now that I have become court wizard,” Questor went on, ignoring the other. “I was without position at the court while my half-brother was in service—an apprentice grown too old to stay on, yet unable to find other work in the Kingdom. I traveled quite a bit, trying to learn something of the magics of the fairies, trying to find work to occupy my time. Some years after the old King died, my half-brother called me home again to help with the administration of the court. He advised me of his intention to leave the Kingdom and not return. He advised me that the old King’s son had decided to sell the throne and go with him. He appointed me to act as court wizard and advisor to the new King.”

He stopped, turning to face Ben. “He thought, you see, that I would cause him little trouble since I was a poor wizard to begin with and something of a failure in life. He thought that I would be so happy to have the position of court wizard that I would acquiesce to anything he wished. I let him believe that, High Lord. I pretended cooperation, because it was the only way I could aid the land. A new King was needed, if matters were to ever be set right again. I was determined to find that King. I even persuaded my half-brother to let me write the words in his sale notice that would bring that King to Landover.”

“And here I am,” Ben finished.

“Here you are,” Questor agreed.

“A million dollars light.”

“And a Kingdom richer.”

“But my money is gone, isn’t it? The contract I signed was a fraud from the beginning? Meeks and the son have walked off with the money, and I’m stuck here for the rest of my life?”

Questor looked at him for a long time, and then he shook his head. “No, High Lord, you are not stuck here for any longer than you choose to be. The contract was valid, the escape clause was valid, and the money awaits you, if you return within ten days.”

Now it was Ben’s turn to stare. “I’ll be damned,” he whispered. He studied Questor wordlessly for a moment. “You didn’t have to tell me this, you know. You could have let me think the money was gone and that I must stay.”

The wizard seemed sad. “No, I could never do that, High Lord.”

“Yes, he could,” Abernathy chimed in. “And he would, too, if he thought he could get away with it.” He squatted and scratched at his neck with his hind leg. “Do you think there are ticks in these woods?” he asked. “I hate ticks.”

They walked on in silence. Ben thought through all that Questor had told him. Old Meeks and the dead King’s son conspiring to make a quick killing by selling the throne to the Kingdom and setting themselves up in a new world with the money—it made sense, he guessed. But there was a piece to this puzzle that was still missing. The trouble was, he couldn’t figure out what that piece was. He knew it was there somewhere, but he couldn’t quite manage to put his finger on it. He exercised his lawyer’s skills in an effort to solve the problem, but the missing piece kept eluding him.

He gave up looking for it after a time. He would stumble across it sooner or later and he had a bigger problem just now, in any case. Eight of the ten days allotted him under the terms of the contract had already expired. That left him exactly today and tomorrow to decide whether or not he was going to back out of his purchase and head home again. He could do that, Questor had assured him. He believed Questor. The question was not so much whether or not he could, but whether or not he wanted to. Nothing of Landover had turned out to be the way it was advertised in the catalogue—except, of course, in the very broadest sense. There were dragons and damsels and all of that, there was magic, and he was King over all—or about to be. But the fantasy was not what he had expected it to be; it wasn’t even close. The money he had paid seemed far too much for what he had gotten.

And yet … the plaintiff gave way to the defendant … and yet there was something indefinable about Landover that appealed to him. Most probably, it was the challenge. He hated to admit it; but if he were to be honest with himself, he had better admit it here and now. He did not like to back away from anything. He did not like to lose. Admitting that he had made a mistake in coming here, in paying one million dollars for a fantasy that truly was a fantasy, though not the fantasy he wished, rankled him. He was a trial lawyer with a trial lawyer’s instincts and bullheadedness, and he did not like to walk away from any kind of fight. There was surely a fight ahead for him in Landover, for the sovereignty of the throne was in shambles, and it would take one hell of an effort to restore it. Didn’t he think that he could do that? Wasn’t he capable of matching his skills against those of any of the subjects that he was expected to rule?

Miles would have told him it wasn’t worth it. Miles would have thrown up his hands and gone to civilization—to Soldier Field and elevators and taxis. His associates in the profession would have done the same.

Annie would not. Annie would have told him to tough it out and she would have stood with him. But Annie was dead.

He tightened his jaw, frowning. When he got right down to it, he was dead, too, if he gave it up now and went back. That was why he had taken the gamble in the first place and come—to give himself back his life. He still thought he could do that here; he still believed that Landover could be his home. Besides, money was only money …

But a million dollars? He could hear Miles’ exclamation of disbelief. He could see Miles throwing up his hands in disgust.

He was surprised to discover that he was smiling at the idea.

It was exactly noon when the mist and trees parted almost without warning, and the little company entered a clearing bright with sunshine, its grasses a glimmer of green, gold, and crimson. Bonnie Blues grew all about the edges of the clearing, evenly spaced and perfectly formed, and only those that nestled close against the forest beyond showed signs of the wilt that Ben had observed on his journey in. Burnished timbers of white oak formed a dais and throne at the clearing’s center. Polished silver stanchions were anchored at the corners of the dais, and in their holders were tall white candles, their wicks new. Flags of varying colors and insignia lifted from behind the dais, and all about were white velvet kneeling pads and rests.

Questor’s arm swept across the sunlit clearing. “This is the Heart, High Lord,” he said softly. “Here you shall be crowned King of Landover.”

Ben stared at the gleaming oak and silver of the throne and dais, the flags and candles, and the clipped grasses and Bonnie Blues. “It shows nothing of the Tarnish, Questor. It all looks as if it were … new.”

“The Tarnish has not yet reached the Heart, High Lord. The magic is strongest here. Come.”

They crossed in silence, slipping between the lines of velvet kneeling pads and armrests to where the throne and dais waited at the clearing’s center. Fragrant smells filled the warm midday air, and the colors of the grasses and trees seemed to shimmer and mix with liquid ease. Ben felt a sense of peace and reverence within the clearing that reminded him of the church sanctuary on Sunday morning when he had been brought to it as a boy. He was surprised to discover that he still remembered.

They reached the dais and stopped. Ben glanced slowly about. The Heart was all but deserted. A few worn-looking herdsmen and farmers, with their wives and children in tow, stood hesitantly at the edges of the clearing, whispering together and looking uncertainly at Ben. Half a dozen hunters in woodsman’s garb clustered in a knot in the shadows of the forest, where the sunlight did not reach. A beggar, ragged in fraying leather pants and tunic, sat cross-legged at the base of an oak riddled with wilt.

Other than those few, there was no one.

Ben frowned. There was a hunted, almost desperate look in the eyes of those few that was troubling.

“Who are they?” he asked Questor quietly.

Questor looked out at the ragged gathering and turned away. “Spectators.”

“Spectators?”

“To the coronation.”

“Well, where is everybody else?”

“Fashionably late, perhaps,” Abernathy deadpanned. Behind him, the kobolds hissed softly and showed their teeth.

Ben put his hand on Questor’s shoulder and brought him about. “What’s going on, Questor? Where is everyone?”

The wizard rubbed his chin nervously. “It is possible that those who are coming are simply a bit late arriving, detained perhaps by something that they had not foreseen when they …”

“Wait a minute.” Ben cut him short. “Run that by me once more—‘those who are coming’ did you say? Does that mean that some don’t intend to come?”

“Oh, well, I was simply using a figure of speech, High Lord. Certainly all who can come will.”

Ben folded his arms across his chest and faced the other squarely. “And I’m Santa Claus. Look, Questor, I’ve been around long enough to know a fox from a hole in the ground. Now, what’s going on here?”

The wizard shifted his feet awkwardly. “Ah … well, you see, the truth of the matter is that very few will be coming.”

“How few is very few?”

“Perhaps only a couple.”

Abernathy edged forward. “He means just the four of us, High Lord—and those poor souls standing out there in the shadows.”

“Just the four of us?” Ben stared at Questor in disbelief. “The four of us? That’s all? The coronation of the first King of Landover in more than twenty years, and no one is coming …”

“You are not the first, High Lord,” Questor said softly.

“… but the four of us?”

“You are not the first,” the wizard repeated.

There was a long moment of silence. “What did you say?” Ben asked.

“There have been others before you, High Lord—other Kings of Landover since the death of the Old King. You are simply the latest of these to ascend the throne. I am sorry that you have to hear this now. I would have preferred that you heard it later when the coronation ceremony was …”

“How many others?” Ben’s face was flushed with anger.

“… completed, and we had … What did you say?”

“Kings, damn it! How many others have there been?”

Questor Thews squirmed. “Several dozen, perhaps. Frankly, I have lost count.”

The sound of thunder rolled from somewhere distant through the forest trees and mist. Abernathy’s ears pricked sharply.

“Several dozen?” Ben did not yet hear it. His arms dropped to his sides and the muscles of his neck corded. “I can understand why you might have lost count! I can understand as well why no one bothers to come anymore!”

“They came at first, of course,” the other continued, his voice irritatingly calm and his gaze steady. “They came because they believed. Even after they quit believing, they came for a time because they were curious. But eventually they were no longer even curious. We have had too many Kings, High Lord, who were not real.”

He gestured roughly toward the few who had assembled at the forest’s edge. “Those who come now come only because they are desperate.”

The thunder sounded again, louder this time and closer, a deep, sustained rumble that echoed through the forest and shook the earth. The kobolds hissed and their ears flattened back against their heads. Ben looked about sharply. Abernathy was growling.

Questor seized Ben’s arm. “Climb onto the dais, High Lord! Go, quickly!” Ben hesitated, frowning. “Go!” the wizard snapped, shoving. “Those are demons that come!”

That was reason enough for Ben. The kobolds were already scampering ahead, and he went after them. The thunder reverberated all about them, shaking trees and earth.

“It appears that you will have your audience after all, High Lord,” Abernathy said as he bounded up the dais steps on all fours, nearly losing the ceremonial robes and chains of office.

Ben went up the steps behind him, glancing back over his shoulder anxiously. The Heart was deserted save for the four of the little company. The farmers, herdsmen, their families, the hunters, and the beggar had all scattered into the concealing shadows of the forest. The mist and gloom of the surrounding trees seemed to press in tightly against the sunlit clearing.

“Help the High Lord on with his robes and chains,” Questor Thews directed Abernathy, hastening onto the dais to stand with them. “Quickly!”

Abernathy rose up again on his hind legs and began fitting the robes and chains of office about Ben. “Wait a minute, Questor,” Ben objected, his eyes darting apprehensively to the black tunnel entrance across from them. “I’m not sure I want to do this anymore.”

“It is too late, High Lord—you must!” The other’s owlish face was suddenly hard with purpose. “Trust me. You will be safe.”

Ben thought that he had ample reason to question that assertion, but Abernathy was already fastening the clasps to the robes and chains. The scribe was surprisingly dexterous for a dog, and Ben found himself glancing downward in spite of the situation. He started. Abernathy’s paws had blunted fingers with joints.

“He failed to get even that part right,” the scribe muttered on seeing the look on Ben’s face. “Let us hope he does better with you.”

Shadows and mist joined and swirled like stirred ink at the far side of the clearing, and the stillness turned suddenly to a howling wind. The thunder of the demon approach peaked in a harsh rumble that shook the forest earth. Ben turned, the wind whipping his robes until they threatened to break loose. Abernathy stepped away, growling deep in his throat, and the kobolds hissed like snakes and showed their teeth to the black.

Then the demons broke from the mist and dark, materializing as if a hole had opened in the empty air, an army of lean, armored forms as shadowy as night. Weapons and plating clanked, and the hooves of monstrous, serpentine mounts thudded from rock to earth, reverberated, and died. The army slowed and clattered to a halt. White teeth and red eyes gleamed from the mists, and claws and spines jutted from the mass, as if the whole were tangled into one. The army faced the dais in a ragged line, hundreds strong, pressed between the forest trees and the kneeling pads and rests, the sound of their breathing filling the void left by the passing of the thunder. The wind howled once more and died away.

The clearing was filled with the sound of heavy, clotted breathing. “Questor … ?” Ben called softly, frozen where he stood.

“Stand, High Lord,” the wizard whispered softly.

The demon horde stirred, weapons lifted as one, and a maddened howl broke from the army’s collective throat. Abernathy stepped back, jaws snapping. The kobolds seemed to go mad, hissing and shrieking in fury, crouching to either side of where Ben stood.

“Questor … ?” Ben tried again, a bit more urgently this time.

Then the Mark appeared. The demons parted suddenly at their center, and he came from out of their midst. He sat astride his winged serpent, a thing that was half snake and half wolf, a thing out of the foulest nightmare. The Mark was all in black armor, opaque and worn with use, bristling with weapons and serrated spines. A helmet with a death’s head sat on his shoulders, the visor down.

Ben Holiday wished he were practically anywhere other than where he was.

Questor Thews stepped forward. “Kneel, High Lord!” His voice was a hiss.

“What?”

“Kneel! You are to be King! The demons have come to see you made so, and we must not keep them waiting.” The owlish face crinkled with urgency. “Kneel, so you may be sworn!”

Ben knelt, eyes locked on the demons.

“Place your hands upon the medallion,” Questor ordered. Ben lifted it from beneath his tunic and did so. “Now repeat these words: ‘I shall be one with the land and her people, faithful to all and disloyal to none, bound to the laws of throne and magic, pledged to the world to which I have come—King, hereafter.’ Say it.”

Ben hesitated. “Questor, I don’t like …”

“Say it, Ben Holiday, if you would truly be the King you have said you would be!”

The admonishment was hard and certain, almost as if come from someone other than Questor Thews. Ben met the other’s eyes steadily. He could sense a restless movement from the ranks of the demons.

Ben lifted the medallion until it could be seen clearly by all. His eyes never left Questor’s. “I shall be one with the land and her people, faithful to all and disloyal to none, bound to the laws of throne and magic, pledged to the world to which I have come—King, hereafter!”

He spoke the words clearly and boldly. He was mildly surprised that he had remembered them all so easily—almost as if he had known them before. The clearing was still. He let the medallion fall back upon his chest.

Questor Thews nodded, and his hand passed through the air immediately above Ben’s head. “Rise, Your Majesty,” he said softly. “Ben Holiday, King of Landover, High Lord and Liege.”

Ben rose, and the sunlight broke over him as it slipped suddenly through the ceiling of mist. The silence of the clearing deepened. Questor Thews bent slowly and dropped to one knee. Abernathy followed him down and the kobolds knelt with him.

But the demons held their place. The Mark stayed mounted, and none about him moved.

“Show them the medallion one time more!” Questor hissed beneath his breath.

Ben turned and held forth in his right hand the medallion, feeling with his fingers the outline of the mounted knight, the lake, castle, and rising sun. Demons cried softly in the ranks of black forms, and a few dropped down. But the Mark brought his arm back swiftly, beckoning all to stand where they were, to keep their feet. The death’s head turned back to Ben defiantly.

“Questor, it isn’t working!” Ben breathed from out of the side of his mouth.

There was sudden movement in the demon ranks. Astride his monstrous, winged carrier, the Mark was advancing through the screen of mist and shadows. The demons he led were coming with him.

Ben went cold. “Questor!”

But then there was a flare of light from across the Heart, as if something bright had caught the reflection of the sun. It broke from the edge of the forest shadows between the advancing demons and the dais on which Ben and his companions stood. The demons slowed, eyes shifting. Ben and his friends turned.

A horse and rider appeared from out of the mists.

Ben Holiday started. It was the knight he had encountered in the time passage between his world and this, the knight whose image was graven on the medallion, a battered and soiled iron statue as he sat astride his wearied horse. His lance rested upright in its boot cradle and his armored form was still. He might have been chiseled from stone.

“The Paladin!” Questor whispered in disbelief. “He has come back!”

The Mark rose in the harness that bound him to his mount, death’s head facing toward the knight. Demons shrank back within the mist and shadows all about him, and there were whimpers of uncertainty. Still the knight did not move.

“Questor, what’s happening?” Ben demanded, but the wizard shook his head wordlessly.

A moment longer the demons and the knight faced each other across the sunlit span of the Heart, poised like creatures at hunt. Then the Mark brought one arm upward, fist clenched, and the death’s head inclined, if only barely, toward Ben. Wheeling his mount, he turned back into the dark, the army he led turning with him. Shrieks and cries broke the stillness, the wind howled and hooves and boots thundered once more. The demons disappeared back into the air out of which they had come.

The mist and the gloom drew back again, and the sunlight returned. Ben blinked in disbelief. When he turned back once more to find the knight and his war horse, they had disappeared as well. The clearing was empty but for the five who stood upon the dais.

Then there was new movement in the shadows. The few farmers and herdsmen and their families, the hunters and the lone beggar slipped back into view, gathering hesitantly at the fringe of the trees. There was fear and wonder in their eyes. They came no further, but one by one they knelt in the forest earth.

Ben’s heart was pounding, and he was damp with sweat. He took a deep breath and wheeled on Questor. “I want to know what in the hell is going on, and I want to know right now!”

Questor Thews seemed genuinely at a loss for words for the first time since they had met. He started to say something, stopped, tried again, and shook his head. Ben glanced at the others. Abernathy was panting as if he had been run. The kobolds were crouched close, ears laid back, eyes slitted.

Ben seized Questor’s arm. “Answer me, damn it!”

“High Lord, I don’t … I am at a loss to explain …” The owlish face twisted as if caught in a vise. “I would never have believed …”

Ben brought his hand up quickly to cut him off. “For God’s sake, Questor, get hold of yourself, will you?”

The other nodded, straightening. “Yes, High Lord.”

“And answer the question!”

“High Lord, I …” He stopped again.

Abernathy’s shaggy head craned forward over one shoulder. “This should be interesting,” he offered. He appeared to have regained control of himself more quickly than the wizard.

Questor shot him a dark look. “I should have made you a cat!” he snapped.

“Questor!” Ben pressed impatiently.

The wizard turned, took a deep breath, cocked his head reflectively and shrugged. “High Lord, I don’t quite know how to tell you this.” He smiled weakly. “That knight, the one that appears on the medallion you wear, the one that confronted the Mark—he doesn’t exist.”

The smile disappeared. “High Lord, we have just seen a ghost!”