“It’s been a fortnight,” Bedros complained to himself. There was no one else to talk to in the necromancer’s dark tower. Living in the dead swamp was a lonely life, no one ever argued with that. “It’s been a fortnight and that royal bastard hasn’t responded. Not one note. Not one word!” He picked up a skull from his dining table, which was a nightmarishly poor contraption of twisted and decaying swamp wood, and dashed it against the stone wall opposite him. His meal, a slimy bowl of boiled cabbage, sat cold and untouched. Bedros didn’t care. He hadn’t eaten all day, but his body burned with a different kind of hunger. He stood and kicked a random femur that had the audacity to be in his enraged path.
    There was a mirror in the lowest room of Bedros’s tower, the only mirror in the whole place. It was magical, the only reason Bedros tolerated it. He didn’t like light, which was what a mirror reflected. Nor did he appreciate perfection, such as a magic mirror must be. So the mirror was kept under a dismal and tattered shroud which matched the grimy gray of the tower’s stone.
    Bedros stalked into that abysmal room, lit by a single slit window, and flung aside the shroud on the mirror. He waved a hand over it and his reflection faded. “Show me what that arrogant king’s up to!” he commanded. An image of a clean, bright throne room came into focus.
    Bedros raised his staff in both hands above his head. “ Henceforth, my minions. Come unto me!” Zombies, little more than skeletons draped in tattered messes of fabric shreds, decayed tissue and swamp ooze, drifted out of the corners of the room. Bedros found their raspy, belabored attempts to breath comforting. They formed in a small cluster behind and beside the necromancer obediently.
    The mirror’s image floated around the throne room idly. Bedros pointed to it, showing his zombies proudly. “Look, my minions. Look well.” He pointed to the three crowned figures in the mirror. A king, a queen, and their daughter, Princess Tara. “See there,” he said. “See your future mistress...and my future queen. And see there, the foolish king who ignores my legitimate negotiations! Perhaps he shall join your ranks someday?”
    Each zombie was suddenly rapt. They liked new additions. That was the zombie’s curse, in part, always to seek, never feeling whole, but always hoping that someone else might share their torment.
    “But we need the girl first,” Bedros continued. “Now I don’t want a conflict, no. I’ll try reason first. Yes.” He paused and surveyed his undead. He twisted around his hand and a small glass bauble appeared in them, bearing a royal crest, just like the one blazoned behind the figures’ thrones. He threw it to the ground, and it shattered just as the skull had. “But it’s been a fortnight!” he growled. “Tara should be—shall be—mine! How long must I wait? How long!”

    “A present from his royal highness, the Prince Christopher,” the courier announced to the court. The deliveryman behind him carried the gift, which was lightly draped and bedecked with a large bow. It didn’t appear heavy, but it was awkwardly large. He walked down the central carpet, through parting courtiers, toward the princess’s silver throne. He laid the gift before the Princess Tara and bowed deeply. The king and queen, on the princess’s right-hand side, nodded. They looked toward her expectantly.
    “Yes, yes,” Tara said finally, “tell the prince that I find him very generous.”
    “Well, open it,” the queen insisted.
    Princess Tara pulled herself off her silver throne, pushed back a lock of black hair and stepped toward the gift. She carefully peeled off the wrap and laid it aside. The gift was revealed to be an exotic potted flower arrangement. Mums, orchids and birds of paradise splayed among ferns. Courtiers murmured approval.
    “It’s beautiful,” the queen gasped.
    “How wonderful,” the king agreed.
    The princess only shrugged.
    “Go and tell his highness that he has struck the princess speechless,” the king said quickly. “It shall be displayed prominently in the palace.”
    The couriers left and the king ordered the arrangement to be taken to a suitable place. The princess sat heavily in her throne and sighed. “Father?” she asked after a pause.
    “Yes, Tara?” the king replied.
    “May I speak with you privately?”
    “Clear the room,” the king ordered. “I will have a word with the princess.”
    Courtiers shuffled out of the room and the huge cherry doors were closed behind them.
    “Father, I don’t want to marry Christopher,” Tara said when the room was cleared but for the guards and servants.
    The king shook his head. “That’s not your choice, Tara. Along with the privileges of being a princess, you have to accept the responsibilities as well.”
    “Well, he hasn’t impressed me.”
    “He’s sent you all the finest gifts a princess could ask from a suitor, every day for at least the last month,” the queen said. “I’m impressed if you aren’t.”
    “But that’s all they are. Anyone could have thought of them. There’s no heart to his gifts,” Tara replied sadly.
    “Would you prefer the alternative?” the king threatened. “ Would you rather marry that horrible old sorcerer? At least Christopher is your age and a prince beside.”
    “I hear he’s quite handsome,” the queen interjected.
    The king nodded and continued, “I don’t know if I’ve fully explained the situation to you. We need you to marry Christopher. We all do. It’s a great boon that he’s interested in you. We have that sorcerer always over us like a sword, and he’s been making advances. Christopher’s family has armies, better than any we have. Christopher’s family has connections that we don’t. Christopher’s family are trained to defense. If you marry Prince Christopher, you will be under an impenetrable shield of protection and care that will extend through the entire kingdom.”
    “Besides,” the queen added, “you may find that you like him after you meet him tomorrow. That’s better than you’ll get from the sorcerer.”
    “Fine, I’ll marry him. But I don’t have to like it,” Tara decided and folded herself deeply into her throne.

    The castle was as alive as a kicked anthill the next day while everyone prepared for Prince Christopher’s arrival. The betrothal and wedding of Tara and Christopher was to be the event of the decade, if not the century. Tara was kept busy in her chambers all day as her servants groomed her to perfection. Her dress was carefully selected by committee as her finest and most ravishing. It was of dark green velvet, thin and soft. It was trimmed in silver and garnet. It draped over her, accenting every curve, smoothing any flaw. The collar scooped low and broad, as revealing as it was decent. Tara’s hair was adorned by a silver and garnet tiara to match.
    Tara was quite indifferent to the excitement as the hour to meet her future husband grew nearer. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t worry either. She scarcely spoke, so no one could interpret her mood.
    The time of the feast and meeting finally came, and at the start the betrothal papers would be signed. Tara was led from her chambers to the great hall. “Her royal highness, the Princess Tara” was announced. The king took his daughter’s arm and brought her toward the center of the hall where the papers waited her hand. There, the prince’s full entourage in complete livery waited. “Tara, it is my great pleasure to present to you his royal highness, Prince Christopher,” the king said, indicating a young man at the front of the small crowd. The prince bowed low, taking Tara’s hand and kissing it. At his touch, and as he rose, Tara took him in and truly saw him for the first time.
    “Oh my God…” she breathed. The prince was the handsomest man she’d ever laid eyes on.
    “I regret that I have not yet met you properly before this moment,” the prince said smoothly. “Your portrait is a disgrace compared to your true face. I am horrified that I have been so enchanted by that falsehood when here waited true perfection.”
    Tara couldn’t speak. Her whole body was taken by an embarrassed and infatuated burning. She dared to look into Christopher’s eyes. They were a speckled green and flashed brown. She’d have taken everything back, signed anything, for a few moments more to watch his eyes.
    “Ahem,” said an impatient diplomat from the ranks behind Christopher. “The papers, your majesties.”
    The prince and princess shook themselves from each other’s gazes and turned to the small table that had been laid out for the contract. But now, to Tara, the contract seemed superfluous. Who needed the contract to bind two who were so obviously meant for each other?
    The king signed first, literally giving away his daughter. Then Christopher, with a wink toward Tara, and finally an enchanted Tara. All the courtiers applauded the document and Christopher produced a ring for Tara. The princess’s heart fluttered at his touch as he gently slid it onto her finger. The couple sat together at the head table and the feast began.
    “I must confess, princess, that I have been completely enchanted and distracted by your image, though now it seems like idolatry,” the prince began. “I would gaze at the thing all day, dreaming, hoping, waiting. You’re more than I expected, princess.”
    “I—I did not expect you to be so…so fine, either,” the princess struggled and scolded herself for crude words. “May I call you Chris?”
    “An angel may give what names she will,” Christopher said. “We are betrothed, I the luckiest man alive. If I may have the honor of naming an angel Tara…”
    Tara felt warm tingles race through her. She could melt into his arms at any moment. His suave words weren’t helping her self-control. She’d marry Chris, and she would certainly have to enjoy it. “I have no gift for you,” she said, not admitting that she’d refused to make one.
    “I do not mind. Your presence is gift enough. I still treasure the embroidery sent to me. Which reminds me… I have another gift for you. I am not so talented in any handiwork as you, but I commissioned this.” He took from his breast pocket a tiny silver box. “One so refined as you should not have to work with common iron or steel.”
    Tara received the box and opened it to discover a sewing kit, all of silver. “How did you know I love silver?” she sighed, falling closer to him.
    “I guessed. Actually, I’m a little embarrassed by the gifts sent before. Most of them weren’t my idea. But this one, this one’s special. I like silver, and it is beautiful, like you .” Chris looked uncertain, like a child waiting for approval of a drawing.
    “Oh, it’s wonderful, Chris,” Tara said, and moved closer still. She could feel the heat from his body. She suddenly shook herself and looked at the plate before her. She hadn’t touched it. Chris hadn’t touched his either.
    Across the room there was a sudden bang and several screams. Tara quickly pocketed the little kit and looked over to see what had gone wrong. On the other side of the room, the necromancer Bedros materialized. The entire head table stood at once. Tara clutched at Chris, who took her defensively in his arms.
    “What a merry festivity we are having,” Bedros quipped. He was frightening: tall, strong and all angles, like an unfinished sculpture.
    “Now, now, Bedros, we asked you nicely several times to leave us alone,” the king quavered. “Didn’t you like those nice tributes?”
    Bedros picked up a carved turnip from a guest’s plate and flicked it aside, disgusted. “Hmm. No. I didn’t get the one I asked for, the one I’m here to claim,” he said absently.
    “Bedros, you leave her alone,” the king said, now visibly shaking.
    “You’re ordering me, kingie? Me?” the sorcerer asked, now studying his fingernails. He spun quickly and pointed to the roasted bird before the king. It exploded dryly. The queen fainted and was caught by a guard behind her.
    Another guard approached the king. “Shall we arrest him?” he asked.
    Bedros raised an eyebrow. “I would advise against that,” he said, and the guard was flung against a wall.
    “Your majesty,” Prince Chris begged, looking over to the king, “may I ask what’s going on? Is there some way I can help?”
    “You can stay out of it and hand over the princess,” Bedros said, beckoning to Tara.
    Chris tightened his grasp on Tara. He shook his head. “Never. You do not know who you are dealing with…. Bedlos, was it?”
    “The name is Bedros. You should tremble when you say it, like kingie here.”
    “I don’t tremble,” Chris said. “I make others tremble before me. Sorcery doesn’t scare my family.”
    “Now, now, I don’t want to make trouble,” Bedros cooed. “Yet, yes, you do look familiar. Hmm, yes I know you’re family. Formidable, I’ll grant, but you’re in my way. Now hand over the princess.”
    The king solidified. “You have no right. She belongs to Christopher now. I just signed her over.”
    “Oh, but I had first dibs. I even asked nicely,” Bedros said.
    Tara glared at her father. “You didn’t tell me?” she demanded.
   The king replied, “I don’t do first come, first serve, Bedros. Not with my only daughter.”
    “And why not? It’d solve a lot of trouble for you, kingie. Now, I’ll be taking her whether you like it or not.” The sorcerer took a carrot from another plate and hurled it toward the head table. It burst in a shower of sparks. Chris pushed Tara out of the way, shielding her with his own body. The king was thrown aside and tripped over a chair. Bedros advanced on the dais. “Now, boy, hand over the princess,” he said darkly, narrowing his eyes at Chris.
    “My family will hear of this,” Chris threatened. “We have connections.”
    Bedros grasped the prince’s wrist and squeezed. “How’s this for connection?” he taunted.
    The prince gasped and writhed under the necromancer’s burning grip. A tiny wisp of smoke rose from the sleeve under Bedros’s hand. Bedros pushed Chris aside and came to the princess.
    “I won’t go,” she said.
    “I’m afraid you’ve no choice, my dear.”
    “You can’t hurt my fiancé like that and expect me to come willingly with you,” Tara reiterated, starting to back away from the sorcerer.
    Chris recoiled and staggered toward Bedros, who kicked him away.
    Bedros stretched out his black-draped arm and encompassed Tara in it. Tara struggled, but the necromancer only laughed. He willed a rope into existence that lashed the princess’s wrists behind her back. He stole a rough kiss from her lips and dragged her off the dais.
    “You can’t do that!” Chris cried, gaining his feet.
    Bedros tossed back his head, throwing aside his blond bangs. “Watch me, little prince, watch me.”
    “Tara!” Chris cried, stretching out to her as Bedros summoned a column of smoke.
    “Chris!” Tara replied, pulling again at her captor.
    Bedros disappeared, his hostage with him. The smoke began to clear.
    Prince Christopher reeled on his feet, clutching his burned wrist. “A sword!” he begged. “Someone get me a sword!”

    Chris had quickly bandaged his arm (“It’s only a burn,” he said. “I can still fight for Tara’s sake.”) and gathered some adventuring supplies. With a rope, some quick provision, daggers in his boots and a sword at his side, he was ready to go after Tara. He was forced to wait for dawn; his in-laws-to-be wouldn ’t allow him to go in the dangerous night, but at the first sign of light he was with his horse at the gate to the palace. The king and queen were there to see him off since no one had slept in the castle anyway.
    “This would have never happened in your country,” the king apologized. “At least take some soldiers, please.”
    Chris shook his head. “No soldiers. One man can carry out a rescue mission more easily. After all, we can’t seem too threatening, or he may hurt her. No, I’ll go. It is my duty. Goodbye.”
    The queen wept for him as he mounted his black horse. The king pleaded, “How will you know where to go?”
    “I know people who might know,” Christopher replied. “I have a good idea anyway. My family has dealt with his kind before. I smelled death on him. He’s a necromancer. I know what to do.” The prince spurred his steed and was off.
    Christopher did indeed know what he was doing. Bordering both his kingdom and Tara’s was a desolate land, suited mostly for the dead. It was a place of both deserts and swamps. There, many necromancers had built their towers, and there he expected to find Bedros’s tower. There were also allies there. His family employed the advice of a gentle old man called Vitalis, who had once been an evil necromancer himself. He had a tower in the dead land.
    Christopher rode into the afternoon to reach the dead land. At the border, his horse balked, but he was a good rider and soothed it.

    Tara stood helpless, bound, against a damp stone wall in the ground level of Bedros’s tower. Every part of her face wanted to cry, but she refused to acknowledge any victory on the part of the sorcerer. Bedros paced in front of her, surveying his work.
    “You look ravishing, princess,” the sorcerer remarked. “That dress is simply tantalizing.”
    “This dress wasn’t for you,” Tara retorted, avoiding his look. She felt horribly exposed by the low collar now. “I’m sure right now Chris is on his way with a mighty army to smite you down,” she added for good measure.
    “Now, now, princess. I’m not asking much. I’m only asking for your hand in marriage in exchange for peace for your people. I shan’t be a bother to anyone anymore if I can have you,” Bedros coaxed.
    Tara spat. “I’m taken. And Chris can take you, easily.”
    “Then why didn’t he in the hall, princess? Why are you so confident in that little prince? What evidence have you that he has any spirit in him at all?” the sorcerer taunted.
    “Stop that! How dare you insult Chris like that!” Tara pulled against the ropes again, hoping that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a flaw in them that would break. Instead, the force only made her trip and fall to her knees.
    “Good. Some respect. As a lady should have for her master,” Bedros grinned and nodded. “Though, I wouldn’t have you soil your gown so. Come, my servants will help you.”
    Tara was now aware of an odor like spoiled meat. She looked up to see zombies, with the skeletons more than half bare, pulling out of the corners. There were three, advancing on her. A scream stopped itself in her throat, and she could scarcely breathe. Bedros made a wave at the undead, silently commanding them. Six torn and near-fleshless hands seized her. Where there was skin, the hands were grotesquely tender, and where there was none, the bony tips pricked and rubbed like twigs and dice. They pulled Tara off the ground and dragged her backward. She was forced to stumble along. The servants pushed her against the wall and broke her binds.
    “I must apologize for the accommodations, dear princess, but I am expecting visitors shortly. It wouldn ’t do for you to get in my way.”
    “So you do fear Chris,” Tara said, tossing her chin upwards. The zombies lifted her arms and clasped her wrists in chains that were secured to the walls. Dead though they were, they possessed an undeniable strength.
    Bedros tore aside a shredded shroud on the wall, revealing a smoked mirror. He waved at it and it displayed Prince Christopher muddling through the swamp. “Watch, princess,” the sorcerer gloated. “Watch as even now your prince shows how he is a fool. Perhaps I’ll not have guests so soon as I thought. Will he search every tower in the swamp?”
    “I’m sure Chris knows precisely what he is doing,” Tara said in his defense. Her arms were starting to prickle from poor circulation and the wall remained unpleasantly damp.

    Chris was also sure he knew what he was doing. He’d been in the swamp once or twice before. Vitalis, a family friend and reformed necromancer, still lived here though he was nearly the prince’s godfather. The old man claimed to have renounced and forgotten it all, but the prince was certain that no one could completely forget or renounce magic.
    The tower was before him, looming, of white. It would have been whiter had it not been for the swamp muck splattered at its base. Chris urged his horse to go faster, but it could not take much speed because of the ooze sucking at its hooves.
    The prince dismounted in front of the tower, grateful now that his boots came nearly to his knees. He pounded on the door, desperate for entry.
    Vitalis opened the door. He was feeble and grayed and peered at Chris with subdued curiosity.
    “Good sir,” the prince began quickly, “I beg your assistance.”
    “Hmm. You look familiar,” Vitalis said.
    The prince nodded. “Prince Christopher, at your service.”
    The old man closed his eyes gently. “Yes, yes, now I remember. And what do you want, Christopher?”
    “I desperately need your help, Vitalis, sir,” Chris reiterated. “Do you know one called Bedros?”
    “Bedros? Certainly. Everyone in the dead land knows Bedros. One of the most audacious necromancers in these parts,” Vitalis said.
    “Well, he’s stolen my fiancée.”
    Vitalis shook his head sadly. “There is little I can do for you, you know. I am truly sorry for you. However, I must advise you to give up on your quest, or you may find yourself allied with something more evil.”
    Chris pushed himself into the old man’s doorway. “No!” he exclaimed strongly. “No, I won’t give up on her and I won’t endanger her further by bringing in another necromancer.”
    “I had not meant only that, but that said… I’m afraid you’re doomed, Christopher,” Vitalis said mournfully and began to close the door on him.
    The prince wedged his foot under the door. His boot dripped swamp ooze on the step. “I know you remember at least some of it still,” he asserted.
    “You also know I’m reformed. I will cast no more.”
    “I will pay you anything. Anything!”
    “Nothing will turn me back that way. I am turned for good.”
    “It is a greater evil to condemn her so.”
    “Perhaps that is so, and perhaps not. What will you do if I don ’t help you?” Vitalis said at last, loosening his grip on the door.
    “Go after her alone, of course.”
    Vitalis sighed and released the door. “If you must be foolish,” he said and gestured Chris into the tower, “then I must see what I can do. I’m rusty, you know, and bound by my oaths .”
    “I understand, Vitalis. I only ask that you try. And… I will need directions.”
    Vitalis smiled. “Now that I can do,” he said brightly.

    “So your prince is a bright fool,” Bedros remarked lightly. “And a persuasive one if he can get old Vitalis to return.”
    Tara tugged again at the chains. Her hands tingled painfully for want of blood. “He will punish you. Have you no fear? He has his own necromancer now.”
    “Of course I’ve no fear, my dear. Vitalis is useless. Oh, he was great once, but a turned necromancer is powerless. Noble, but powerless.” Bedros waved and the mirror clouded and turned back to normal. “You’ll see shortly, my dear princess.”
    Tara spat again. “ No. You’ll see, Bedros, you’ll see. Chris will destroy you!”

    “This is all I have to help,” Vitalis said. “I can cast nothing new for you.” The old man held out three small vials. “I’ve kept them for my own use.”
    “What are they?” the prince said, picking up one and examining it.
    Vitalis shrugged. “ Potions,” he said dismissively. “This is a rapid healing salve. It also prevents infection. This one helps you recover from blood loss by maximizing what you have left. And this one is only good for dire cases for a non-necromancer. It prevents carnal decay. Useful in zombie maintenance, but not great for rescuing I suppose.”
    “And this is all you can do?” Chris asked again, taking the potions reverently.
    “I am reformed. I suppose it’s true, what they say here in the swamp. A turned necromancer is powerless. Noble but powerless.”
    “Well, I thank you anyway, Vitalis. For the directions as well. Now I must go—who knows what horrors Tara faces even now?” Prince Christopher bowed to the turned necromancer and left. He drove his black steed as hard as he could through the thick swamp. Vitalis had given him directions and Bedros’s tower wasn’t very far at all. In fact, already Chris could make out its silhouette, a faint shadow against the swamp’s light fog.
    After some riding, Prince Christopher faced the tower and dismounted in awe. It was ominous. The only windows were high stone slits, sparsely set. The doors were narrow, tall and gridded with iron. He studied the structure some time. It wouldn’t work to just knock, but it seemed otherwise impenetrable. Chris heard labored slurps near him and whirled around. A half-skeletal hand, draped in rotting grass, rose from the swamp. It flailed for something to grasp, casting nearer and nearer to Chris. He backed away, horrified, but it caught his leg. He started to beat at it as it tugged; whether the hand was pulling up some grotesque body or trying to drag Chris down, the prince could not be certain. As he fought off the first monster, he noticed that there were other bubbles and disturbances in the swamp.
    Christopher reeled to keep his balance. He reached into his boot and slipped out a dagger. He hacked at the hand. It didn’t bleed. The bone was completely exposed at the wrist now. A head rose from the swamp in front of him, and a shoulder and finally the rest of the arm. Chris cried out and fell back, startled. Half the flesh was gone from the head and the one of the eyes was worm-eaten. He stabbed frantically at the arm again. The ghastly sinews gave way and the arm went limp. He gave it one last thrust and the arm severed at the elbow and dropped.
    There were more zombies now, circling, closing in. The prince searched for escape but to no avail. Chris reasoned that the sound was worse than the sight or the smell of those walking dead. Some tried to breathe, and the decaying lungs rattling in their exposed ribcages all slurped as they moved. The swamp ooze rippled around their sluggish legs. Moans rose from some of the forms and a single shriek, like an ethereal battle cry, crowned the rest.
    Chris noticed a thick log sticking out of the soup beside him, slimed from the swamp. He put the dagger back in him boot and seized it. Hefting the wood to his shoulder, he stood ready. A zombie came near, hands reaching out for him. The prince swung and struck the skull in the side. There was a decisive crush and the head tumbled off the spine. The corpse crumpled before him.
    But undead are known to be relentless and fearless. The others kept coming. Chris pulled back the log and swung at the next zombie. He caught it in the middle and the spine gave way. The legs collapsed as the severed corpse dropped on them. The head landed on top of the first zombie and failed to sink into the swamp. This gave Chris and idea. He glanced back to the tower, noting that, really, the first window wasn’t so imposingly impossible as he’d thought at first. Just a little boost, and he could probably squeeze through. He threw the log closer to the tower and grabbed the corpse. He dragged it backward through the tower and pushed it beside the wall, praying that it wouldn’t resurrect.
    The other zombies followed at the same plodding pace and were closing relentlessly in once more. Chris took up the wood again, armed and ready with his plan now. As each approached, he swung at it, crushing bones and sending swamp ooze flying. Soon there was a circle of bodies around him, limbs all splayed at unnatural angles. Finally the last zombie fell, and the horrible sounds ceased.
    Chris dropped the wood and began piling the bodies by the wall. The swamp wasn’t so deep just there, as the tower had to rise from some base, so the zombies piled quickly. Soon the pile was high enough that Chris had to strain and claim to place the next corpse. Bones cracked and cavities squished underfoot as he ascended. The task upset his stomach, put a bitter taste in his mouth, and the swamp’s soup was irritating his burned wrist. When the pile was but a little taller than he, the prince ran out of zombies. Standing at the top of the mound, the edge of the window was just out of his grasp. He looked to the horizon. The sun was setting. Bedros had held the princess for nearly a day. Chris couldn’t let him keep her any more. One day was horrible enough already.
    The prince bounced on his knees to test the strength of the mound. It held, though it oozed and slurped at the movement. So Chris crouched, ready to spring. He heard the slimy sound of one of the corpses moving. He swung his arms for momentum and stretched his legs, jumping toward the window. He caught it with his fingertips, nearly slipping. A zombie reached out of the pile, pulling itself freer. It saw Chris and targeted him. Chris looked down. The pile was beginning to writhe, to pulse, as more of the zombies came back. They were all after him, and enraged. The undead were worse to behold than before, as there wasn’t a complete one among them. They swapped parts, trying to become whole as they organized themselves.
    Chris scrambled to get up the tower. His knees and toes scraped desperately at the dark stones, searching for some saving crevice. By seemingly pure luck, he found a miniscule chip in the stone. He kicked at it, and pulled himself onto the windowsill just ahead of the zombies now stretching to get him.
    Christopher looked down, below his window. The floor was dirt -covered and not inviting. The drop was only slightly shorter than the climb had been. But it had to be made. So he dropped, crouched in midair. His knees absorbed the blow and he landed in a complete crouch, head down. Glaring, Chris slowly lifted his head. “Tara!” he said, seeing her chained to the opposite wall.
    Tara opened her eyes, surprised. “Chris! Chris, you came!”
    The prince sprang up, excited. “Yes, of course I came!” he exclaimed. “My love, how could I not?” He rushed to her. “How do I undo these?” he began examining the chains.
    “I don’t know. The zombies fixed them,” Tara replied. “Oh, I’m so glad you came. This place is horrid.”
    “I know, Tara. We’ll get out of here soon enough. I don’t know how, but we’ll find a way.” Christopher cast about for something to break or unlock the chains. “Did you see if there was a key?” he asked.
    “No, I’m sorry. Can ’t you cut them?”
    “I doubt it. They’re old, but I don’t know if my sword or I have that kind of strength.” He tugged at the chain, testing it. “Where’s the sorcerer? Will he hear us?”
    Tara looked down. “ He left the room, but I don’t know where. Maybe. There’s zombies all over anyway.”
    “I already met some outside.”
    “Oh, how horrid,” Tara gasped. “How many?”
    “Enough,” Chris shrugged, not wanting to scare the princess. “Hold your hands in fists and pull the chains taught. I’m going to see if I can break them.” The prince drew his sword and pulled it back. With a grunt, putting all his weight into it, he swung at the chains just above Tara’s hands. There was a shower of sparks, but the links only dented. Chris fell to his knees from the effort. Leaning on the sword, he drew himself to his feet. He examined the chains once more. “One more strike, perhaps,” he remarked, drawing a heavy breath. He looked into her eyes to reassure her and they were both suddenly aware of how close their lips were and how vulnerable Tara was. Chris staggered back and brought his sword up again. “Yes, yes, one more strike ought to do it,” he said quickly for want of something else. Tara looked crestfallen.
    Chris swung once more and the chains broke loudly, leaving the princess’s wrists in iron bracelets. Tara dropped to her knees from the sudden release. The prince extended the bandaged hand to help her up.
    Tara saw the wrapping with dismay and did not take it. “Chris,” she said, “your hand.”
    Chris glanced down. “Oh, that? Nothing. It’s just what’s left from our previous skirmish with the necromancer. Don’t worry about it. This time, he won’t win, not even if it kills me.”
    Tara took his hand gently and stood up. She pressed against Christopher softly. “Don’t say that sort of thing,” she chided in a soft voice. “Of course you’ll live.”
    Chris wrapped his arm around her. “Well, I have reason enough to live, haven’t I? Now, come, we must find a way out of this oppressive fortress.”
    “The door’s right there,” Tara said, and looked up at him hopefully. “I don’t know if it’s locked or anything.”
    The prince craned to see the door. It looked smaller than it had from the outside, but that was probably only an illusion. There was a huge timber crossing it, secured by a rusting padlock. Chris looked at his sword, still in his undamaged hand. It was severely nicked. He sighed. “I can’t smash that padlock,” he said. “It’d be the last of my sword.”
    “I’m sure the sorcerer keeps the key somewhere,” Tara said, resting her head against Chris’s broad shoulder.
    “Well, of course. Everything has to be somewhere,” said Bedros, striding into the room.
    Tara gasped and Chris held her closer. “Bedros, you won’t have her. Let us out of here and I’ll leave you your life.”
    Bedros laughed. “I took her once, I can take her again, little prince. You won’t find the key, either. Do you want to know where it is?”
    Tara nodded, her eyes filled with fear. At least Chris’s embrace was comforting.
    Bedros gave a chuckle. He pulled at a string around his neck. “It’s here,” he said, taking the key from under his robe. “You can have it if you can take it. It’s magical, you know, and works from both sides. But I don’t think you can take it.”
    “I’ll kill you,” Chris said in a low voice. “I will kill you twice over if I have to.”
    The sorcerer glanced at the sword in Christopher’s hand. “What, with that? And holding the girl, too?”
    “With whatever I have to. Necromancy, if it comes to that,” Chris retorted.
    Bedros walked closer. “You talk too much. I know about your little alliance with Vitalis. It will do you nothing. He is old, and turned. He wouldn’t cast a spell if your life depended on it. Now, hand over the girl and I’ll think nothing more of this.”
    “I came to rescue her and rescue her I will,” Chris declared.
    Bedros lifted his hands and indicated the tower. “And what can you offer her that I can’t? Tell me that, little prince.”
    “Love,” the prince began. “Riches. Power. Youth. I have everything you want. Everything that you want her for. And I have love for her.”
    “I’ll love her plenty,” Bedros said, feigning hurt. “If she’ll let me, I can give her spectacular love you can’t dream of.”
    “You’re lying. You speak only of lust; I care.”
    “I care,” the sorcerer said. “If I didn’t care, I’d let her marry a lowly prince.”
    “Shall we let the princess decide?” Chris suggested, remembering her presence again. Tara opened her mouth to speak.
    “The princess?” Bedros interrupted. “Ha! She couldn’t make up her mind if her life depended on it. Remember, little prince, two days ago she had nothing but disdain for you. In two days more, she may come to love me the same.”
    “That can’t be true, Bedros,” Chris said blindly. “Tara, is it true?”
    Tara looked down, sadly. She had hoped that she’d never have to confess. “It is,” she said quietly. “It ’s true. I didn’t know then. I hadn’t met you.”
    “But your father told me... I mean, if I’d have known, I’d never have... I’m sorry, Tara,” the prince stammered.
    Bedros waved it all aside with his hand. “Enough of this!” he spat. “You talk too much, little prince. I crave action.”
    “Go,” Chris told Tara. “Stay out of the way.” He pushed her away as kindly as he could and readied his sword. Tara moved behind her prince, watching both men carefully. “A fair fight, Bedros. That’s all I ask. None of your trickery.”
    “To the death, I suppose?”
    “Of course,” the prince said graciously.
    “And I suppose you expect me to take up a blade?”
    “If you can.”
    “Of course I can,” the sorcerer said, insulted. “Why shouldn’t I be just as strong as you?” He drew a shining blade from the air. It grew into existence as he brought his hand down in a form like a flower. He spun it to test the weight, and, satisfied, took a fighting stance. “En garde,” he said at last.
    The prince struck first. Their swords clanged repeatedly as they danced back and forth. Chris didn’t notice the slight shine around the sorcerer’s blade, though he noticed that his own sword was getting more nicks along its length. Bedros looked at Chris’s burned wrist.
    “Oh, did I hurt you at our last meeting?” the sorcerer taunted.
    “Not at all,” Chris returned. “It’s only a light burn. I’ve had worse.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry that I burned you.” Bedros drew away and held out his left palm toward Chris. “Here, let me put some ice on that.” A sparkling blue stream came from the sorcerer’s hand and Chris’s wrist was encased in a block of solid ice. Chris gasped in frustrated pain and staggered backward. Tara stepped forward to help him, her eyes all worry. Bedros hurried to her and seized her arm, pulling her back. “No, no, my dear,” he said. “You’re coming with me.”
    Chris forced his way to the stone wall. He dropped his sword with a clang and gripped his frozen arm. With all the force he could gather—the ice was quite heavy—he slammed the block against the wall. It started to crack on the second hit.
    Bedros, realizing that he’d only pacified the prince for a moment, pulled the princess into a corner. “You’ll stay here,” he said, “until I’m done with him.”
    “I will not,” Tara refused and tried to push past him. He held her firmly in place though.
    The sorcerer shook his head. “Oh, I think you will,” he said. He gestured with his sword, as though beckoning. A zombie carrying another sword melted out of the shadows. “He’ll keep an eye on you. He won’t hurt you, not unless you provoke him.” Bedros flashed a cruel grin.
    On the other side of the room, the ice around Chris’s wrist had nearly shattered. Little chips of it lay about in front of the wall. He hit it against the wall twice more and shook off the remaining ice. “Bedros!” he called. “ You stay away from her, Bedros! And keep your lackeys off her, too!” He marched toward the sorcerer. Even his sword glinted with intent.
    Bedros turned to face him calmly. He advanced as well, and they met in the middle of the room. They clashed their swords once, and held them together, locked in opposing pressures. “ You’re getting on my nerves, little prince,” Bedros said. “You’ve offended me for the last time,” Chris replied darkly.
    “So I have,” the sorcerer said simply, and spun his blade out of the deadlock. He swung his arm out, casting at Chris. The prince fell backwards with a cry. His sword landed behind him as he flailed. Tara cried out his name and stepped forward to find the flat of the zombie’s sword against her chest. Bedros grabbed Chris by the shirt and lifted him to his feet. As he rose, the prince slipped a dagger from his boot with his bad hand.
    Bedros tossed aside his own sword and squeezed the prince’s bandage. Chris gasped for breath. He dropped the dagger, which landed on Bedros ’s boot. Bedros kicked it into the air and caught it easily. Still holding Chris’s wounded arm, the sorcerer turned to face the princess. “Look now, my dear. See your precious prince,” he gloated. “Will you rescind your vows to him now?”
    “No,” she said, near tears. “No. There’s nothing you can do.”
    “Then see your precious prince die!” Bedros exclaimed angrily. He spun to face Chris and plunged the dagger into the prince’s heart. In full fury, the sorcerer dragged it down, through Chris’s chest and into his stomach. Chris crumpled backward, away from the weapon, blood welling in his mouth. Bedros cast aside the bloodied dagger disdainfully.
    “Chris! My prince!” Tara cried. She pushed aside the zombie and ran to the prince. “Chris, no. No, you can ’t die. No, Chris, please,” she sobbed, kneeling at his side. She looked up at Bedros, her face now red and glistening in her tears. “How could you do this?” she pleaded. “Please, undo it.”
    “What’s done is done,” Bedros said forbiddingly and turned away from the couple. “I’ll leave you with your love.” The sorcerer stalked out of the dungeon-like room and his zombie followed him.
    Chris was dead now. There was no hope, Tara realized. She was locked alone, together with a corpse. A corpse that was soaked from a growing puddle of blood. She wept on his shoulder, which was still warm and soft. An unpleasant odor arose from the body, as the acids from the stomach mingled with the blood. Tara ignored it. Then she saw the pouch on Chris’s belt. She opened it and found the three vials. “The necromancer’s gifts!” she gasped, and clasped them to her chest triumphantly.
    She pulled them away and studied them. “But which does what?” she wondered aloud, knowing that there was no one to help her. She looked down at the prince. His face was ashen, and his eyes stared without focus. He scarcely looked like the man she’d fallen in love with the night before. Most of that, however, was that his body was glistening with blood from his ripped-open front. Even his face was smeared with the dark stuff, as it had bubbled in his mouth when his lungs were stuck.
    No, that wasn’t Chris. That was Bedros’s creation, Tara decided, and it was up to her to undo it. No more damage could be done than what was already, so she opened each vial and poured it on the prince’s wounds in succession. Nothing happened. Nothing at all. Prince Christopher still stared into some other realm, mouth parted in past pain. Tara cried again, not minding that she had Chris’s blood all over herself as well. She only minded that they had both failed. There had to be something on the corpse to help her. Her prince wouldn’t leave her helpless against the sorcerer, would he?
    Tara began to search the body some more. She could scarcely see what she was doing, she was so blinded by her tears; she went mostly by feel, as horrible as it was. There was the rope. She knew it had to be useful, but for what? How did one secure a rope to climb on? She found the second dagger in his boot. The thought flitted across her mind to use it on herself. After all, it would keep the sorcerer from his victory. There was some food, which was tempting but for its proximity to the corpse. But besides that, Tara found nothing. How could she escape now? She supposed that she could wait for Bedros and then accept his advances, finally to steal the key and escape that way. But that was too horrible as well. She couldn’t stand that thought, the thought of the sorcerer anywhere near her. Not after what he had done to Chris. She came back to the rope and the dagger. It was all she had.
    The stones of the tower couldn’t be that difficult, she reasoned, still watching Chris mournfully. After all, Chris scaled them, although Tara had no clue how. Still, there had to be a way. And if she could escape, maybe there was hope for Chris yet. Yes, that was the plan, Tara decided finally. Escape, then find another necromancer, one willing to work for good, who would return and restore Chris. Then, together, the three of them, Tara, Chris, and the Necromancer, would defeat Bedros once and for all!
    Tara took up the rope and dagger. She’d heard in legends of heroes scaling the mightiest obstacles with only a rope and a blade. She had all night, at least, to figure out how. She went to the window where Chris had entered. It was high, but perhaps not so high as it seemed. Only about two and a half times her height, she reasoned. How hard could that be? The princess examined the stonework. It was decaying, with little chinks all through it. The swamp was not kind to architecture. She took the dagger and stabbed at it. The blade stuck on its own. This was just what she needed, some anchor. She tugged it out and set about tying the dagger to the rope.
    Her grapple constructed, the princess swung it about and tossed it upward. It didn’t reach and came tumbling back down at her. She gave a cry and shied from it, shielding herself with both arms. The blade landed harmlessly in front of her. She peeked around her arms and relaxed. She picked up the contraption once more. She tried again, less theatrically and with more confidence and strength. It bounced off the windowsill. Once more she flinched from it and it landed uselessly behind her. She tried again, near tears from the effort. But she ’d cried too much for one night, and didn’t want to start again over a silly rope. This time the dagger went through the window. She pulled the rope taught and tested it for her weight. Somehow, luck holding, the dagger had caught on something. Scraping against the masonry to supplement her less -than-satisfactory strength, Princess Tara began to climb the wall.
    It seemed to her ages before she reached the window. Tara was exhausted at the top. She gave a last look toward her slain love then turned to the swamp outside. She looked down through the near-dawn to see what lay before her. Then she begged to be back in the tower.
    Writhing below her were half-fleshless limbs struggling to climb the walls. Each zombie lacked something, often a head, and between them they were trying to assemble wholes from the parts. Some had tried to form, quite successfully in fact, a ladder of flesh and bone, the top of which had caught the dagger. One grotesque hand had grasped the dagger and so conveniently held it for her. Another groped toward her, searching for the window. The hands’ owner had no head with which to see it. Tara pulled away the dagger and screamed. She lost her balance and fell forward into the swarm of moving corpses. Some grabbed at her of habit and she found herself being pushed and pulled. She shrieked with all her might in the near-darkness. Dagger in hand, still tied to the rope, she flailed at her assailants. They backed off some; the memory of their fight with Chris was still fresh, as was their fear of the living and their determination to follow him for revenge. To them, Tara was unimportant. Toward the edge of the swarm, she broke free and tried to run. The swamped pulled at her skirts and three or so zombies gave pursuit. Tara could not tell which were actually pursuing her and which just happened to meander in her direction. Stumbling, the princess drew her skirts around her waist and fled. She could see Chris’s frightened horse in the distance in front of her.
    Tara didn’t know just where Vitalis’s tower would be. She just rode forth, hoping desperately that there would be no zombies and she was going the right way. Once or twice she imagined seeing horrible things among the dying trees or in the murky waters, but she assured herself it was nothing. Nothing at all to be afraid of. The dark steed was constantly on edge. It bucked at the smallest bubble from the swamp. Tara could hardly blame the beast, knowing its nightlong encounter with those zombies.
    Finally, after passing another dark tower and turning randomly when the horse would go no further, she saw the white tower like a lighthouse on a stormy sea. She kicked the horse, which gave alarm and sped. At the door, Tara jumped off the horse. The sky had turned yellow and orange now, and the painted clouds tainted everything with their colors. Tara let her skirts fall to the swamp, which was shallower here, and pounded on the door. She stood there for what seemed ages, drumming on the wood, growing weaker with each strike as her hope deadened.
    Finally, the door opened. Vitalis stood behind it in a nightgown. “Will I never get rest?” he muttered mostly to himself.
    Tara threw herself prone at his feet, crying, “Please, you have to help me, Vitalis, sir. You must help me. I’ll give you anything. I’ll do anything. Please, help me.”
    The old man looked down at her with pity. He knelt. “Come, come,” he soothed. “You should be more careful, a nice girl like you offering to do anything in a deathly place like this.”
    “I beg you, Vitalis, please. I mean it. I will do anything— anything—if you help me,” Tara repeated, drying her tears a little.
    Vitalis held out a hand to help the princess. “Now, now. Won’t you have some tea? Tea usually helps. Come in, and we’ll start from the beginning.”

    Vitalis’s kitchen was warm and cluttered. The old man hadn’t bothered much to organize the small space. There was a table, simple and humble, scattered thinly with the day’s dishes and papers. Vitalis swept them to one end, offered Tara a seat on the cleared side and put a teapot on the stove to cook. “You see, one of the advantages of living in a swamp like this is that there’s no end of natural gas, which is easier to use for me than wood,” he rambled and he lit the stove. All he did was turn a dial and strike a flint and there was fire beneath the pot. “So, my dear girl, who are you and what was it you were wanting?” he continued politely. He ambled to the table and sat opposite the princess. He offered her a handkerchief. “Just start at the beginning, that’ll be fine.”
    Tara took the cloth and wiped her face. “Well, you see, sir, it’s like this: I am the princess Tara. I was kidnapped by the sorcerer Bedros and now I’ve escaped. But he killed my fiancé.” She sniffed and looked stolidly at the handkerchief.
    “Bedros, you say?” Vitalis said softly. “He killed Christopher, then?”
    Tara looked carefully at the old man. “Yes,” she said in a broken voice. “How did you know it was he?”
    “A guess. The poor boy thought he could take on a necromancer,” Vitalis recalled, “but he did better than I thought, I see. So you’re the girl he was willing to die for?”
    “Vitalis, you have to help me!” Tara reiterated suddenly. “I can’t leave him. I know you were a necromancer. Please, bring him back.”
    “You didn’t bring the corpse with you, did you?” Vitalis said suspiciously.
    Tara shook her head. “It was too horrid. I couldn’t. It was enough to escape.”
    “Yes, yes of course, dear girl,” Vitalis coaxed. “That was a valiant effort. But, I’m sorry, princess; I’m not a necromancer any longer. I can’t do a thing. You must understand I am bound to do no more magic.”
    “Please, I’ll do anything. Anything. Just try, for me. For Chris.”
    “Even if I could still cast, it is very, very difficult to bring a man to full vitality. How dead is he?”
    Tara buried her face in the handkerchief. “Bedros stabbed him,” she sobbed softly. “He...he cut him open.”
    “Stabbed him where?” Vitalis insisted.
    Tara shuddered. “The heart.... down to his stomach...” She wept anew.
    Vitalis winced and drew back. “That’s a very difficult resurrection, you understand,” he said. “ Even if I agreed to cast for you, which I haven’t, I’m still rusty. The most skilled necromancer would struggle with that.”
    “Please, there must be something. Anything?”
    “Well...I don’t know. Do you understand anything about habits and addictions?” Vitalis said eventually.
    “No, not really.”
    “Well, is there anything you do over and over, and you don ’t really know why, but you can’t stop yourself easily?” Vitalis continued.
    “Well... I suppose. I can’t really think of anything.” The princess looked quite innocently at Vitalis.
    “Well, that’s a habit, princess. And there are some things that are so pervasive to the human soul that they become addictions. Is there anything that you love so much, that comforts you so, that you can’t resist it when offered?”
    “Well, I do like cherries. I don’t think I’ve ever turned down a cherry,” Tara reasoned, confused.
    Vitalis nodded. “Now consider how you love cherries and consider it a hundred-fold. That’s what magic is to a necromancer’s soul. As the sorcerer’s power grows, so does his lust for it. Until the power takes him over and he lives only for his foul magic. Playing with life and death in this manner is evil, you know, and leads easily to evil deeds. Those zombies that wait on my colleagues in this swamp, their souls are in a tortuous turmoil. They have no release from life and no life to live. Necromancers deal intimately with demons and hells that mortals should never know. That is why I am turned. I have turned from that dark path, never to be tempted again. My fellows in the swamp respect that, even if they belittle me. They understand the pull. It’s like alcohol. It feels good, a warm buzz, and you take more and more until it controls your entire life. And once you’re addicted, even after you quit, it’s always looming just over the horizon, waiting for you to be tempted once more so it can reassert its former control over you. So you see why I am reluctant to help you and Chris. As much as I respect Chris’s family, I cannot. The risk is too great. I would use my magic for good, at first, but the magic tends toward evil. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
    “Surely just one spell...” Tara ventured.
    Vitalis stood up. “ Don’t temp me!” he barked. “Have you listened to nothing I have said?”
    “Even to save a life?” the princess persisted.
    Vitalis turned away. “Even to save a life,” he said quietly. “ Even to save Chris.”
    “How about a whole kingdom?” Tara ventured after a pause. “If I don’t marry Chris, my father’ll have no defense against Bedros and I’ll be forced to marry him instead. Then he will have my whole country.”
    “Dear princess, I would love to help you, but I can’t. Even if I could be persuaded, I can’t really save his life. He’d be a zombie. Useless as a prince and caught between the living and dead. There are so few ways to fully restore a man, and if the damage is truly as extensive as you say...only the strongest of elements will do.” Vitalis sighed and rubbed his temples.
    Tara stood and came behind the old man. She put her hands comfortingly on his shoulders. “And what is the strongest of elements? I will find whatever you require.”
    Vitalis shrugged her off. “You tempt me too much. I must not cast.”
    “Anything,” Tara repeated. “I promise.”
    “The strongest of elements cannot be gotten. It can only be.”
    “Then perhaps it is. I believe in you. Cast this once and Chris and I will never ask you again. Even if you fail, I will not hold it against you.”
    Vitalis turned toward her and stared at her face. It was honest and disheveled. “Bah,” he said at last, “you’ve got me. I’ll cast—just this once, just for Chris.”
    Tara threw her arms around the old man and kissed his cheek. “ Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!”
    “Where’s the corpse?” Vitalis asked, pulling her off him.
    “I left him in the Bedros’s tower. I couldn’t do anything else,” Tara said despondently.
    “Then we must go there. But Bedros will not let us in easily... Very well. I suspend my vow for the day—but no more! I’ll cast whatever we need,” the born-again necromancer declared. “Come. I must fetch something upstairs.”
    Tara followed Vitalis up the tower, along narrow, white, spiral stairs. He opened a tiny wooden door at one landing and they stepped into the small, still room. There was dust everywhere. The one window was filled in colored glass and cast the tints onto a large, cherry wood chest. Vitalis approached the chest in reverent awe. Tara followed him a pace behind in similar silence, her hope lifting with each step. Vitalis knelt before the chest and waved a hand over the lock. There was a distant click and the mechanism sprung. The old man lifted the lid, which didn’t make a sound. Gently, like lifting an infant, he removed a long object wrapped ceremoniously in black silk. He let the wrappings drop. A long, black staff rested in his arms. He held it aloft like some king’s sacred sword. He flipped it around and tested its weight. Purple and black swirled in the air. “These bedclothes won’t do for casting,” he remarked softly and with a wave of the staff he had donned a dark cloak and robe. Satisfied, he turned to face Tara, standing like a dark god. The shadows on his face had grown more defined and dramatic.
    “I was once the most powerful sorcerer in this swamp,” Vitalis said, and the age was leaving his voice. “ I’m back.”
    “Just for today,” Tara corrected.
    “Yes, of course,” Vitalis agreed suddenly. “Just for today. Come, let us ride.”
    Tara nodded, in awe of the old man’s transformation, and followed him out of the tower. Vitalis helped the princess onto Chris’s dark horse and mounted behind her. He reached around her, still holding the staff, and took the reigns. The horse was calmed now and obeyed his flawlessly. They sped through the swamp, heading directly for Bedros’s tower. As Tara looked behind them, she thought that Vitalis’s own tower seemed darker now.
    Bedros’s tower was marked by the writhing mass at its side. The zombies had not given up, but they were still confused. “What fortune,” Bedros remarked, smiling. “Zombies. I can easily turn them to our side.”
    “But you said that zombies were...” Tara began.
    “Trapped between life and death, yes,” Vitalis said. “ Perhaps we’ll release them, hmm? When we’re done with them?”
    “I thought you were only going to cast what you needed to get back Chris,” Tara pointed out.
    “Who said we don’t need them?” Vitalis said. “After all, we have to get in somehow and you certainly don’t expect me to scale the walls. Not the venerable Vitalis.”
    "Vitalis, are you sure that staff isn’t going to your head? Remember your vows?”
    “I’m fine, dear princess, just fine. Come, I have zombies to claim.” Vitalis dismounted, leaving Tara on the horse to watch. Vitalis stood arrogantly exposed in the swamp, arms lifted. He chanted. The zombies advanced on him. Then they suddenly stopped. The necromancer spoke to them in a tongue Tara could not understand. Then he marched back to her, and the dead followed him in droves, dragging their what limbs they hadn’t managed to reattach.
    Tara, for her part, was horrified. “I think you enjoyed that,” she accused as Vitalis mounted again.
    “Of course I did. If I’m going to have a day free of my vows, I may as well live it up, no?” the sorcerer said reproachfully. He waved at his new army.
    “You’re losing sight of why you chose to break those vows,” Tara insisted, shying from his arms.
    “I am not,” the man refuted. “We’re going to rescue the prince .”
    “And don’t you forget it.”
    With the dead army following them faithfully, Tara and Vitalis rode to the imposing doors of the dark tower. Vitalis commanded his army and the droves of the dead washed forward, attacking the door. Waving gestures at them and speaking in that unfamiliar tongue, the necromancer continued to command them. Several found a dead tree and ripped it from the swamp. They used it as a crude battering ram against the barred door.
    “Couldn’t we have done this in a more...muted manner?” the princess asked. “After all, you’ve already woken the dead.”
    “Let an old man enjoy himself, my dear princess. We’ll get to Christopher soon enough,” Vitalis assured her. Then the door splintered. The metal was wrangled and distorted. The zombies tore away the rest.
    “And what if Bedros hears? What then, Vitalis?”
    “We’ll deal with that then,” the sorcerer shrugged. “Perhaps you could distract him?” He grinned and urged the horse forward.
    As soon as they were inside, Tara rolled off the horse and ran to the dead prince’s side. He lay there just as before, although a good deal colder and stiffer. “Here he is,” the princess called to Vitalis. “What can you do for him?”
    Vitalis dismounted and patted the horse gratefully and let it trot out of the tower. He knelt by Tara’s side. “Let’s have a look then, shall we?” He began to examine the prince, lifting the bloodied shirt and prodding him here and there. “I’ve seen worse,” he said after a suspenseful silence, “but never for a full revitalization. You need and intact corpse to get an intact man. Perhaps, yet... Can you sew?”
    “Yes. Yes, of course,” Tara replied breathily.
    “Good,” Vitalis said. “That’s one thing I never was very good at. You wouldn’t happen to have a needle and thread on you, would you?”
    “No...” Tara began slowly. “Wait—yes. Yes, I do!” She searched through her pocket, scrambling for the little sewing kit.
    “Excellent. Sew him up,” the necromancer ordered.
    “You don’t mean--?” Tara looked at him in horror.
    “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,” Vitalis assured her. “Just as you would a tear in your dress. Start from the inside and pay special attention to the stomach. Make sure your stitches are particularly tight. It’s harder to heal a stomach than a heart, given the situation.”
    “But I’ve never sewn a person before!” Tara protested.
    “It’ll be like anything else, maybe a little more slippery.”
    “That’s a horrid thing to say,” the princess said reproachfully, but she nevertheless opened the small box and prepared a length of thread. Cringing, she set about arranging the necessary seams. She started at the heart, repairing the rent that left one of the chambers open. “I don’t know why Bedros hasn’t appeared,” she said absently while she worked to keep her mind off the gore before her.
    “I imagine he wanted to break your spirit by leaving you with a rotting corpse,” Vitalis suggested. “I did that once or twice in my time. How did you escape anyway?”
    “Through the window,” the princess said lightly. “Same way Chris got in.” The only sound for a time was that of the zombies congregated outside. Finally, Tara pulled her final knot taught and snipped the thread.
    “Done?” Vitalis asked. Tara nodded. Her hands were glossed in blood. “Good. Now we have something to work with.” The necromancer pushed Tara out of his way and examined the body again. “No good,” He said. “I might be able to do something temporary, but he’ll never be able to walk out of here on his own. There ’s just not enough ambient life force here. No sacrifice, nothing.”
    “You said you could do something. I sewed him up for you; do something,” Tara demanded. “Use me if you must, just do something.”
    “You don’t know what you’re asking, my dear. That would defeat your purpose. Anyway, I said I might be able to do something. Although... There still may be something. You remember how I said there were certain powerful forces?”
    “Yes? Can we use them?” Tara asked eagerly.
    Vitalis turned to her and looked at her earnestly. “Do you love him?” he asked.
    “Well, of course.”
    “Did he love you?”
    “I think so. He wouldn’t have come if he hadn’t, would he?”
    “And—this is important—was it True Love?”
    “To what purpose is this questioning?” Tara cried, drawing away from the necromancer. “How dare you doubt my feelings?”
    “If it was True Love, there is hope. If you truly care about Chris, I may be able to bring him back.”
    “Then your answer is yes, it was true love, if you must ask.”
    “Of course, you realize it will be some time ‘till he recovers, princess. Nothing good comes quickly or easily. He’ll need a constant reason to live and someone to care for him at his bedside. If he ever loses hope in his recovery, he’ll die. Can you be there for him that much?”
    “I will. Anything,” Tara promised.
    “Of course, there may yet be more hope, more strength. There is something stronger than that undying True Love. Something that will bring his youth back far more quickly. Tell me, princess, have you and he ever kissed?”
    Tara’s memory raced. There had been brief, fleeting moments, moments where they’d been so close, and yet... “Well, he kissed my hand once,” she said, defeated.
    “That doesn’t count,” Vitalis discounted. “That’s not a kiss, that’s a courtesy.”
    “Then, no.”
    “Excellent. You have yet True Love’s First Kiss. And I’m remembering so much more now. It’s all coming back. We’ll get this prince up again in no time.” Tara hugged Vitalis quickly as her heart felt light again. “Stand back,” the necromancer said. “I’m going to cast now.” Tara stood and stepped away, watching carefully. Vitalis extended his arms over Chris’s body, rolled back his eyes and chanted. Then he pressed the prince’s chest rhythmically and felt his neck. He stood ceremoniously and waved toward the prince. “I’ve got vital signs back briefly. It’s all up to you, princess. Go on, kiss him now.”
    Tara knelt over the prince. She couldn’t tell if he was breathing, but he seemed to have color. The blood on his face had dried and cracked, looking like a miniature brownish desert. Tara tried to put it all out of her mind. She wasn’t about to kiss a corpse, she told herself; no, she was kissing her beloved Chris. She ignored the blood on his face and on her hands. She closed her eyes and leaned over. His lips had no warmth, but somehow they were still soft. She opened her eyes and pulled away, he hand brushing across his check as she did.
    It hadn’t worked. That was all she could think. In an instant, every hope she had was dashed. Then suddenly, Chris’s eyes twitched and focused. He blinked. “Tara,” he said, though it came out only as a faint, hoarse breath. “Tara, I’m not dead?”
    “No, my prince,” Tara said and realized that her cheek was damp. “Not anymore.”
    “Can we...can we try again to be sure? I feel dead.”
    Tara leaned over and kissed him again. Chris found strength to put a limp arm around her.
    “I am dead,” he said, still close. “This could only be heaven.”
    Tara kissed him again. “Heaven wouldn’t be so damp. You’re not dead, Chris.”
    “Then I must be asleep.”
    “No, you’re alive, Chris, and be thankful for that. We brought you back, my love,” Tara assured him.
    Chris turned his head to the side. “Vitalis!” he exclaimed softly. “You broke your vows for me?”
    Vitalis nodded gravely and Tara said, “Only for a day.”
    “Ah, Vitalis, you old master!” Chris said happily, and started to sit up on his elbows.
    “No, no!” Vitalis cried desperately. “He mustn’t aggravate the wound!”
    Tara pushed Chris beck kindly. “You were dead,” she said. “ It’ll take some time before you’re mobile, Vitalis says.”
    “The wound...?” Chris began. His hand slid to his chest. “ Oh. But...there’re stitches.”
    “That sewing kit saved your life.
    “You did that for me, Tara?” Chris said, his eyes filled with wonder. Then his face fell. “But your hands are all covered in blood.”
    “You should speak,” Tara retorted.
    Chris lifted a hand to his face and rubbed at it. He looked at the sanguine flakes on his fingers. “So I am,” he remarked, amused. He looked sharply at the necromancer. “Vitalis, how are we going to get out of here?” he demanded.
    “First of all, you can’t travel like that. Tara, what do we have to bandage him with?”
    “My slip’s not so bad off as the dress. Will that do?”
    “We’ll see.”
    “Well, turn around,” the princess said, twirling her finger. “ It’s all right for Chris; we’re engaged.” Chris closed his eyes anyway and Vitalis turned away. Tara squirmed out of the slip, which was light green, nearly white, while keeping the outer dress around her like a shell. She adjusted her dress and said, “ It’s all right now.”
    “Good. We need it in wide bandages.”
    “There’s a dagger in my boot,” Christopher offered.
    “No there isn’t,” Tara corrected. “I used it to escape. I have it.”
    “Oh. I really was out, then, wasn’t I?”
    Tara nodded and slipped the dagger out of her pouch. She pulled the garment taught and shredded it methodically. Then she helped Chris out of his shirt, which was stiff and crusty with blood. She and Vitalis wrapped Chris’s torso tightly, to prevent him from aggravating the wounds.
    There was a crash and all three looked to the center of the room. Bedros was there, grinning. Tara gasped and put her hand in Chris’s. “So the little prince lives again?” Bedros said, glancing disdainfully at Christopher.
    Vitalis drew himself up. “These two are under my protection. I have a certain loyalty to the boy’s family .”
    Bedros favored him with a warm smile. “Ah, Vitalis, my friend. Are we forgetting our vows now?”
    “I made my vows for good, but sometimes evil has more capacity for good than good itself.”
    “An interesting philosophy,” Bedros acknowledged. “It’s good to see you active again. Perhaps you will redeem your old name?”
    “That is not important just now, Bedros. As it is, it is quite one thing to kidnap princesses—we all did in our days—but definitely another to tempt a turned necromancer. But I want no trouble. I will return these two to their kingdom and retire to my tower once more and you will not interfere.”
    Bedros shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t agree to that. I was in my rights, by our code. I had a claim to the girl and was spurned. I had no way of knowing that you would be tempted, but I do not regret it. And you are in my tower now.” He lifted a hand and shot a dark stream at Vitalis, who in turn lifted his staff and blocked it.
    “Don’t make us fight you,” Vitalis pleaded darkly.
    “I have no fear. The prince is invalid; he cannot help you. You are without practice; your spells are weakened. And the princess...she has no assets to use against me.”
    “I have your zombies,” Vitalis shrugged. They were still milling near the door.
    “I raised them with virgin’s blood,” Bedros retorted. “You cannot sway their like for long. Not even with your former might, Vitalis, and you know it.”
    Vitalis turned to the princess. “Tara, are you a virgin?” he asked suddenly.
    “What kind of question is that?” Tara said, appalled. “ How dare you imply that--”
    “This is important. Are you?”
    “Well, yes, of course. You certainly don’t think that I—”
    “You’re not using her for zombies,” Chris ordered. “Not while I’m here.”
    “Stop blubbering, the lot of you,” Bedros said. “Vitalis, leave my tower. This is not your place and you should respect this place as a fellow necromancer.”
    “You forget that I am Vitalis. My place is where I am. Now grant me this and I’ll turn once more, never to threaten you again. Let these two go. There are other princesses to be had.”
    “That’s not good enough, Vitalis,” Chris protested.
    Vitalis looked over his shoulder, dismayed. “Now, Chris...” he began.
    “I’ll kill him!” Chris vowed. “He killed me—I’ll kill him, I swear!”
    “Chris, calm yourself,” Vitalis pleaded. “Bedros, you have to let me persuade him.”
    “Let him try to kill me. I have nothing to fear from a corpse. I am a master of corpses,” Bedros bragged.
    Tara stood and grasped Vitalis’s shoulders. “Vitalis, you have to do something. We have to get out of here. I’ll do anything.”
    Vitalis cocked his head. “You know...” he began. “Bedros, my loyalty lies with the boy’s family, not the girl’s. You say you had a claim to her? If you promise not to hurt her—no sacrificing, that sort of thing—I’ll let her go in exchange for the prince.”
    “Done.”
    “No!” Chris and Tara cried together.
    “I won’t go with him,” Tara said.
    “I can’t let him have her,” Chris added. “What the heck did I die for if not to keep him off her? Vitalis, if you have any love for my family, you’d understand that.”
    “Look, Chris, I understand, but we can’t fight him, can we?”
    “You must be able to do something,” Tara said. “Why can’t we use the zombies like we did before?”
    “Because those zombies aren’t trustworthy. If I pit them against Bedros, he’ll reclaim them.”
    “I’m feeling strong,” Chris lied, trying to fool himself. “I can fight him again—and I’ll win this time.”
    “You can’t,” Vitalis said. “The wound would reopen.”
    “Use your magic then. I’ll kill that knave, I will! Get me my sword!”
    “Can’t you do something?” Tara begged.
    “There is a spell... With your life force—a virgin’s sacrifice, that is—I can give him a loan on life.”
    “No sacrifices!” Chris objected.
    “Oh, she wouldn’t die, probably,” Vitalis assured him. “She’d be nearly dead while you lived on her borrowed life. Any injuries you sustained would also be hers. Simple like that. Difficult spell, though.”
    “Well, stop babbling about it,” Bedros complained, “and just do something. I’m as eager as the boy to defeat him once more.”
    “I won’t have with it, Vitalis,” Chris said with finality. “If I die, that’s one thing, but I won’t endanger Tara.”
    “If it’ll help, I’m willing to do it,” Tara said.
    “I won’t do it if you don’t consent.”
    “I’m sick of all this talk!” Bedros shouted. “If you won’t cast it, I will and be rid of the lot of you!” He waved his staff broadly.
    Tara paled. “I feel ...light,” she breathed. Chris realized what was happening and scrambled to his feet to catch the princess as she fainted.
   “Bedros, how dare you?” Vitalis demanded, coming to her aid also. “You’re toying with lives.”
    “Come, come, Vitalis. We’re necromancers. That’s what we do. And now the boy can have his wish. He may have his rematch.”
    “No...” Vitalis started.
    Chris lowered Tara to the ground carefully. “Watch over her,” he told Vitalis. “And someone get me a sword. We’ll do this right this time, like it or not.”
    Bedros waved and the formerly lost blade lifted from the ground and flew toward Chris, who caught it abruptly. He spun it to test its familiar weight. Bedros meanwhile held out his staff, which transformed into a shining blade with a flash.
    “En garde,” Chris said.
    “En garde,” Bedros replied. The two attacked simultaneously, first moving one way then the other. Each looked quite professional and calm as they held complete eye contact and the only sound was that of their swords. Bedros drove Chris backward and the prince slipped on a crack in the floor. He stumbled and managed to stay on his feet, though he was thrown completely off balance. He staggered backward a few feet more and slammed against a wall. He rallied and pushed forward. Bedros rolled out of the way of the blade and scuttled toward Vitalis and Tara. “Out of my way, old man!” he called to the other necromancer.
    Vitalis shook his head and reached over the princess defensively. “You’ll not touch her,” he said. “I know what you’re thinking and it’s underhanded.”
    “My battle’s not with you,” Bedros said. “Stand aside.”
    Chris came up behind Bedros with his sword raised. “Take your own advice,” he suggested.
    Bedros looked between the three allies furtively. Without warning, he kicked at Vitalis, sending his rolling and punched Tara in the chest. Chris coughed and folded inward, lowering his blade. Bedros slapped Tara across the face and the red marks appeared on both their cheeks.
    “Stop!” Vitalis demanded. “I thought you wanted the girl intact!”
    “You stay back, old man,” Bedros commanded and put his hand at Tara’s throat. “You, too, little prince!”
    Breathing heavily, Chris advanced. “You can’t do it, Bedros. I know you can’t,” he tempted.
    Bedros glared at him. “I thought you came to rescue her,” he spat. “A fine job you’re doing.”
    Vitalis crawled up behind Bedros and nodded at Chris. Chris gave a small, wry smile in reply. Then the old necromancer backhanded Bedros, knocking him away from the princess. Bedros rolled to his feet and, on the recoil, caught Chris in the stomach with the flat of his blade. Seizing the opportunity, he then cut the prince across the jaw. Fresh blood appeared at both Tara’s and Chris’s mouths. Chris shook his head dazedly and Bedros rushed him, knocking him to the ground. Chris felt the cold steel of his opponent’s sword at his throat.
    “Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with?” Chris demanded.
    “You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” Bedros growled, kneeling on the prince and putting more pressure on the blade. “Then you could have her all to yourself.”
    “She won’t go with you anyway, so I don’t see what the point is.” Chris squirmed a little under the necromancer’s knee, trying to see. He glimpsed Vitalis tiptoeing behind Bedros.
    “Who ever said it was up to her?” Bedros said. “I had a rightful claim to her. I petitioned her father before you.”
    “Did he accept it?” Chris pressed, attempting to stretch the conversation long enough for Vitalis to do whatever he was up to.
    “He didn’t refuse me.”
    “Well, he promised her to me,” Chris said. “And the betrothal contract is signed already. You can’t break that. Only I or her father can.”
    “I can break you,” Bedros threatened.
    “You said yourself that you can’t kill me.” Chris had a horrible dread when he heard the zombies getting closer. But Vitalis had to know what he was up to, didn’t he? “And, besides,” he said loudly, hoping to cover the foreboding sound of those deathly gasps, “you already killed me once, and that didn’t do you any good.”
    “I can break the spell any moment. Then you will die once and for all.”
    “I can break the spell also,” Vitalis said, standing over the two. He held his staff over Bedros like a club. An army of zombies stood behind him. He swung the staff and caught Bedros in the side of the head. Bedros was flung back and, as he flailed, he dropped the sword, which flashed back into the staff from whence it came. It clattered on the floor. As Vitalis stood over him triumphantly, the zombies advanced in a morbid wave, pouring around him like a flood around a rock. They closed in on Bedros and seized him, carrying him in a mob to the center of the room.
    Chris lifted himself on his elbows. “But I thought you couldn’t control them,” he objected.
    “Not if Bedros concentrates on them, no. But I had a few spare incantations. And a little of Tara’s blood on hand.”
    “You traitor!”
    Bedros gave a scream that the zombies quickly stifled. “Now, Chris, before you get on me for that...” Vitalis began.
    “I trusted you! How dare you cross me?”
    “Chris, be reasonable. If I’d done anything to hurt her, you would have felt it. It didn’t take any more than you’ve shed yourself in battle.”
    Chris cringed as Bedros cried out again. “What are they doing to him?” he asked, horrified.
    “With zombies, who can tell?” Vitalis shrugged. “Be assured that they’ll do no more to him than he did to them. I planted the idea of revenge in them.”
    “That’s terrible. Are we just going to leave him then?” Chris looked at Vitalis critically.
    Vitalis shrunk under his look. “Don’t glare at me like that,” he said reproachfully. “You’re the one who swore you’d kill him.”
    “I believe in the ethical kill,” Chris defended. “That doesn ’t sound ethical.”
    “It’s a common technique among our kind.”
    “Our kind?”
    “Necromancers,” Vitalis clarified.
    Chris frowned. “ Bring him out of there,” he commanded. “ Necromancer or not, he’s still a man and therefore deserves a man’s death.”
    “I think you give him too much chance,” Vitalis replied. “He stays. You should be thinking about how we get out of here.”
    “Yes, I suppose, but still...”
    “We should hurry, before those zombies taste too much blood. They’re malicious ones, you know.”
    “I know. I beheaded a number of them, I think.” Christopher cringed at the thought.
    “Hah, that explains a lot, yes.” Vitalis looked around.
    The zombies settled down and diffused somewhat. They became much quieter. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” Chris said and backed away from Vitalis. His grip on his sword tightened.
    “That was fast,” Vitalis remarked. “You get the girl. We’ve got to leave.”
    “When are you going to break the spell?” the prince asked, hesitating to obey.
    “When it’s convenient. You can’t expect her to carry you, can you? No, we wait a little longer.” Vitalis looked very self-assured.
    “How are we getting back?” Chris said finally, and sheathed his sword. The blade was horribly nicked and nearly caught the sheath.
    “Well, that horse is quite exhausted and frightened. How’s a quick spell to my tower sound? I’m rather enjoying my power again, and I should have a spare horse there.”
    “Only for today, right?” Chris said suspiciously, still watching Vitalis.
    “Something like,” Vitalis agreed absently.
    “I...think I’d rather you didn’t use magic. I’ve had enough for today.”
    “You’ll be hard pressed to get that old horse to go through the swamp without throwing you.”
    “I’m willing to risk it,” Chris said.
    “There’s three of us,” Vitalis warned.
    “You want to use magic, don’t you, Vitalis?” Chris asked.
    Vitalis tried to look innocent and offended, but Chris could see a cruel glimmer in the necromancer’s eyes that he’d never seen there before. “ Me? No, I’m just trying to help,” Vitalis shrugged.
    “No... That’s not it, is it? No, the spells have tainted you, haven’t they?” Christopher accused.
    “Certainly not. I’m still trying to help you, aren’t I?”
    “If you’re not regressing, prove it.”
    “How?”
    “Break your staff. Something.”
    “Then how will you bring Tara back?”
    “Fine,” Chris said curtly. “I’ll trust you to get us back, but then you have to prove you’re still the Vitalis I know.”
    “Not even a turned necromancer has to break his staff. Aren’t you being unfair?”
    “Once you get us back, you won’t need it.”
    Vitalis glared at the prince and tapped his staff against the ground. Chris looked at the necromancer in shock and then collapsed. Tara opened her eyes and gasped. “My stomach hurts,” she moaned. “My whole body is...” She looked around, saw Chris crumpled on the floor and jumped to her feet. “Why’s he unconscious?” she demanded.
    The battle’s done. He was taking it too far,” Vitalis said in a distant voice.
    “I think I dreamt about everything that happened,” Tara remarked. “It’s just really fuzzy.”
    “That’ll happen,” Vitalis nodded.
    “I want to go home now. Where’s the horse?”
    “I propose we use magic.”
    “Oh.” Tara looked down at Christopher. “I see. But—wait. I thought... I thought you didn’t want to use any more magic than you had to.”
    “Actually, I should thank you. You’ve made me see who I really am,” Vitalis said. “I don’t know why I ever stopped in the first place. And I think I’ ll keep these zombies.”
    Tara shook her head warily. “No,” he said. “I won’t let you do this. You told me that zombies were tormented. Release them.”
    “Come, come. How can I be a necromancer without zombies? That’s like being a princess without subjects.”
    “No, you told me that holding zombies was evil. That all of necromancy was evil,” Tara insisted. “ Release them, now.”
    “My dear princess, I was a misled fool then. You must understand; the magic is a part of my soul, to deny it would be like denying your love for Chris.”
    “You said that the magic was a foul thing that took over the souls of men.”
    “So is love!”
    “That isn’t Vitalis talking,” Tara said darkly, glaring at the necromancer, “that’s the necromancy talking. It’s taken you over. Why can’t you see that?”
    “Why can’t you see that necromancy is who I am? I was misled and you brought me back. For that I thank you, but here is where our paths must split.”
    “It’s that thing!” Tara screamed, pointing at Vitalis’s staff. “That thing has taken you over! Tell me, what’ll happen if you destroy it?”
    “I will be destroying myself,” Vitalis said.
    “So you’ll die?” Tara asked.
    “Not as such...” Vitalis began. “I will lose all my power and just be an aged man again. I would be broken.”
    “You weren’t broken when I met you, Vitalis,” Tara said. “When I met you, you were a very kind man with strong principles. What happened to him?”
    “He was a lie. A misleading lie,” Vitalis whispered hoarsely.
    Tara stepped forward and seized Vitalis’s staff. She held it away from him. “I’ll tell you what’s a lie,” she said. “This vile thing!” She held it up threateningly.
    “No!” Vitalis gasped, falling to his knees. “Don’t. Please don’t!”
    “Will you forswear necromancy again if I don’t?” Tara asked.
    Vitalis looked down, near tears. “I don’t have the strength for that anymore,” he said quietly.
    “Then you leave me no choice,” Tara said. She slammed the staff against the ground. The wood splintered and shards flew around the princess. Vitalis gasped and doubled over. He shuddered with silent tears. Tara dropped the broken end she held and knelt beside him. “I’m sorry...” she began.
    He looked carefully at her. “No,” he said at last. “I needed that. Thank you.”
    “You mean...” Tara surveyed the room. The zombies were suddenly still.
    “That was exactly what needed to be done. You were right.”
    “So what happens now?” the princess asked.
    “Now?” Vitalis said. “The zombies will fade back to death. They have no master now.”
    “And Chris? Will he be all right?”
    “With you at his side, I should think so. So now it’s time for you and him to go home. Make sure he gets plenty of fluids.”
    “You’re not coming with us?” Tara gave the old man a sorrowful look. Vitalis shook his head and glanced around the room at the remainders from the fight. “No,” he said. “My place is here. I ’ll clean up, take care of the swamp. I’m among my kind here. Take the horse and go.”
    “Thank you, Vitalis .” Tara kissed him on the cheek.
    Vitalis smiled in return. “Maybe I’ll come to visit you two some time. Invite me to the wedding,” he said warmly.
    “I will,” Tara replied.
    Chris shifted a little and gave a groan. Tara crawled quickly to his side. “Chris... It’s all right now,” she said.
    “Are we still in the tower?”
    “Yes, but we’re going soon. I’m going to get the horse.”
    “Don’t bother,” Vitalis said and stood up. “I’ll go.”
    “I don’t trust Vitalis,” Chris said.
    Tara shook her head. “That’s over now. I told you, it’s all right.”
    “I don’t think I can walk yet,” the prince remarked.
    “You don’t have to. We’ll just get you on that horse and get you home, hmm?”
    “That’d be nice.”
    Vitalis came back with the black horse. “I had to soothe it, but I think you can ride ‘im,” he said. “ Had a long couple of days, though. Won’t go fast. Come, let’s get Chris on at least.” Together, Vitalis and Tara lifted the prince onto the horse and leaned him against its neck. “Do you think you’re strong enough to hold on by yourself?” Vitalis asked.
    “Probably.”
    “Good. I think it’s best if Tara walks then. Poor beast has taken quite a beating. You two have already proven yourselves quite the adventurers,” Vitalis continued. “Besides, you have to get back quickly before there’s a war or something.”
    “Goodbye, Vitalis,” Tara said.
    “Farewell,” Chris said.
    Vitalis just smiled and waved. Tara gave the horse a comforting stroke started to walk forward. The horse followed obligingly, and Chris held on like a tired child on a pony. Together, silently, they trudged through the dead swamp.
    In the late evening, after the sun had fallen below the horizon and the pinkish light was fading, they came within sight of Tara’s palace. Chris had fallen asleep, still clinging to the horse. “Chris,” Tara said, touching him lightly. “Chris, we’re nearly home.”
    Chris blinked awake and lifted his head. “That’s a beautiful sight, isn’t it?” he said. “Almost as beautiful as you.”
    Tara smiled self- consciously and started walking again. Ahead on the road, Tara heard a clatter. There was a cart, coming at them faster than they were walking. The farmer driving it stopped in front of them and held up a hand in greeting. “Ho, there, travelers!” he said.
    “Greetings,” Tara called back.
    “If you’re thinking of going toward the palace, I’d advise against it,” the farmer said. “You’ll find people awful suspicious ever since—”
    Tara lifted her lantern closer to her face. The farmer looked carefully at her.
    “You’re her, aren’t you!” he exclaimed. “Jumpin’ Jiminy, it’s the princess!”
    Tara nodded. “And the missing prince, yes. We’ve returned.”
    “Say, your Highness, you look like you’ve taken quite a beating and that horse of yours looks mighty tired. Why don’t I give you a ride back to the palace and send back for the horse?”
    “Could you? Chris really needs to lie down,” Tara replied gratefully, “and I’ve been walking all day .”
    “He get wounded out there?” the farmer asked.
    “Badly,” the princess said. “I’d be ever so grateful if you could help me get him into the cart. He’s too wounded to help himself.”
    Together the farmer and Tara slid Chris onto the straw in the back of the cart. Chris tried to help, but he hadn’t much strength left in him. “I’ll stay in the back with him, if you don’t mind,” Tara said when he was situated. She put down her lantern next to him.
    Chris touched her arm. “You don’t have to ride like a criminal for me,” he said softly.
    “No,” Tara replied. “Someone’s got to watch over you.”
    “What would I know?” the farmer interjected, swinging into the driver’s seat, “You’re the royalty, your Highnesses.”
    “Let’s go,” Tara said. “And Godspeed to us.” The farmer flicked the reins and the cart rattled and lurched. He turned back toward the palace and set off at high speed. It wasn’t long until they were at the gate of the palace.
    The guard stopped them. “Halt! Let’s see what you’ve got there,” he said dutifully.
    “I’ve got the princess!” the farmer exclaimed grinning giddily.
    The guard lifted his lantern. “We don’t take too kindly to jokes about serious matters,” he said.
    “He’s not lying,” Tara said and stood in the back of the cart. She held her own lantern so the light showed her face. “The prince is here as well.”
    The guard dropped to his knee gracefully. “I apologize, your Highness. With your leave, I’ll inform the palace.”
    “Let us through first,” Tara commanded. “The prince is wounded.”
    “Yes, your Highness,” the guard agreed and opened and opened the gate. The farmer urged his horse through, gloating silently. The guard ran ahead frantically. “The princess has returned!” he called as he raced into the palace itself. “Princess Tara is saved!”
    Throughout the palace, candles flickered on as the residents awoke. The cart stopped in front of the door and a flood of people in nightclothes came out to greet them. Throughout the mob there was a rippling bow as the king and queen hurried out of the door. The farmer helped the princess off the cart and she was quickly swept into her parents’ arms. Her mother kissed her and stroked her ruined hair. Her father repeatedly asked her if she was all right.
    “I’m fine,” Tara assured them. “Someone help Chris, please. Please.”
    The king and queen’s attention was turned to the cart, where the prince still lay. “Someone help him out of there,” the king said quickly.
    “Wait—” Tara pleaded. “You have to be gentle with him. He’s really hurt.”
    “Fetch the doctor!” the king decided.
    “No!” Tara said. “ No, that’s not necessary. There’s nothing an ordinary doctor can do. He just needs time to heal.”
    “Well then at least you need the doctor. You look like you’ve taken an awful beating, my dear,” the queen said.
    “I... just need time to heal too. I did, but I don’t think I’m sick.”
    Some of the men had taken Chris out of the cart and he now stood between two of them, using them as crutches. The king turned to him. “Your Highness...” he began. “I am eternally in your debt. We all are.” He bowed before the prince. The queen took note and did likewise and soon only Tara, Chris and his supports remained standing.
    “That’s not necessary,” Chris said and his knee gave way. The two men caught him. “Tara saved my life as much as I saved hers, probably more so. Please, I don’t want anything more than I have. Recover.”
    “There isn’t much more I can offer you,” the king said, rising. “You have my daughter and my blessing.”
    “That’s all I could ask for. All any man could ask for,” Chris replied.
    “Father, please, he has to lay down,” Tara said quickly. “We can tell you everything later, but his wounds are too extensive for this.”
    “Yes, get him to a bed quickly,” the queen said.
    “How extensive are his wounds, daughter?” the king asked.
    Tara smiled. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you, father. Some other time, hmm? As it is, I must care for him. Only I can do that.”
    So she did, as his wife, forevermore. Their kingdoms were united and strengthened by the union and, as promised, Vitalis was invited to the wedding and always a welcome guest of the royal family. He thrilled everyone with his tales of bygone necromancy in the dead land and his own particular version of the prince and princess’s adventure.

copyright 2004 Angela Cox