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 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?