The duke stood in the private quarters of his court mage. Ivar the Enchanter was seated before him, an unusual circumstance that probably violated court etiquette. But it was necessary: the wizard was surrounded by astronomical charts that he was consulting. Tolthurdine forcibly tamped down his impatience; he knew such esoteric delving could not be rushed without incurring risk. There must be no mistake. Accuracy was more important than courtesy.

  “This is rather fortuitous,” Ivar said softly, almost as much to himself as to his liege. “Yes, this should do nicely,” he muttered. Then he remembered himself and addressed Tolthurdine a bit hastily as if to remedy a perceived slight. “As you know, your grace, the moon is full five nights hence. And the ley lines will be at near peak flow – the latent magical energies supplemented by the proper conjunction of several celestial bodies. The prospect of success will be greatest then...although if you wish, another suitable opportunity will arrive in....” he squinted at the chart in front of him once more, “three months and six days.”

  “Absolutely not,” Tolthurdine declared. “We go ahead. Make whatever preparations you require. Our departure will be soon. We will ride there, make camp when we arrive, and then set up.” He paused and inhaled deeply. The gravity of the moment, so long anticipated, infused him with equal parts exhilaration and worry.

  “And the ritual must be conducted at night.” Ivar stated it not as a point of contention, but as a fact to be emphasized.

  When the duke failed to acknowledge his statement Ivar felt compelled to explain. “You see, your grace, the light of the sun is so powerful, it can cause....how to best word it?...interference that can corrupt the proceedings. Moonlight is so much more...refined, filtered, and malleable for various purposes. In short: it aids control. There’s a reason why witchcraft and such has such a strong relationship to night and the lunar cycle.”

  “Hmph,” grunted Tolthurdine. The theory of the magicks he was proposing to employ did not interest him in and of itself. To him, magic was just another tool to be used to further his ends. But, he conceded that it was one of the most powerful tools at his disposal, and completely indispensable for this instance. So he tried to pay attention whenever Ivar became didactic.

  “Once more, let us descend into the crypt. Hopefully for the final time,” ordered Tolthurdine. He abruptly turned and left the room. Ivar scrambled to his feet and hastened after his liege.

  On the way there, he saw Vadus conferring with some officers in the atrium. He beckoned the man over to him. Vadus approached and bowed.

  “The time draws nigh. We will be departing shortly. You will remain here. Regardless of what happens, I shall be back within a fortnight.”

  “Yes, milord. What shall I tell your daughter?”

  “You can say it’s another instance of me indulging my esoteric pastimes. If I am successful, then whatever excuse is offered will be forgotten.” And if he failed, he thought, he wouldn’t really care what his daughter - or anyone else for that matter - would think of him.

  In the crypt, the duke and his mage regarded the array of bodies in their niches. Ivar only came down here occasionally to confirm that the special sleep spell he had cast on each youth when he arrived was still fully intact and that they remained perfectly preserved, untouched by time. Now he performed a final check before they were boxed up for transport, where they would lie in containers until the ritual was conducted.

  Tolthurdine could see that Ivar was in a state of nervous excitement. He recognized the signs because he felt the same way, even if he didn’t let it perturb his regal mien. He surveyed his specimens: twenty-five young men of noble blood, sound of limb and perfect in form, healthy and vigorous, in the prime of life, all in dreamless repose. The perfect reservoir to draw from. On to the next step. From here on everything was logistics and procedure. He was so close now. So very close.

  *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *  *

  The rest of the afternoon was spent debating how to get into the fortress. Each had an opinion of the best stratagem, but none of them stood out as better than the others.

  “We need to infiltrate the fortress. But how best to do it?”

  “I say we go in at night, in the small hours,” proposed Bulbossa. “Throw some padded grapnels over the lowest wall away from a gate or manned tower, and climb up.”

  “I can’t climb,” Deena griped. “And once you are inside, where will you go? ‘Tis a vast place. You could look for days – and you would be sure to be discovered before then.”

  Terchin thought of his recent experience with the cleric in Wyddenfont. “Could we engage the services of a priest to get a more precise location of who we seek?”

  Deena shook her head. “I can’t think of any priest who would consent to be of such service. They all know they only conduct their affairs with the duke’s sufferance. They are at his mercy and would never consent to do anything to jeopardize their good standing.”

  “A mage, then? They are never so scrupulous.”

  “You are too accustomed to the amenities of your home,” Deena replied. “Rosscaster has but a few magic users, and these have limited abilities. And even if one could assist us, that lack of scruples cuts both ways – we could just as easily be sold out by the one we hire so that he could double his coin.”

  “A well-timed stab would prevent that from being a problem,” insisted Kestrom, which elicited an approving grunt from Bulbossa.

  “And then we would have a murder to cover up,” Deena objected. “That’s just more trouble than it’s worth.”

  “I say we disguise ourselves as servants or laborers and gain entry that way,” said Kestrom. “We can get the lay of the land, pick out possible locations where the lads might be. Then once we are unobserved we hide in various places until nightfall, where it will be easier to move about.”

  “Posing as servants wouldn’t work,” said Terchin. “I’ve seen enough examples to know that someone as highborn as Tolthurdine will have all his servants attired in the livery of his house. What is more, all the staff will have strictly prescribed duties and know each other. A stranger masquerading as one of them would be spotted right away. A laborer might work, but they will most likely be watched, and have limited access.”

  “We need to get a hold of someone who knows something,” asserted Bulbossa. “At the very least we could waylay a guard, perhaps a minor official – crack a few heads until the right information comes tumbling out.”

  “What are the chances such a small fish would be able to tell us what we need to know?” asked Terchin skeptically. “If the duke is somehow ensorcelling young men and holding them for nefarious purposes, that doesn’t sound like something that would be common knowledge, even among people who spend every day in the fortress.”

  “We can at least find out where the dungeon is!” said Bulbossa with fervor.

  “I admit that I have no justification for believing this, but I suspect that the duke would not keep Bhettu and Oreus in a mere dungeon. They must be reserved for some sort of special purpose. I suppose if they are enchanted, then they don’t even need to be imprisoned. Stands to reason, doesn’t it?”

  Deena saw the discussion was becoming contentious and sought to defuse it. “Let’s try a different tack,” she suggested. “There are people that make deliveries all the time,” she said briskly. “Wagons come in with barrels and casks, crates, sacks, all manner of articles, even straw bales and piles of hay.”

  Kestrom snorted. “And those people leave again promptly after delivery is made. You’re not proposing the old ‘hide in the back of the wagon’ trick, are you? Aren’t the guards better than to be deceived by that?”

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  Deena got defensive. “Nothing wrong with pretending to be a sack of potatoes.”

  Kestrom continued to press her. “And who unloads the sacks? Like they wouldn’t notice a person once they picked one up, sack or no?”

  “We could hide in barrels, then,” Bulbossa offered thoughtfully.

  “Bah!” exclaimed Kestrom in disdain. “Next you will be suggesting we try the old ‘open up, we brought a prisoner’ ploy!”

  Such debate went on for some time. Finally Terchin, partly to put an end to the arguing and partly to assuage his impatience and feel like he was making progress said, “You all may be acquainted with the fortress, but I have never seen it. I think I should check it out, too. Maybe a fresh pair of eyes will spot a useful detail. After all, not to boast, but I have snuck into a castle or two in my time...”

  Deena readily assented. “We’ve been away too long anyway. Usually we take it in shifts, where during the day one of us has eyes on the place. Let’s all go.”

  “Right, let me grab my gear,” said Kestrom.

  There was still an hour of daylight as the four of them emerged from the trees bordering the road that terminated at Fortress Stahrcote. The fortress was suitably forbidding, but it was nonetheless brightly bedecked in banners and pennants in the colors of House Stahrcote: a gold, seven-pointed star atop a house of argent on a field of azure. Smoke could be seen issuing from a few of the many chimneys and faint shouts could be heard, but aside from that no activity could be perceived.

  Terchin was more interested in the layout. He wanted to get a sense of how the various structures were connected, and if possible hazard an educated guess on the uses of each. He didn’t really believe he could spot some exploitable flaw in the defenses, but at least he might be able to discern more heavily guarded areas from others less secure. There was much he couldn’t see, however. Not for the first time he wished he could turn himself into a bird like Melanthus and conduct a flyover of the area. Maybe before night fell he could make his way around most of the perimeter, but first he had to see if he could obtain a better view.

  But as Terchin climbed a tree to get an improved vantage point for observation, the gate opened and a mounted procession streamed out of it. First, a dozen men-at-arms, pennons fluttering from their lances, closely followed by no less than seven covered wagons and an ornate coach, its sides emblazoned with the heraldic badge of the duke. Finally, another dozen riders brought up the rear. These thundered across the bridge that connected the main gate to the berm on the near side of the moat.

  “He’s leaving!” cried Bulbossa, who was holding a spyglass and focusing on the gilded carriage.

  “What?!?” Deena cried in astonishment.

  “He’s in there all right,” Bulbossa confirmed.

  “The question is,” asked Terchin, “are our sons with him?”

  “Why would they be?” asked Kestrom. “Wouldn’t they still be in the fortress – most likely locked up in a secret room?”

  “If they are,” Terchin reasoned, “they should be safe until he returns. I say we follow and see what his grace is up to.”

  “He’ll die easier on the road at least,” Kestrom said darkly. “More exposed. Like a turtle out of its shell.”

  “But this will make it easier to get inside,” insisted Bulbossa. “At the very least there will be fewer guards.”

  “It may well be that Oreus and Bhettu are not with him,” said Terchin, “but that sure was an awful lot of wagons. It might be helpful to find out what they are transporting. And besides – Kestrom is right about one thing: the duke is more vulnerable out in the open. If the opportunity presents itself, we may even be able to catch the duke alone and unawares. Interrogating the duke might be as useful as breaking into the palace.”

  Bulbossa snorted. “Like he is going to tell us anything! It sounds like a very risky course of action.”

  “And climbing the walls and sneaking in isn’t?” countered Terchin. “Look, you have practice putting people to the question...think of the myriad ways you could wrest answers from the duke.”

  Bulbossa’s eyes lit up at the prospect, and he grinned wolfishly in spite of himself. “Aye, my knife could make him sing, I’d wager.”

  “Answers or no, he’ll bleed like a stuck pig by the time I’m done with him,” swore Kestrom.

  “Not before I’ve said my piece,” declared Deena.

  So it was decided. Terchin was almost relieved. They hadn’t agreed on a way to get into the fortress. At least if Oreus was still inside, he somehow doubted that anything would happen to him while the duke was absent. Perhaps it was an absurd hope, but Tolthurdine seemed like the sort of leader who would personally oversee everything he deemed important because he trusted no one.

  Once they returned to Rosscaster, Terchin went to retrieve his horse from the stable where he had left it. The others gathered provisions and other items needed for a journey of indeterminate time and unknown destination. Using his ample funds, Terchin procured three more horses for his confederates, and before an hour had passed they were departing Rosscaster in a cloud of dust, heading north in pursuit of their quarry.

  The duke’s cavalcade proved easy to follow. Despite the fact he was obviously in some haste, the wagons could only be driven so fast, so the pace was restricted. Terchin was a bit worried their quarry might turn onto another road or leave it altogether, and that in the dark they would lose the track, but Kestrom remained confident. “There’s no way they can shake me with all those wagons. I could be blind and still follow them,” he assured Terchin.

  Terchin reckoned that Kestrom was not boasting; his confidence in his skill was not misplaced. Nonetheless, he hated to leave anything to chance when the stakes were so high. So he continued to fret, reflecting that this was a very different attitude than the one he had sported in past adventures. But then, he hadn’t been acting in the capacity of a father.

  *     *     *     *     *     *

  Tolthurdine found their progress satisfactory. The weather was fine, the road had few travelers clogging the road, and those that were encountered hastened to clear the way for the procession. In record time they were crossing the boundary that defined the edge of his domain and entering into the Barony of Dhozney. Riding in the comparative comfort of his carriage, Tolthurdine and Ivar reviewed every step they were to take once they reached their destination. Thus engrossed, he was startled when he heard himself being hailed.

  Frowning, he stuck his head out of the carriage window to see who had the temerity to directly address him - and more importantly, why his guards hadn’t spared him from such an outrageous intrusion.

  He was astonished to see a horseman from the other direction turning about in a tight, well-executed maneuver and drawing alongside the carriage. He was positively astounded when he belatedly recognized the rider.

  “Hail and well met, grandfather!”

  It was his daughter’s son, Lantalus.

  Tolthurdine quickly disguised his initial annoyance and recovered his composure.

  “Well, my boy, I didn’t expect to encounter you on the road.”

  “Nor I you,” cried the young man, laughter in his voice. Tolthurdine noted his grandson had dispensed with formality, perhaps due to the impromptu nature of the meeting or because he was taking advantage of the fact that they were away from court, with all its mannered interactions. He let the lapse of etiquette slide.

  The duke had not seen Lantalus in some time. Two years, perhaps three? A lot of growth had occurred in the interim. His grandson was broader in shoulder though his hair and eyes still reminded the duke of his daughter. The lad’s head was bare, shoulder-length locks bouncing with the gait of his steed, yet he was arrayed in full armor. His cloak billowed out behind him and all in all, he cut a fine figure, with a commanding presence beyond his years. Given some more seasoning he might become a credit to the family, Tolthurdine mused.

  “Why are you not with your master?” inquired Tolthurdine.

  “Sir Tarsen met with misfortune at a spring tournament. The healers repaired the worst of it, but he is yet nursing the after-effects of a spinal injury. It will be a few more weeks until he fully regains his faculties.”

  The duke grunted. Such were the vagaries of living by the sword.

  “Since he did not have need of my service in the near future he granted me leave,” Lantalus explained. “Being at liberty, I thought I might ride to Stahrcote - especially since Mother had written me that she was visiting. Is she still in residence?”

  “She is. She will be most glad to see you.”

  “And where are you off to, grandfather?”

  Tolthurdine opted to be vague. “My esoteric researches have indicated there is a site to the northwest that possesses...special properties. I thought I would go and test them out for myself.” Then he changed the subject. “Is there aught I can provide you before you resume your journey? A wineskin, perhaps?” He strove not to sound impatient.

  “To be honest, I would rather come with you – even if it means retracing a few of my steps. I wouldn’t mind seeing this magical locale of yours, which after all, will become mine someday when I become baron. How about I accompany you on your errand?”

  Tolthurdine stared at the young man. He was tempted to retort with a peremptory dismissal. He briefly weighed how much he should conceal and how much to disclose. He was inclined to be instinctively reticent; he had been so secretive about his great enterprise for so long that openly declaring his plans would require an effort of will.

  Then it occurred to him for the first time that Lantalus was about the same age as Eymund had been when the...incident happened. Even though they were a generation apart they could end up as brothers. The thought of this brightened his mood. Some of his tension melted away as he entertained notions of fraternal bonding. Envisioning success now entailed anticipation of Eymund’s needs. Would adjusting to his new reality – waking up years later – be jarring or disconcerting? It might aid a great deal if he had a relation of his own age to be a companion, someone he could trust...

  Besides, taking Lantalus into his confidence had little downside at this point. Though he generally held to the view that knowledge was a precious resource and therefore should be jealously guarded and dispensed sparingly, in another few days everyone would know everything anyway. The news of the outcome would travel the length and breadth of the duchy in a week. Better to permit him to witness the event; let him see how far his grandfather would go for the precious scion of his house!

  “Very well, Lantalus. If the deferment of your arrival does not cause any worry then you may accompany me.”

  “Splendid!” the young man exclaimed. “Though I still will take you up on that wineskin...”