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[Thrax]

---

A voice...

Male... "You will obey her... Give her the crystal..."

Another voice. Familiar. Female... "Follow me..."

A darkened corridor... the reek of decay... footfalls... a small chamber...

Incantation...

Outer darkness...

Thrax opened his eyes. He was lying in his bed at Whitehall. He could hear birds singing outside the open window. The sun was shining.

But it was oddly cold and his head was hurting. He tried to call out, but no words formed... or had he become deaf?

"Rest well, Lord Thrax," a voice said. "You need it; you need to heal. Relax, and sleep."

Fear gripped him. He strove to move but was transfixed in the bed. Paralyzed! His eyes darted in their sockets to and fro about the room. Ishtar!!!

"Ishtar is away, but she will be home soon to take care of you. Sleep now... sleep."

What is wrong with me?!!

"You are injured; you must rest."

A chill cut through him like a hot knife through butter.

This is not home; I am dreaming!!

"Will he remember?"

"No."

"Will he die?"

"Only one way."

"What is that?"

"If the crystal shatters."

[Thrax]

---

Ishtar did not come. No one did. All Thrax ever heard was ambient sound and occasional muffled voices... two male voices, both familiar to him. His life now consisted of his bedroom and its sparse furniture: the bed upon which he lay, Ishtar's vanity, an armoire, his swordcase and the love seat below the window. It was always sunny outside, as if midday, but always a strange, otherworldly, cold breeze blew in through the open window.

He still could not move his limbs. More bizarre was the fact that he had no desire for the necessities of the body---he felt no hunger or thirst, nor any need to relieve himself.

I am not material. This is an illusion. I am under some spell, or worse, I am comatose or dead.

"You are not dead, but neither are you alive," came a voice in answer to his conjecture.

"You lied to me," was all he could say.

"Yes, I did, but it was necessary at the time."

"Why?"

"To allow time for you to reorient yourself; to reduce the danger of shock that might hasten the onset of madness. You have passed the critical point. Now you can know the truth."

"What is the truth?"

"Your soul has been separated from your body."

Thrax would have screamed if he could have, as a wave of abject horror rushed over him. "What have you done to me?!"

"Me? Nothing. I am merely your guardian, and, fortunately for you, your friend. I cannot tell you more than that."

"Who are you?"

There was a pause. "That is not important, either. Your continued sanity will depend upon the amount of trust and hope you can muster and maintain. If you trust me to do good by you, and cling to hope of deliverance some day, you will be fine. If not, you will lapse into insanity and then I will have no more reason to sustain you. Is my meaning clear to you?"

"It is clear."

"Good. Now, trust me when I say that your wife and children are doing fine. They would miss you but they are under the illusion that you are with them, alive and well. Hence they do not grieve, nor can they send help, since they are entirely unaware of your present state of circumstances... your misfortune."

"You swear they are safe?"

"I so swear."

Thrax felt some small measure of relief. "If you will not tell me how this happened, at least tell me why."

His "friend" chuckled softly. "What are the usual reasons for man's mistreatment of his fellow man---jealousy, hate, greed? In your case, all three are factors."

"Who is my enemy?!"

"Your ignorance astounds me, Thraxanduril."

Thraxas!

Silence.