Auron and I were in a vast throne room, a huge stone hall with a loft vaulted roof and high stained-glass windows on either side, through which a bright afternoon sun was shining. Rich carpets were on the floor, and tables lined the sides of the hall. People sat at these tables, working at papers and talking quietly; clerks, I guessed, dealing with the administration of the Kingdom.

At the far end of a vast throne room, centered on a raised wooden dais, was a brass throne, burnished to a gleam. It was backed by a bank of huge windows, through which I could see a grand vista of the valley I had seen earlier within the enchanted mirror.

A man stood with his back to us, his hands at his side, gazing out through the windows. From the golden crown on his head and the richness of his clothing, I knew this must be the King of the Outlands, Prince Cassian’s father.

“Your highness,” Auron said, as we approached the throne and the carpet stopped.

“Who...?”

The King turned to face us. He was a big man, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, with a beard and short-cut hair of the same blonde as my own. Both hair and beard, however, were shot with gray, and his heavy frame looked like that of a warrior who had not fought much in recent years.

Upon seeing the Magus, the King’s face twisted into a snarl and he stepped forward, his blue eyes blazing with anger and his fists clenched at his side. “What do you thing you are doing here, Magus Auron? You were told never to return! How dare you…?”

The King stopped abruptly when his glance landed on me. His eyes widened as his mouth dropped open. Bottom lip quivering, he stammered something too soft to hear.

“Cassian,” he said hoarsely, after swallowing a few times.

“Father,” I said. It was more a question than an acknowledgement of this man’s paternity.

Was this man, royal in every sense of the word, now my father? I’d never known my true father; it wasn’t all that necessary when you lived in households made up of many mothers and fathers, so I couldn’t help feeling a bit of emotion at seeing this man’s sudden glee at discovering that his comatose son had recovered.

King Boris rushed toward me and took me in both arms, hauling me off the carpet and into his bear’s embrace. My frail frame meant he could seize me in one fell sweep and launch me upward.

I groaned, returning his embrace. “That hurts,” I managed to say through his crushing hug.

“Sorry,” he said as he put me down. Then he peered into my eyes, and there was sudden doubt in his face. He was a shrewd man, that much was clear. “Is it truly you, Cassian?”

“Does it look like me?” I asked. The true answer was, of course, no. I was not his son. I was another person inhabiting his son’s body. I didn’t know exactly what to say. Should I tell him? One should not lie to a King, but I was not sure if he’d want to hear it.

The King looked at Auron, who had climbed off the rug and walked over to join us, then he looked back at me. His face fell. “It’s not you,” he said, and there was certainty in his voice. I kept quiet as he turned to Auron.

“You did it,” the King said to the Magus. “This is not Cassian; I can see that much in his eyes. However, I can see that you’ve achieved what you set out to do. His body lives, and the Kingdom will recognize him as my heir. The prophecy may yet be fulfilled.”

“That is my hope, your highness.”

“And the methods you used? It was necromancy in the end, wasn’t it?”

“No, your highness. After you cast me out for suggesting such a thing, I reconsidered. I have spent the last ten years searching for other means of bringing back your son. This is the soul of a man, reincarnated into the body of your son, called from the afterlife. It’s a magic the ancients speak of, and it was my only hope.”

“You called a spirit from the afterlife and installed it in the corpse of my son? If that is not necromancy, then what is?”

The two men were talking quietly, but Auron leaned in closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Necromancy is the enslavement of the dead to the will of a living magic-worker. That would not do at all. In Necromancy, the enchanted body has no will of its own. This person is a real, living soul inside a body with free will and wisdom of his own.”

“Seems a pretty fine definition,” said the King, giving Auron a wry look, “but I don’t care. If this is indeed the truth, then you have done well, and I rescind my previous order that you should be in exile.”

“Thank you, my lord,” said Auron, bowing his head.

The King turned back to me, looking at me warily, but with interest. “A reincarnated soul, called from the afterlife. Who were you? Who lives inside the body of my son and heir?”

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“A man who is no more,” I said. The king’s reaction had done something to me. It had made me want to be his son. “From now on, I will be Cassian.”

The king frowned at me. “Surely you must have some desire to return to your former life, now that you have a body again?”

“I can’t,” I said with a shrug. “My people are gone, my homeland ruined. Three hundred years ago.”

“You were a man of the Hunter Clans?” he asked, his eyes widening in surprise.

“I was,” I said.

The King looked thoughtful, reaching up and pulling at his beard as he regarded me. Auron stayed quiet, standing a little way behind me and to my left.

After a minute’s silent thought, the King spoke again. “The Hunter Clans were good people. Outlander sages studied them in the early years, and recorded some of their legends and customs. I have studied texts that speak of the hunter’s code. There is much to be gained from the wisdom of your people.”

“King Boris,” I asked, “what became of my people?”

His eyes flicked to the Magus then back to me. “Has Auron told you nothing?”

“Nothing of this,” I replied. “I’d like to know.”

The King sighed. “We do not know, exactly. The texts say that one day, they were just gone. The early Outlanders had trade with them, and learned some of their herb-lore in return for some of our skill in metalworking. A trade route was opened between us, and there was traffic back and forth. But one day, a caravan of Outland traders arrived at the great tree top city in the wild forest and found it empty. There was not a soul there.”

“Had they been attacked? Was there any sign of a battle?”

“That’s the strangest thing, there was nothing.” The King leaned toward me, speaking quietly and conspiratorially, even though there was no one nearby to hear. “They say that when the merchants arrived it was as if the whole city’s population had vanished in the middle of a normal day. There was food on the tables in the houses, half-eaten. In many of the hearths, there were fires still burning or only recently gone out. In the barracks, spears and swords were still in their racks, as if there had been no threat. Our traders went through the entire city, and through the surrounding villages, looking for people, for some indication of what had happened, anything. But they found no clue as to the fate of the Hunter Clans. As the years passed, the dwelling of the old Hunter Clans became fixed in our minds as a terrifying place, a place of rumour and dark legend. Nobody would go there willingly, and it succumbed to the ravages of nature.”

Boris was obviously a man who relished telling a story, and the way he told this one fairly made my hair stand on end. What could have happened to the clans?

“And that was three hundred years ago?” I asked.

“Give or take,” the King said. “I have long thought of sending out exploration parties to explore the ruins and see what’s left. Perhaps your knowledge be able to contribute to that? But enough of this. We must discuss the present, not the past. I’m glad that you’re here, and willing to work with us. Your soul must have much of the wisdom of the Hunter Clans, but here you will learn the wisdom of the Outlands. If you are to become my heir in truth, then you must know how to govern, how to lead, and how to command the many elemental powers at an Archmage’s fingertips.”

“You would give all that up to a stranger?” I asked.

He stepped forward and clasped my hand, looking into my eyes. “You are all I have now, my friend. There is no other way. These people, the world, they need the Cassian, Crown Prince of the Outlands. Maybe you being inside my son’s body will not fulfil the prophecy. Perhaps I will leave you my throne and it will all be for nothing. But what other option do I have?”

He gestured out the windows at the thickly populated valley below.

“If I simply do nothing, then all this will become as your homeland became. Abandoned, empty, a place of ghosts. But whatever fate will meet my people if the prophecy is not fulfilled, it won’t be gentle. There will be no food left on the tables or weapons in the weapon racks if the Outlands fall.”

I stepped up beside him and looked out at the valley through the windows. The patchwork of little agricultural holdings stretched off into the distance, delineated by tended hedgerows. Cattle were in some of the fields, and people worked to grow crops in others. At the confluence of most of the fields were little thatched cottages, many of them with trails of woodsmoke coming from the chimneys.

A river meandered lazily through the middle of the valley, and many smaller streams ran through the surrounding farmsteads to join it. Roads and tracks ran between the fields and joined the houses to each other, and on these little figures moved back and forth, pushing barrows or riding horse-drawn carts up toward the castle.

“Those people there are my people now,” I said quietly. “If by being here I can save these people from whatever fate befell the Hunter Clans, then I will be doing a good thing. I’m content. You may rely on me, King Boris.”

“I knew I could, as soon as I looked into your eyes,” said the King, slapping me on the shoulder. For a moment, we stood together looking out at the peaceful scene below.

A part of me thought that this commitment sounded strange. I had only been in this body for a few hours at most, and yet here I was committing to be the prince, and to saving these people who I barely knew anything about. I was becoming quickly comfortable with this new life. But then, perhaps it wasn’t so strange after all? What life did I have if I didn’t commit myself to this new one entirely? My life as a Hunter Clan man had been cut brutally short, before I had the chance to make an impact on the world. Few men get a second shot at that. I should consider myself lucky.

“You must start your training immediately,” King Boris said to me.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m afraid I’m physically not strong yet. It will take me some time to regain the strength of my body, and to find my way around the castle and learn the story of your people.”

“Very well. We will get you started at once. Magus Auron will see to the start of your training, but soon you will find your feet. Once you can fight, you will learn the martial arts. And when you can channel mana, you will begin the process of taking my throne. Now, Cassian, give me a moment to speak with Auron privately, please.”

I moved away to give them some privacy. I stood by the window, making out that I was gazing out at the land, but secretly watching the Magus and the King as they conversed. Auron approached the king, and together they exchanged words for some time while I watched them. At first, it seemed like the king was chastising the Magus, but then their expressions became warm, and they finally embraced.

“Magus Auron,” King Boris said, loud enough so I could hear, “take my son to his chambers. He will need to rest well before he begins his training.”