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wanted you. It is the Black Prince.”

The servant left and the door swung shut behind him, as soundlessly as it had opened, leaving Gar’rth alone and with more questions than he’d had before.

Over the next few hours, Georgi appeared several times, coming and going in quick succession, bringing with him copper jugs of hot water with which he filled the bath and washbowl. He did not speak, and the unanswered questions gnawed at Gar’rth’s mind.

Alone again, he ate and bathed and dressed without a thought to what he was doing, for his mind was occupied always by the uncertainty of his captivity and of what Georgi had told him before.

He has told me only enough to keep me guessing.

Even a closer inspection of his surroundings gave no help. He knew he was in a tower, for the wall with its single window was curved. His clothes were black finery, a jerkin as soft as any material he had ever felt, a brooch of white gold to hold his black cloak across his throat.

The image in the mirror was not one he liked.

The man standing there is soft, pampered…

He ran his hand over his smooth chin. It was not a sensation he was used to.

Finally, he pulled the red cord that hung over his bed, and somewhere from far away he thought he heard a bell ring.

Within moments, Georgi came.

“I am ready,” Gar’rth said. “When will I see my friends again?”

“The Black Prince wishes to see you, Gar’rth. I will take you to him now, but first I think you should know more of your situation. You walk upon the edge of a knife here. We all do. A stray step is all it takes for our lives to be forfeit. The Black Prince is bad enough, but worse still is Vanescula Drakan.

“Have you heard of her?”

“I think so,” he replied. “Is she Lord Drakan’s daughter?”

Georgi shook his head.

“She is his sister. And there are none worse than her. Not Malak, not her brother Ranis, perhaps not even Lord Drakan himself, and certainly not the Black Prince. They play their games against one another, entertaining themselves with the lives of humans in the ghettoes, as well as those like your parents and me. We are all pawns to them, pawns in a game where death is no finality.

“Can you imagine what that means? There can be no escape for us.”

The old werewolf shook his head and looked at Gar’rth curiously.

“And you will be in very real danger here. These corridors may seem empty, but the darkness itself is a slave to their will, as much as you or I. She especially uses it to smother the life from her victims. or to tear the flesh from their bones, and she-Vanescula-will hate you Gar’rth. You must be careful.”

Gar’rth frowned.

“Why? Why would she hate me so much?”

“Because you are a favourite of the Black Prince. There is no other reason than that.” He ignored Gar’rth’s questioning stare. “Like I said, it is a game to them, and a favoured pawn of one is a particular enemy of another. Here, might is right, Gar’rth. There are no other laws.

“Now, come on,” he said, gesturing toward the door. “We cannot keep the Black Prince waiting.”

Georgi led Gar’rth from his chamber and down a wide spiral stair. On the floor below they emerged into an immense library, every wall lined with shelves twice as high as any man, filled with books. Two windows permitted the dimmest light, which fell upon the ashes of a large fire that had clearly not been lit in a long time.

Gar’rth had never read a book himself, aside from those that Arisha and the monks of the monastery had used to help him learn the common tongue, and the sight of the collection made him gasp.

“I suppose it is impressive, in its way,” Georgi said. “There are books here written in unknown languages from a race long extinct. I think only the Black Prince himself has ever read them.”

“But there are thousands of books,” Gar’rth intoned. “Tens of thousands. How long would it take?”

“The Black Prince is a vampire, Gar’rth. Time is his ally. A year passes for him as a minute to you or I. He might have read each book ten times or more.”

“Who is the Black Prince?”

Georgi smiled.

“Your mother and father both worked for him, and they… told me stories about their service to him.” Suddenly he stopped, and Gar’rth saw the conflict on his face.

“When I was young I was told that my father was killed here,” Gar’rth said, “in the service of a vampire nobleman. Was it him, Georgi? Was it the Black Prince who did it?”

“I didn’t witness your father’s death, Gar’rth,” the old man said. “but I saw what it did to your mother, poor creature.”

“Then why do you serve them so, if they are such terrible masters?”

“It is not a choice we are free to make, Gar’rth,” Georgi answered. “You cannot refuse them. Yet there are rewards, as well. They can make you dream such dreams that you would never wish to wake. Still, now is not the time to talk of such things, for we will spend many long hours together in the future, and I will explain all I am able to.”

Dreams so wonderful that you wouldn’t wish to wake?

Can they do the same with nightmares?

The valet resumed his pace and they left the library though the opposite end.

Castimir would love that room. He would never want to leave. And from what Georgi says, it may be that I will have time to spend time there, as well.

They passed through a large circular room with four double doors on opposite sides. Two of them were open. Everywhere the stone was black.

“Here. He waits for you by the pool.”

“The pool?”

“He watches it every day. Through it he can see the doings of many people, and spy on their most guarded secrets. That is how he knows about Varrock. That is how he perceived your coming. Go. I will wait here for you.”

Georgi pointed, and Gar’rth stepped through the open double doors. The room was large but it was darker than any of the others, and full of shadows. At its centre-at the very darkest point- stood a man, behind and above a circular pool of still water.

So this is the one behind it all. This is the vampire who sent Jerrod after me, the one who has wanted me for so long.

Why?

Try as he might, Gar’rth could not see much in this blackness. Yet he sensed the figure’s attention as it shifted from the water to him.

“Come forward,” a voice commanded.

It is the same voice as woke me from my sleep. I couldn’t resist it then.

Nor could he resist it now. He stepped forward to the pool’s edge, a stone lip that rose a short distance from the flagstones.

“Closer, Gar’rth. Come closer.”

He dared not speak, nor refuse. He wanted only to obey. Quickly, he walked around the pool’s edge. And as he neared the black figure in the midst of the shadows, he did not feel afraid. Instead he felt… happiness? Elation?

I am elated. This man knows so much about me.

“I have all the answers you seek, and more-infinitely more,” the voice said. “I can teach so very, very much. Far more than anything Kara-Meir or those human friends of yours.

“I can tell you, for example, that your embassy has wasted its time. The children you seek are not in Morytania. They never have been. And even now the Wyrd is dead. Her head sits on a spike upon the walls of Varrock’s palace.

“You see, even the embassy itself was only a feint to achieve my purpose. The purpose of bringing you to