UNDER THE RIVER
by
John P. Nordin

jpn@jpnordin.com

Approximately 75,000 words.

CHAPTER 1

In the second or two it took for his foot to slip off the rock and for him to plunge into the water and his life to change, there were many things he did not do. His life did not flash before his eyes, either the life he fantasized, or the life he had and hated.

Before he slipped, he had been stuck. Endlessly he went around the events of the day, his anger growing each time. He was walking alongside a creek that ran in a tiny canyon. Cottonwood trees arched over the creek, providing cool, dark relief from the baking heat of the day. Walking on the damp, firm dirt of the canyon also offered relief from the work of another day spent avoiding the attention of the class bullies, getting through gym class without being embarrassed, covering his shyness with girls, and of trying to hide what he was thinking from his teachers. "Damn teachers know less about stuff than I do."

Today he had failed in his efforts to avoid being noticed, bringing a new conflict with the dinosaur assistant principal. He had gone to the river first instead of going home to delay telling his parents. He knew they wouldn't understand. They never did. He hated school, them, his life, his clothes, the whole human world. If only he was someone else, wealthy, better looking, smoother, or from a more connected family. He was moving abruptly, imagining that the fire in his brain would leap out and consume those he hated. Later, he wondered what he had been complaining about. Still later, he knew why it was important.

He fell headlong, stretching full length over the stream. Time stopped, every sense extended, wind roaring, he hung weightless for an infinite instant. It passed, and he smacked the water. He was startled by cold, deep water, the creek was rarely even knee-deep, what was this? No swimmer, he trashed around trying to get his feet under him. A swift current grabbed him, spun him around and carried him rapidly downstream. He was getting excited, flailing about with little purpose. A frantic burst of paddling brought him to the surface long enough for a quick gasp of air. Before the icy water pulled him back the image of the starless dark sky, vast and indifferent, imprinted itself on him. He was spun wildly in some strong turbulence, lost track of which way was up and swallowed some water. Suddenly, his right side scraped against a wall. His disorientation resolved itself; he had been cast onto a hard sandbank when the river turned sharply. He forced his numbed legs to work, and on all fours crawled up the bank and half out of the water.

He remained on all fours, gasping and spitting. Gradually his pounding heart calmed and his surroundings came into focus. Standing up he splashed out of the river and on to a grassy bank. He turned around, confused. The river was twenty times the size of his creek. The wide valley and range of hills far beyond the river did not look familiar, and he had walked a long way downstream before. Had he been swept all the way down the tributary to the main river? That was at least as impossible as the deep and rapid current he had been in. It occurred to him to check the time and he got the biggest shock of all.

Not only wasn't his watch on his wrist, but his clothes were different. His plain shirt was gone, replaced by a rough handmade affair with loose sleeves and elaborate embroidery. His pants were similarly altered, being now loose-cut, tied at the waist with a braided leather cord. His shoes were really moccasins. His glasses were gone but his vision was clearer. "What the hell is happening!" he said, looking around at nothing.

He walked slowly up the remainder of the grassy bank. It soon leveled out and he saw that there was a dirt road paralleling the river. But it was an odd sort of road, without the two or three ruts like all the country roads he was familiar with. It was just a single path, but it was too wide to be just a cow path or foot trail. The individual trees, rocks and plants looked familiar, but the total effect was one of strangeness.

He tried to calm down, be scientific and review the possibilities. He could be dreaming. If so, this was the most vivid dream ever, with smells and touch going full blast. He could have knocked himself out, falling like that, and gotten amnesia. Except, he knew his name, knew his parents, remembered what he had done yesterday. Maybe all that was a false memory and now he was awake! But, he could remember walking down to the stream, the fall into the water, thrashing around.

He had been walking on the road in the upstream direction, assuming that was the way he had come. He heard some noise behind him, spun around and saw that a rider was almost on top of him. All Gary could do was step hurriedly aside. He stood, rooted to the ground as the horseman came nearer. The rider was dressed in the same unrefined, loose fashion as Gary, but not as richly. He was large and rough, tanned, with a heavy beard. He stared at Gary from under a wide brimmed hat. The horseman never really stopped, but for a moment the rider and Gary seemed frozen, looking at each other. Before Gary could form a question, the man started and stared, appeared surprised, then wheeled about, spurred his horse and was off.

What to do? He was going to have to talk to somebody sometime, he couldn't spend the rest of his life wandering around out here. He stood still a moment longer, then decided to climb a knoll that the road had been skirting. It took a couple of minutes to scramble up to the treeless summit and Gary was surprised not to feel winded. He felt his legs and stomach. He was definitely leaner and more muscular than ... than before, but still no athlete. From the top of the hill he had a good view all around. The river flowed through a vast shallow valley, the road paralleling upstream as far as he could see. The land at first struck him as farmland or grassland but it had a wilder look to it than the farms he was used to seeing. He saw no sign of a city but thought he saw a few individual farm homes. Turning and looking downstream gave much the same impression but Gary thought he saw signs of a city far off. He stood there, glancing in the direction of the sun. At least it seemed the same sun, heating the same air that wafted about him, bringing the smells of a warm early summer day.

Should he go upstream, and approach an individual farm house hoping that hospitality outweighed suspicion, or go downstream to possibly a big anonymous city, where one could look around without attracting attention? But he was going to have to eat and he didn't seem to have anything that looked like money. Standing there, it sunk in on him that he was the only person he could see in the whole vast area. He felt exposed, a dark bug in the middle of a white floor. With a horrible pang of homesickness he charged down the hill to the river, splashing in and diving under. Take me back, he thought, I want to go home. While he spent some time in the river looking diligently for the spot where he had washed up, nothing like that swift cold current appeared. It occurred to him that he might have to fall in accidentally. Try as he might, he could find nothing and physical exhaustion soon led him to seek the bank and to lie in the sun. At least that still felt good, like home.

When he had recovered he felt resolved to make the best of it and decided to seek the farms. He set off up the road. The sun soon dried him and his spirits rose a bit. He had been walking some ten minutes when faint sounds behind him made him turn. A party of five or six horsemen were coming up the path from downstream, the direction the lone rider had gone. Cautious, Gary stepped off the track a ways into the grass and crouched down. It was tall enough to hide him, but as flat as the land was, there was no point in running.

The men had stopped near where Gary had first climbed out of the river. That was now far enough away that he really couldn't tell what they were doing but it looked like searching. One horseman drove his reluctant horse to the top of the knoll and looked around. Gary crouched lower in the grass and began to try to slide sideways, away from the road. He thought that perhaps strange people walking about were not well received here. It reinforced his notion to try the farmhouse rather than the city.

The group was coming up the trail now and Gary decided he couldn't get much farther away without creating such a disturbance that he would be noticed. He lay down in the grass, trying not to flatten too large an area. He hoped he could watch the men go by and learn something. He was within earshot if they spoke up. The group trotted up the trail until they were almost opposite Gary when they slowed down and stopped. Coincidence? Don't move, don't even breath.

The lead rider turned to the next. "Do you think the prince has come this way?"

Two thoughts hit Gary simultaneously: The Prince! and they're speaking English. The idea that he wouldn't understand people had not even occurred to him but the relief was still tremendous. They said 'the prince,' so they weren't looking for him, after all.

The second man spoke, rather loudly, Gary thought, "It's likely, my lord, that he kept on walking the way he had been. He must be getting tired and hungry though."

The third piped up in a strong voice, "I hope he isn't wandering, not knowing who he is."

"If he is carrying the royal emblem about his neck, as the rider said, it should remind him."

Emblem? He did have a necklace but had taken no notice of it so far. Hung on a finely worked metal chain was a round amulet. Gary looked at it but its symbols meant nothing to him. This was getting stranger by the minute.

"He may think we mean him harm," the man was practically bellowing. "But our carrying the same emblem should reassure him."

Suddenly Gary figured it out. They must have seen him from the hill and were trying to coax him out. They did seem to be wearing necklaces similar to his. Well hell, he thought, if this is a trick it's too good for me. He stood up and began to walk to the road.

"Prince Esgard! Your Highness!" the second man seemed genuinely happy. He was short and round, nearly bald, of middle age. He was wearing a long brown cloak that got tangled in his mount's reigns as he struggled to get down. He met Gary halfway to the road and fell to one knee. "It is Your Highness. You've come back! The Creator be praised!"

Gary was trying to absorb all this, uncomfortable at this show of deference. He didn't know whether to play the game or come clean. "Get up," he said.

The man stood and looked eagerly at Gary. When he saw no sign of recognition and no further question he ventured, "It is I, Bars. You remember me, Your Highness." There was a moment's silence.

"You did have quite a bit more hair when His Highness departed us," the leader of the group said, slowly and with no warmth.

"Bars," said Gary, not able to commit himself.

"Do you remember me, Your Highness?" the leader turned to Gary, and Gary thought the words "Your Highness" were said with a sneer.

The jig's up, he thought and was a hairsbreadth from saying "No," when out of the corner of his eye, he caught Bars gesturing. Bars was saying very faintly, "Locar, Locar" Hoping that it wasn't all just one long name, Gary looked at the leader and said, "Aren't you Locar?"

It must have been close enough, because the leader impatiently drew his horse around. "Let's go, I want to be back by dark." He forced his horse through the group and waited at the far side, facing the downstream direction.

Bars nodded happily, smiling, giving him some equivalent of the "thumbs up" sign, or so Gary supposed. Again, Gary thought that if this was a scam it was a good one.

Bars said, "We have brought your favorite horse, Sire." He bustled on back to the road, rounding on the left side of a brown horse of medium height. He stood there, his back bent, his hands knitted together, as if to help Gary up.

Finally, something that made sense, Gary thought, I do know how to get on a horse. As he approached, he looked over the bridle and saddle arrangements. At first they seemed completely different but by the time he had come near the horse, Gary had figured out that there really were things that swecws as stirrups, saddle, reins, and even a saddle horn. Gary ignored Bars, put his foot in the stirrup and swung up in one easy motion, helped by the unexpected strength and agility of this new body. "Let's go," he said to a dumfounded, but admiring, Bars.

They set off down the road. On the way Gary and Bars talked a great deal. That is, Bars volunteered a great deal and Gary tried to keep the conversation going with noncommittal responses. Gary learned that his name was Esgard, commonly Esgard the Younger, though who Esgard the Elder was, was not made clear. They were riding to the King's castle. Everyone would welcome Esgard back, he had been gone more than 18 undetermined units of time. And while learning this, Gary-Esgard felt he had learned nothing. He was a prince, but who were the other princes and king? And while this place was beginning to sound like medieval kingdoms he had read about, what if it wasn't exactly the same? What if this surface similarity hid a utter alieness and he’d fallen into a trap? Some of what Bars was saying sounded like a summary of recent events but Gary had no context in which to understand it.

Gary's confusion was still strong when they came into the outskirts of town. It was not very big, and was dominated by a large stone castle. Bars volunteered that the castle was their destination. Gary-Esgard got the feeling that he must have vanished before, from their point of view, because it sure seemed that Bars was trying to cover for his "amnesia." Further evidence of that came from Locar who occasionally turned and murmured comment to his companions. The words were always phrased respectfully, but Gary had the feeling that he was being laughed at.

As they passed up the final blocks to the castle, small groups of people pressed against the buildings to stay out of the way and looked at the riders. To Gary they didn't seem overjoyed to see the return of Prince Esgard the Younger, though Bars assured him, while urging him to wave, that they had longed to see him again. Everybody took off their hats or made a slight bow as they passed. Once inside the castle, his discomfort grew. It was obvious that the workers were not impressed by royalty and he felt watched, examined, evaluated. Yet everyone was outwardly polite and kept bowing as he passed.

They got off the horses and the prince was escorted to a room in the upper reaches of the castle. Apparently the whole set of rooms in this wing was his, but it seemed a lot of people lived with him as there was a steady traffic up and down the long corridor. As they entered his room Bars said, "I know you must be tired after your long journey, I will leave you to freshen up before the council meeting." With that he withdrew, leaving Gary to wonder what council meeting and when.

He inspected his quarters. He was in a large room, furnished vaguely like a living room with tapestries hung from stone walls and massive, rude chairs and tables set about. It had a shuttered window that when opened revealed an expansive view of the town and the fields beyond it. Gary crossed to the side and saw that what had at first appeared to be a narrow tapestry on a wall, in fact covered a doorway. He pushed it aside and went into a bedroom. A high huge bed dominated the room. There was a pitcher of water, a basin and some towels. He washed and then went back into the main room in time to hear a knock at the door. He went to open it but before he got there it was opened by an astonished servant girl who immediately dropped to one knee and let fall the pile of blankets and towels she was carrying.

"Oh, it is you, I mean m'lord, you have come, begging your pardon."

"Let me help you," he automatically had bent over to help her pick up the blankets.

"Oh no, Sire, don't sully yourself, I will do it, I thought I had time. That is, before you came back." He backed away from the door and gestured for her to come in. She ran inside, put everything away, and ran back to the door, stopping only to drop another curtsey before backing out and pulling the door shut behind her. She couldn't have been more than fifteen.

Gary was estimating his chances at passing for Prince Esgard, and had just discovered he couldn't lock the door when another knock sounded. He opened it with some irritation. It was Bars. "Oh Sire, you needn't do that, just say 'come', you needn't bother yourself. Well, it is time to dress for the council." He stood there expectantly.

Oh nuts, Gary-Esgard thought, just wishing to be left alone. Aloud he said, "I don't know what to wear." As soon as he said it he regretted its crudeness and directness. Bars' eyes lost some of their luster. "May I recommend, sire?"

"Yes, please."

Bars led the way to the bedroom and to a closet behind another tapestry. How many false walls did this place have? Bars began a long incomprehensible discourse on the history and significance of each garment. At last a garment was selected and he was outfitted in a heavy floor length robe of green and yellow. "Your colors, m'lord," Bars assured him. Around his neck went several medals hung on chains, also very heavy. The new prince felt ridiculous. He suddenly wanted to sneak down to this council, hide in the back and say nothing, like he would have done at any meeting back home. This fantasy was rudely shattered by the arrival of three gentlemen all wearing matching but less elaborate versions of Gary's outfit.

The three new arrivals escorted the reluctant prince down to the central part of the castle. Gary-Esgard had wanted the helpful Bars along but was ever so gently reminded that the council was for nobility only. His new companions were silent the entire trip. They entered a large meeting room to a fanfare and an announcement. "His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Esgard, Duke of Westvail and Knight Commander!" So that's who he was. The title's heavier than this gown, he thought.

They walked into the room and Gary became more uncomfortable as he realized that everyone was standing and looking at him. There were three rings of chairs in a semicircle facing five more elaborate chairs in a row. Chair number two was occupied by a young man, wearing the same style of outfit as Gary but done in red and yellow. He was sitting in a chair with a high back also done in red and yellow. Since chair number four was done in green and yellow, and his entourage was bearing down on it, Gary supposed he would have to sit there. He was horrified, he’d be in the open with not even a table to hide behind. He made to sit down but had the uncomfortable feeling that the ten or fifteen people in the audience were waiting for something. He nodded briefly at them and sat down. After a momentary hesitation and exchanged glances, they did likewise. His companions went and sat in the third row. Gary turned to the other man and said in a low voice, "Hello."

The man turned slightly and said with little warmth "Welcome." Thus rebuffed, Gary turned to examining the room. It told him nothing. Another fanfare sounded followed by an announcement for "His Royal Highness, the King of Kelfar, Esgard the Wise, Commander of the Army, Maker of Laws, Defender of the Faith." All stood, Gary lagging a bit behind the man in number two. A middle aged, bearded man strode in, making light work of hauling what must be the combined weight of Gary and his silent companion's clothing. Esgard the Wise made for the chair between the two, acknowledged the crowd with a wave and sat down.

The King immediately turned to Gary and said in a soft, friendly tone, "So you are back, my son. I regret there wasn't time to see you before this. I will come to you later." He turned back before Gary could reply and announced, "Let the council begin."

Some official arose and began to talk. However, Gary was still reacting to "my son" Eventually, he began to focus on the debate. As best he could make out, Kelfar (was that this country?) was being threatened by the Nakfis, the "foul, evil, despoiled, repellent, debauched Nakfis" to be exact. Various responses were discussed, but since he didn't understand the geography, the situation or the governmental departments it was very hard to follow. At one point Locar -- he was here too -- stood and asked what Esgard the Younger recommended. Gary froze, staring wildly at Locar, his mind a total blank. But before Esgard the Younger was found out, King Esgard interposed with a firm statement that Esgard was just returned and couldn't be expected to commit himself to a view. Thank you, Sir! Gary thought.

The council went on for hours, or so it seemed. Without a watch Gary-Esgard had no way of telling. Servants came after a time and lit candles in stands on the wall that gave a gloomy, flickering light. The King seemed not to want war but to have no ready alternatives. The other man sitting on the King's right was urging that they take the initiative. His voice was rising with impatience. Some people in the body of the council, Gary guessed they were from near the invasion route, appealed for help. Eventually the meeting broke up without agreement. He was escorted out second, after the King but before the other man, so he couldn't find out who he was.

He was afraid he would have to eat in some big dining hall but was relieved when it turned out that a privilege of royalty was private dining in his own rooms. He was worn out even though he was relieved to have escaped the meeting without saying a word. He ate sparingly of the plain but generously supplied food. Halfway through the meal the door was flung open and the King came through. Uncertain how to receive him, Gary stood awkwardly until pressed by the King to sit. The staff was dismissed with an authoritative word from the King and the two were alone.

"How are you," the King asked, staring directly at Gary-Esgard.

"OK, fine I guess."

The king paused. "You were away a long time. Some had begun to give up hope of your return."

"Oh," he didn't know what to say to that, reluctant to lie but not willing to unburden himself with the truth.

"Do you remember any of this?" the king was still staring intently at him.

Unsure if the King meant the trip or what now surrounded him, Gary hesitated, looking around. "Ah, I mean, you mean this?" He heard a slight waver in his voice.

The elder man seemed to make a decision. "You don't remember us at all, even me." It was a statement, and now that this fact was out on the table, Gary was overcome with a desire to tell somebody his dilemma. It was too much, he wasn't going to be able to keep up the illusion, even though they seemed to expect him to need help.

"It's not that I don't remember this, I mean I don't, but I do remember something else. I mean, this morning I got up, on Earth, not here, I went to high school, I came home. I went walking along a river and I slipped on a rock and fell in. The river kinda took me under and when I got out I was here. In this country, I mean. And I was wearing different clothes, and didn't have my glasses and here I am. Who are you? Where is this place, anyway?" He stopped, conscious that he was blathering and that his voice was cracking. He was most ashamed that tears were welling up and tried to hide them. He looked at the King, daring him to say something, feeling not like a rich young prince but a small boy.

The King turned his head, and intently studied a piece of fruit on the table, giving Gary a chance to quickly wipe his eyes. He spoke, "You say that you have never been here before?"

"Never. I've never been here before. Is this Earth? Ah, I mean, what planet is this?" What a stupid question, he thought.

"Some of your words are strange to me, planet, earth, high school."

Oh great, he thought, I could get burned at the stake like Galileo or something. History had not been his best subject. He suddenly became afraid that the King's calm manner was a way of drawing him on to more and greater indiscretions. He temporized, "Everybody acts like this has happened before, my disappearing. Has it?"

"Yes, several times." The King bent forward, picked up a fruit from the table and began turning it over in his hands. "Ever since your mother died when you were nine you have been running away. Sometimes for a few days, sometimes longer. Each time you came back it was a different story, sometimes that you couldn't remember, sometimes that you had been kidnapped, different stories. The last two times you were seen heading east towards Nakfis and this caused resentment. Many have doubted your stories. But always you have remembered and come home. Before this."

Gary was trying to absorb this. His mother dead? East to Nakfis, into the enemy land? More disappearances? "How long was I away this time?"

"Eighteen months. A year and a half."

That's odd, he remembered that before they had used a word he couldn't understand, now it was a year and a half. Anyway, the king didn't seem about to call the guards and have him hauled away. "Well something different happened this time. It's not just a new story. There must be some way to prove it. What was Esgard good at? In school? And what was he bad at?"

The King seemed amused. "Children of royalty do not go to the common schools. You had a tutor, when you would listen to him." He smiled at Gary-Esgard, eyes alight with some private amusement. "You were not a good student, but perhaps your best subject was singing and your worst math."

Gary took heart, he certainly couldn't sing and his math was all right, especially here, he figured, where they must be a thousand years behind earth. "Well, I'm all right in math and science so maybe I can show you. . ."

"Not me," the king laughed, "but I will have your tutor test you. What counts more to me is your speech and your attitude. My son would have picked a fight with me already, and would have spoken loudly, often and ignorantly at the council. If you are Esgard, you have changed greatly. And if you are not. . .", he let the sentence trail off, making a gesture Gary had never seen and yet understood to be indicating that such a problem would be dealt with at the appropriate time.

"Well, I'm not Esgard, my name is Gary Jackson, and I don't understand any of this. You're my father, right? Who was that other man at the council, sitting next to us?"

The King turned and looked at him again with the appraising look. "That was your younger brother, Thandar."

"Oh God." Younger brother, he was elder. Were there any others? Didn't look like it. That made him the eldest son. This raised a much bigger question, but one he couldn't come out and say directly. "I'm the eldest son? There aren't any other brothers and sisters, right?" The King nodded. "On earth, when a King dies . . . I mean. . ."

The King interrupted. "When a King dies, he is succeeded by his eldest child. In this case you."

"I hope you're real healthy."

At this the King really laughed, roaring until Gary-Esgard was embarrassed. "Yes, I seem healthy." He stood. "But there is a different more immediate problem. While you were gone, Thandar got used to being the eldest. He will resent you and your behavior which has always been rather, shall we say, erratic. The nobles will speculate wildly to decide with which of you they should try to ingratiate themselves. The ordinary citizens will be happy you are back. But if what you say is true, there is much you must learn, and quickly." He turned and faced Gary-Esgard, looking intently and under that gaze, Gary-Esgard shrank to just Gary. "I think it would be wise if you said nothing to anyone, anyone," he emphasized, "of what you just told me. Tell those who press you that you are tired and confused. You have said that before. People will be expecting you to sulk for a few days."

With the King's words, thoughts of politics, conspiracy, and spying came to Gary's mind. The security he had hoped he might feel with a high position and wealth was not there. Instead he felt a target. "Can I trust anyone?"

"Bars, your servant, is devoted to you and would do you no harm knowingly, but he is not the most discrete. I will find a teacher for you who can be trusted. And I hope you will trust me."

Gary wasn't sharp enough, or smooth enough, to pick up on this opening, instead he asked "What about Thandar?"

"Let me talk to him first. His loyalty to me, our family and our country is fierce. But he should be more than a good soldier, he should be your friend. That will take time." He moved abruptly. "I must go, I have meetings yet tonight. Stay in your rooms. I will insure that no one bothers you tonight. In the morning I will send a tutor. Goodnight." He left softly and Gary was alone and the room seemed a little darker.

Gary finished the meal and said nothing to the servants who carried it away. Bars came and asked if he needed anything but Gary was now reluctant to say anything to anybody so he sent him away. Night had fully come and the room was lit by several smoky candles. Gary saw the ceiling was absolutely black with soot. He went to the window and looked out and was startled not to see the city lit up. But of course, there were no electric lights.

He turned, suddenly restless, and looked about the room. In one corner was a desk that had not caught his eye before. On it were several books. He sat at the heavy wooden chair and pulled the first book to him. It was a substantial volume, large and thick. It had not been used for a long time; dust coated its leather binding. Gary's first surprise was that it was hand written. No printing press. His second shock was that he could read. Still, the problem was the individual letters, which when studied closely failed to look like English letters. It wasn't just the handwriting. Finally he figured it out. He was reading, but he wasn't reading English. This was the native language and alphabet, but with his new body had come new skills. There was some leakage, because Gary could remember, or thought he could, what English looked like. He traced an alphabet just to make sure. That must be why he understood the king to say eighteen months the second time. It took a little while to make the switch. So this was what learning another language was like. Only this wasn't like learning it, rather like always having known it.

But although he could read the book, he couldn't understand it. It seemed to be a story, but it could be history, myth, anything. The other books were similar. He was too overwhelmed by all this to sit and study any one in particular so he roamed about his two rooms, looking under every tapestry for doorways. He discovered a few more books and blankets but not much else.

He returned to the desk and looked again. There was something funny about the stories. He sort of remembered them, as if he had read them a long time ago but couldn't remember how they came out. They were what he would have called fairy stories. Tales of brave knights, fair ladies. All that junk, he thought. I bet there isn't any good sci-fi in the place.

He supposed that a hero would now sneak out of the room, explore and discover some terrible secret hidden in the castle. He opened the door and stepped into a dark hallway. Of course, no candles. He went back and picked one up and holding it above his head, looked up and down the hallway. A bundle of darkness at the far end stirred and got up. "Yes, Your Highness." A servant.

"No, no, nothing." Gary retreated inside. Nuts. Some hero he was. He’d had enough adventure for one day. After another look around he blew out the candles, undressed and went to sleep.

The King walked down the hallway towards his own chambers, not sure how to interpret Esgard’s words. Could this really be true? A different person returned in what was undoubtedly Esgard's body? Certainly the chronicles contained far more dramatic stories of magic than this. He couldn’t recall an exact parallel. It would not be wise to consult the court magicians, he didn’t want this problem spread all over the castle before he knew what he was dealing with.

He felt his son to be telling the truth, or at least the truth as his son understood it, but he had learned through bitter experience not to jump to conclusions. A tutor might be advisable regardless of what was going on. If what his son said were true, the boy desperately needed a tutor. If he was lying, a tutor might discover it. Esgard had two tutors. One had been older, a stiff, precise man of the old, old school, impervious to Esgard's tricks, but totally without warmth or sympathy. That wouldn't be satisfactory now. The second tutor had been a young teacher named Sonjar. She had taught his son several years ago but it had not gone well. Esgard found her serious intellectual demeanor and her slight, thin, shy presence to be an irresistible target for teasing and pretended flirting. It would be interesting to see if she now provoked the same reaction. If not, it would be more evidence that his son was telling the truth and that this was not his son. She would also be a good tutor, intelligent but more gentle and flexible than the older man.

His son's return came at a bad time. He admitted to himself that he had a brief hope this afternoon that the report was false, and Esgard wasn't returning. They were going to be attacked by Nakfis. He knew he was a good king, able to resolve an argument, get agreement, inspire. He looked out for the peasants, controlled the graft, but he was not a war king. Thandar had the drive, self-confidence and aggressiveness to be one. In Esgard's absence, no one would object to Thandar leading the army while the king stayed behind and concerned himself with logistics and the economy. But with Esgard here, he would be expected to lead the fight. And Esgard was the worst of choices, self-centered, unreliable and probably a coward. So the King would have to lead the army himself to avoid giving it to Esgard. He didn't look forward to it. He had no ready answer if Esgard really was a stranger.

He had several ministers clamoring for meetings with him yet tonight. He hadn't been king for so long without learning how to avoid worrying about that upon which he had no facts to act. So for tonight he thrust Esgard out of his mind .

(Last page - Chapter 1)