“You must be Triumvir Terchin of Eskemar.” The eyes that studied Terchin were cold, only displaying the barest flicker of interest. Here before me is a potential foe that I should note before he is dispatched, the eyes seemed to convey.

  Now that he was confronted with his enemy Terchin struggled against the webbing that held him fast, though he knew it was futile until the duration of the spell lapsed. He had encountered the immobilizing effect of spider silk before, and well knew the sticky tenacity of the foul substance. But he wasn’t in the mood to be docile and compliantly resign himself to his fate. The duke watched him, expressionless.

  “Despite all my precautions, you managed to interfere with my plans. You almost got away with it. The important thing is that my son is restored to me. But this occurred at a greater cost than was required. Rest assured, you shall suffer for that.”

  Terchin instinctively knew that this was a man unacquainted with notions of pity or mercy. Still, he had an opportunity here, and he intended not to waste it. Before he was bundled off to underlings and subjected to the harsh ministrations of abusive minions, he could at least learn something.

  “You did all this for your own son. What could have happened to warrant this accursed undertaking?” It was a shot in the dark and for a long time the duke said nothing. But just as Terchin was concluding that his inquiry would go unanswered, the duke spoke.

  “Eymund really was everything I could have hoped for in a son and heir. He was brave, bright, respectful, knew his duty to his family. What happened to him was unfair and horrible. He deserved better, and there was no way I was going to accept what befell him. I would use all my power and resources to save, and ultimately, to revive him. I would rectify the world’s injustice that was inflicted upon House Stahrcote.”

  Tolthurdine got a faraway look in his eyes. Then he winced; despite the passage of time and his ultimate triumph the memory had not lost its sting.

  “We were returning from campaign, bringing a rebellious vassal to heel. We camped at the Giants’ Bones. It’s a desolate area of crags and tors, outcroppings of rock surrounded by rambling moors like an archipelago in the middle of a vast sea. Eymund was always eager to explore. The world offered only adventure to him. It is the nature of youth to disregard the prospect of risk. So when he found a series of caves near the encampment he insisted on going in them.

  “He didn’t go alone, of course. I would never permit my son to be endangered. So along with two companions of his I accompanied him. And he found something.

  “He was so excited. To stumble upon a burial hoard – this was the stuff of legends. I think after the first flush of elation he expected to claim a weapon of ancient heroes or something. As it happened, it didn’t matter what had been placed in that cave. The only thing that mattered was the thing haunting it.

  “There was a wraith there. Maybe it was the condemned spirit of an old chieftain. Who knows? But it came right out of the rocky floor of the cave and attacked us. Mundane blades and torches had no effect. I seized Eymund by the scruff of the neck and began dragging him back out of the cave, out into the sunlight where I suspected it could not follow. His friends bought us some time with their lives.

  “We had almost made it to the threshold of the entrance when the wraith caught up with us. It latched onto Eymund and pulled him into its dark embrace. I knew I had to get help. I screamed for Ivar, who had been studying some carvings just outside.

  “In mere moments Eymund was being drained by the wraith. I could see his life force being pulled from his body, sucked into the undead creature by its limitless hunger for life, an appetite that can never be satisfied.

  “Between the mage and I, we managed to destroy the foul thing before it could fully complete its work. The ancestral blade of my house with its potent magicks proved capable of harming it and Ivar’s spells finished it off. But the damage had been done, and Eymund’s mortal wounds could not be healed by normal means, for they were not merely of the flesh. My son was dying, and furthermore, his everlasting soul was in peril – for once he died there would be no manner in which he could be resuscitated, and he would be condemned to become a wraith himself. I subsequently consulted with many learned clerics and sages, men and women of great faith and wisdom, and none could offer succor. However, I could have him put in a state of suspended animation, thereby preserving him at the very edge of death, his body still invested with the smallest flicker of life. And this my court priest Vissavald reluctantly did at my bidding. I placed Eymund in the family crypt and for all the world was concerned he was deceased. But all the while I strove to figure out a way to restore him to health.

  “It took over two years of research just to devise my plan. To aid in my research I was instructed on how to decipher several languages, some that had not been spoken aloud in centuries. I didn’t even know what I was looking for, but money was no object: I spent freely to acquire books and scrolls that might contain any clue on the properties of the soul, the life force, the vital essence intrinsic to sentient beings. I sent out agents to procure or copy anything available that might be pertinent. I bought sacred texts, grimoires, moldering scraps of parchment – even tablets of clay. Most proved to be useless, and I traded away those that were of no value to me. Some books only contained tantalizing hints that led to still other books, resulting in multiple simultaneous searches that brought me little joy, for I am not a scholar by nature. But I persisted.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “What I couldn’t buy, I borrowed and I stole. And yes, I killed to get my hands on certain source materials, when the means of gold, theft or intimidation failed. In the end, I amassed quite the collection, which I am told is the envy of many. Eventually, mages and priests began to seek me out, and I granted some august few access to my collection, my sole compensation being bits of lore they possessed that might prove to be of use to me. Many a dinner I conducted with a wizened savant sitting at my right hand, droning on and on about some abstruse topic, the other guests at the table confused or bored into somnolescence.” Here Tolthurdine emitted a dry chuckle, the briefest expression of humor Terchin had ever heard.

  “As I delved deeper into these profound mysteries, some of the secrets of the spiritual realm began to reveal themselves. I gained an understanding rivaling that of any high priest, especially since I was not put off by warnings and imprecations. Mere sacrilege would not dissuade me from my purpose.

  “First I needed to know what could be done. Then I had to figure out a way to do it – to put theory into practice. My plan was this: to supplement his life force, his soul, with the animating essence of others. But there were hazards involved. Mixing souls can produce unpredictable and undesirable results.

  “It’s like making an alchemical solution or a mixture. The substance that is in the minority becomes more and more diluted as other components are added. It becomes less and less itself and its character changes, assuming the aspect of the dominant ingredient. The trick is to make sure that none of the new ingredients dominate, and thus everything added must be less than the original in strength. As Eymund had little life force remaining, I could only add small amounts of life force from any one given subject. This meant that many subjects were required.”

  “Victims,” Terchin insisted.

  Tolthurdine grunted dismissively. Then he continued. “This was acceptable, for, as in any process, something is lost in the transfer; vitality is dissipated and only a small percentage can be harvested. The rest is wasted like heated air exhausted out of a chimney. As a further precaution I took other measures in an attempt to bolster the chances of success. I decided on my targets with a certain care – they must be young men, just like my son. They should not be mere commoners, either – blood tells, after all. And along with nobility of spirit they had to demonstrate a measure of ability, cleverness or courage – all attributes possessed by my Eymund. In this way I made to preserve his character as much as possible.”

  Terchin snorted to himself. Did the duke not know how common Terchin himself was? As a lad he was reared in a hut with a leaky roof and windows lacking glass panes, sleeping on a pile of rushes, sometimes going weeks without having a piece of fruit or a washing. He was as common as dirt. This all sounded like madness, but Terchin had no doubt the forces underlying the duke’s scheme were real enough.

  “So, being resolved to this course of action,” Tolthurdine continued, “I enjoined a qualified and trusted agent to select proper candidates. And I supplied the means to compel them.”

  “A geas,” Terchin stated, the truth dawning on him.

  “Yes, conveyed by a rune they are given. It’s quite effective. The youths just show up and present themselves. Saves a lot of trouble.” Tolthurdine smiled now, his thin lips remaining closed, but the corners of his mouth turned upward in a way that connoted malicious satisfaction rather than mirth.

  “I have no further need of your son, so I shall not pursue him. It will be enough to punish you, and you shall endure unimaginable torments before I permit you to die. But take what comfort you can knowing that your house will endure.”

  Tolthurdine turned away, his mind already on other matters. He addressed a nearby officer. “We leave at first light to return to Stahrcote. Make sure this one is well guarded – it shall go ill for you if he escapes. I shall be minding my son, so seek no audience with me unless it is absolutely necessary. Is that clear?” And not bothering to note the officer’s reaction he strode off into the night, leaving Terchin to stew in futility.

  “Your grace!” an urgent shout issued from the nearby carriage where his son had been taken. Tolthurdine quickened his step to return to Eymund’s side. He opened the flap and saw Ivar tending to Eymund, who reclined on a bed of furs. The lad’s face was slick with sweat and he was restlessly twisting from side to side. His eyes were shut and his jaw was clenched. The duke was not sure if it was a trick of the light, but Eymund’s pallid features had taken on a greenish cast. He writhed while Ivar regarded him in perplexity.

  Tolthurdine jumped into the carriage and firmly bore down on Eymund’s shoulders to steady him. After several moments he ceased struggling and relaxed. “Son, are you all right?” Tolthurdine asked when all was still.

  At first, Eymund was unresponsive but at length he opened his eyes, which glittered with hints of wildness. “I cannot have peace, for in me are multitudes,” he whispered.

  Tolthurdine looked sharply at Ivar. The wizard shrugged in bemusement.

  “The lad is traumatized; he has been through quite an ordeal.”

  The duke frowned, then returned his attention to Eymund. “You just need some rest. Never fear, in a few days you’ll be your old self again.”

  “Do you have something you can give him?” Tolthurdine asked his magician.

  “If my lord wishes I can administer a sedative. Although –“

  “Do it,” the duke curtly ordered. The return trip to Stahrcote would not be comfortable for the youth anyway; he might as well slumber during the journey. Once he was safely ensconced at home he could be properly looked after. Then everything would be all right.