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"Reach down within your nightshirt, Mr. Holiday," the wizard whspered.
Ben did as he was told. His fingers closed on a medallion fastened to the end of a chain. Slowly he
withdrew it. The medallion was the same shape and size as the one he had once worn  the one Meeks
now possessed. But the engraving on the face was changed. Gone was the Paladin, Sterling Silver, and
the rising sun. Gone was the polished silver sheen. This medallion was tarnished black as soot and
embossed with the robed figure of Meeks.
Ben stared at the medallion in horror, touched it disbelievingly, then let it drop from his fingers as if it had
burned him.
Meeks nodded in satisfaction. "I own you, Mr. Holiday. You are mine to do with as I choose. I could
simply destroy you, of course  but I won't. That would be too easy an end for you after all the trouble
you have caused me!" He paused, the smile returning  hard, ironic. "Instead, Mr. Holiday, I think I will
set you free."
He moved back a few steps, waiting. Ben hesitated, then rose from the bed, his mind working frantically
to find a way out of this nightmare. There were no weapons close at hand. Meeks stood between him
and the bedroom door.
He took a step forward.
"Oh, one thing more." Meeks' voice stopped him as surely as if he had run into a wall of stone. The hard,
old face was a mass of gullies and ridges worn by time. "You are free  but you will have to leave the
castle. Now. You see, Mr. Holiday, you do not belong here anymore. You are no longer King. You are,
in fact, no longer even yourself."
One hand lifted. There was a brief sweep of light and Ben's nightshirt was gone. He was dressed in
laborer's clothing  rough woolen pants and tunic, a woolen cloak, and worn boots. There was dirt on
him and the smell of animals.
Meeks studied him dispassionately. "One of the common folk, Mr. Holiday  that is who you will be
from this day forward. Work hard and you may find a way to advance yourself. There is opportunity in
this land even for such as you. You will not be King again, of course. But you may find some other
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suitable occupation. I hope so. I would hate to think of you as destitute. I would be most distressed if
you were to suffer inconvenience. Life is a long time, you know."
His gaze shifted suddenly to Willow's rune stone. "By the way, you will not be needing that any more,
will you?" His hand lifted, and the rune stone flew from the nightstand into his gloved palm. His fingers
closed, and the stone shattered into dust, its red glow winking out abruptly.
He looked back again at Ben, his smile cold and hard. "Now where were we? Oh, yes  we were
discussing the matter of your future. I can assure you that I will monitor it with great interest. The
medallion with which I have supplied you will tell me all I need to know. Be careful you do not try to
remove that medallion. A certain magic protects against such foolishness  a magic that would shorten
your life rather considerably if it were challenged. And I do not want you to die, Mr. Holiday  not for a
long, long time."
Ben stared at the other man in disbelief. What sort of game was this? He measured quickly the distance
to the bedroom door. He could move and talk again; he was free of whatever it was that had paralyzed
him. He had to try to escape.
Then he saw Meeks watching him, studying him as a cat might a cornered mouse, and fear gave way to
anger and shame. "This won't work, Meeks," he said quietly, forcing the edge from his voice. "No one
will accept this."
"No?" Meeks kept the smile steady. "And why is that, Mr. Holiday?"
Ben took a deep breath and a couple of steps forward for good measure. "Because these old clothes
you've slapped on me won't fool anyone! And medallion or no medallion, I'm still me and you're still
you!"
Meeks arched his eyebrows quizzically. "Are you certain of that, Mr. Holiday? Are you quite sure?"
There was a tug of doubt at the back of Ben's mind, but he kept it from his eyes. He glanced sideways
at the floor-length mirror to catch a glimpse of himself and was relieved to find that physically, at least, he
was still the same person he had always been.
But Meeks seemed so certain. Had the wizard changed him in some way that he couldn't see?
"This won't work," he repeated, edging closer to the door as he spoke, trying to figure out what it was
that Meeks knew that he didn't  because there most certainly was something...
Meeks' laughter was sharp and acrid. "Why don't we see what works and what doesn't, Mr. Holiday!"
The gloved hand swept up, the fingers extended, and green fire burst from the tips. Ben sprang forward
with a lunge, tumbling past the dark form of the wizard, rolling wildly to dodge the fire, and scrambling
back to his feet. He reached the closed door in a rush and had his fingers on the handle when the magic
caught up with him. He tried to scream, but couldn't. Shadows wrapped him, smothered him, and the
sleep that wouldn't come earlier couldn't now be kept away.
Ben Holiday shuddered helplessly and dropped slowly into blackness.
Stranger
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Ben came awake again in shadows and half-light, eyes squinting through a swirl of images that rocked
like the flotsam and jetsam an ocean's waters tossed against a beachhead. He lay on a pallet of some
sort, the touch of its leather padding cool and smooth against his face. His first thought was that he was
still alive. His second was to wonder why.
He blinked, waiting for the images to stop moving and take definite shape. The memory of what had
happened to him recalled itself with painful intensity. He could feel again the anger, frustration, and
despair. Meeks had returned to Landover. Meeks had caught him unprepared, smashed the rune stone
given him by Willow, stripped him of his clothing, turned the dark magic on him until consciousness was
gone, and...
Oh, my God!
His fingers groped down the front of his tunic, reached inside, and withdrew the medallion that hung from
its chain about his neck. Frantically, he held it up to the twilight, the warnings already whispering urgently
in his mind, the certainty of what he would find already taking shape in his thoughts. The carved metal
face of the medallion seemed to shimmer. For an instant, he thought he saw the familiar figure of the
Paladin riding out of Sterling Silver against the rising sun. Then the Paladin, the castle, and the sun were
gone, and there was only the cloaked form of Meeks, black against a surface tarnished with disuse.
Ben swallowed against the dryness he felt in his throat, his worst fears realized. Meeks had stolen the
medallion of the Kings of Landover.
A sense of desperation flooded through him, and he tried to push himself to his feet. He was successful
for a moment, a small rush of adrenaline giving him renewed strength. He stood, the swirl of images
steadying enough that he could recognize something of his surroundings. He was still within Sterling
Silver. He recognized the room as a sitting chamber situated at the front of the castle, a room reserved
for waiting guests. He recognized the bench on which he had been lying, with its rust-colored leather and
carved wooden feet. He knew where he was, but he didn't know why  just as he didn't know why he
was still alive...
Then his strength gave out again, his legs buckled,and he crumpled back onto the bench. Wood scraped
and leather creaked, the sounds alerting someone who waited without. The door opened inward. Gimlet
eyes glittered from out of a monkey face to which large ears were appended.
It was Bunion!
Bunion stepped into view and peered down at him. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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