Toric turned to see what Artur was pointing at and gasped in startled surprise as he found himself lying upon his back in what seemed like a large stone room. Looking to his left he saw Davyd asleep in a chair and looking to his right showed rows of beds with other patients. Two beds down there was a soldier with a huge bandage across his torso and another on his head, and standing there beside the bed was a pale blue wispy form of a man wearing an Imperial uniform. The man was staring down at the body on the bed and it was several long moments before Toric realized he was seeing the ghost of the soldier that lay dead upon that bed. He was rather thoroughly freaked and rolled to his left and fell out of the bed at Davyd’s feet with a yelp. A domino effect knocked Davyd out of his chair and onto the stone floor with a near identical yelp and then came the sounds of running feet and yelling healers.

Within no time at all Toric found himself lifted back onto the bed and told very firmly not to move. He turned to look back at the soldier’s ghost and found it staring at him curiously. Looking straight up at one of the healers he reached out and grabbed the man’s tunic and pulled him close.

“That soldier to my right with the torso and head wounds. He is either close to dying or dead, please go check on him right now!”

The frenzy Toric was feeling was obvious in his voice and he dearly wished there was something he could do about it, but there was just so freaking much that had happened he was feeling like a boxing dummy from getting jerked around. Remembering something from before he awoke he turned and looked at another of the healers and spoke again.

“I need to speak with the Master Mage Vorxin and the Mage Drax as soon as it can be arranged, please!”

Davyd was gob smacked. He felt that was a good way to describe how he was feeling. First Toric wakes up and just about leaps out of bed, knocking him over in the process. Then he starts barking out orders that carry an undeniable and strangely authoritative compulsion with them. The first healer he had spoken to was already at the indicated soldier’s bed and working to resuscitate the man. The second had turned around and headed back from where he came to send a page to get the Master Mage and Mage Drax. Toric just tells this healer to go get a Master Mage he should not even know of and the healer hops to doing the will of the patient. Shaking his head to clear the fog from his mind Davyd reaches out and touches Toric’s shoulder.

“Hey, Toric, you okay buddy?”

Toric turned and looked directly at Davyd right then, and Davyd can understand why healers are doing what he says. The previously soft hazel eyes of Toric are gone; they have been replaced by glowing pale blue orbs of azure flame that seem to pierce through your soul when you look into them. Toric’s voice seems mostly the same at least.

“Davyd, I am glad you are here. Don’t worry, I have been told about what happened and I do not blame you. There is no way you could have known what Tremalyn was about to do, or that it would be so terribly dangerous and wrong. Please do not ask me how I know all this; I was given specific instructions about who I could talk to about it. Until I talk to them, I am going to play things close to the vest. I hope you understand, you were always good to me and acted quickly once things went wrong. For that I am sincerely grateful.”

Yep, gob smacked was the best way to describe how he felt. Davyd had asked a single question and received an answer that made him want to ask a dozen more. Not to mention that within the answer was a very politely worded statement that said - no more questions! So Davyd did the only thing he could and leaned back in the chair, nodding and smiling and wondering just how the hell this day could get any weirder. Then he groaned and kicked himself mentally; berating himself internally.

Did I just fucking invoke Murphy into all of this? The last damn thing that this situation needs is for a god of mischief to take interest in these goings on. Oh shit, I am doing that stupid internal monologue thing again and arguing with myself. Think about bunnies and puppies and horrible cheek pinching old grandmothers.

The expression on Davyd’s face made Toric smile and he made a mental note to sit down and explain everything to the old Centurion at a later date. He owed the man for being a good person and getting him to help as quickly as he could. And as Toric examined his memories he realized he had already sort of met the Mage Drax and owed him as well for the swiftness with which he acted once he realized what had happened to him. According to Artur there was no healing what had happened, but there was the opportunity for him to use it for good. A victorious shout of relief from his right made him look over and smile as he saw the spirit of the soldier sink back into his body. Correction, he was already doing well.

A commotion near the entrance caused Toric to grab the side of the bed and force his body to sit up. There was still an amazing amount of pain all throughout his body, and from what Artur had told him he did not expect it to ever go away completely. He would simply have to learn to deal with it. Propping his back up against the wall he turned toward the small crowd that was advancing on his bed. In the lead there was a medium sized figure wearing elaborate robes. Toric studied the shadow elf closely, having never seen one of his kind before. He was about five and a half feet tall, but much more heavily muscled than the High and Wood elves Toric had seen. The way the shadow elf carried himself, walking with tightly controlled steps and avoiding bumping into anyone spoke of great strength and even greater self-control. Toric idly wondered how he knew that; but shrugged, chalking it up to a side effect. His eyes flicked to the left of the shadow elf and somehow recognized the Mage Drax. This was the high elf that had taken such good care of him. There was no way to gauge his age, but somehow Toric was certain that he was not all that much older than he was. He was tall, much taller than the shadow elf, but also much more slender. Drax walked like a hunter, his steps as graceful as the great panthers that roamed the forest outside of Toric’s hometown. Drax still wore his reaction team armor, crafted of leather and steel, it seemed formidable as well as flexible enough for him to retain his speed advantage. Toric’s thoughts came to an abrupt halt as he caught sight of the human mage walking behind Drax and the shadow elf; the only thought that ran through his head at that moment was, “Gods, fairies, and miniature flying pink elephants, she is gorgeous!”

And then the small group was to his bed. Other than the shadow elf, two Imperial soldiers that flanked him, Drax, and the beautiful woman, there were three human men that seemed to be officials of some sort, an Imperial wearing the uniform of a Praetorian, another high elf wearing the robes of a senior healer, and – surprisingly – a gnome, wearing tight leathers and bearing a strange looking staff. None of them spoke, deferring to the shadow elf as he stepped forward and addressed the young dracuman.

“I have been informed that you called for my presence. While normally I would not answer the summons of a boy that is not much more than a recruit, the fact that you knew my name has intrigued me, and Drax here has related what he knows of your situation. Why did you ask for me?”

Toric chuckled and felt something very strange; like a memory that he did not know he had surfacing in his thoughts. The memory made him raise his right hand and draw a circle in the air, then point at whom he now knew to be Vorxin and Drax. A wave of magic rushed from him and an impenetrable bubble surrounded his bed and the two others. He spoke the words, which he was becoming surer Artur had implanted into his mind, quickly.

“I give you greetings Vorxin. I implanted this in young Toric here so that you would know the gravity of the situation. He has become a Veil-Walker. I ask and demand this of you, as Artur the Master of the Veil; help him understand his abilities and responsibilities. He has several surprises for both you and Drax. Listen to him and then assist him.”

The timber of Toric’s voice changed to a conciliatory tone from the commanding one it had been using.

“I am sorry for taking your tongue to use Toric. This will speed things along. Goodbye young Walker, until we meet again.”

Abruptly Toric had control of his mouth again and he cursed.

“Arrogant, screwed up bouncing ball of light! At least fucking warn me you are going to take over. Dammit!”

Vorxin surprised everyone by laughing heartily before speaking in a soft tone. First he gestured behind him and the gaggle of healers, mages, and soldiers stopped trying to break the sphere, not that they could have succeeded. Smiling at Toric he spoke again, in a much more friendly tone of voice.

“Forgive my rudeness earlier, young one. Please tell us what Artur has told you, as well as anything else you might have to add.”

And so Toric recounted everything Artur had told him to the old Drow. Vorxin was deep in thought when Toric turned to Drax and spoke to him in a much softer and more personal tone.

“Drax, thank you for all you have done to help me, but there is something more I must ask of you. While I was in that place with Artur, he allowed my mother to speak with me, and she told me to seek you out and say a few things to you. I am Toric Fatesblood, only son and heir of Devyn Fatesblood and I am to ask you for my birthright. As son of Devyn and the Dragon Bound by Bone. Also I would ask you what my mother’s name is. She said she was bound and could not speak it to me.”

Vorxin and Drax inhaled at the same time. They were both startled beyond reasoning at the words that came from Toric. Drax turned to look at Vorxin with wide eyes and an expression that bordered on panic.

Toric was disturbed by their reactions but just waited patiently. He was a patient man by nature, and very difficult to anger. Perhaps that was why his anger was so terrible when unleashed, but for the moment he was content to wait for a response. He still felt the bubble of force surrounding them and knew that it would remain until he dismissed it. So, at the moment, he had a captive audience.

It was a long moment before Drax turned back to Toric. He took a deep breath and his voice cracked with stress when he spoke.

“Your mother is named Krystuia. Sixteen years ago a necromancer arose in the southern reaches of the Empire. I am sure you have heard stories of the battles that happened there. The necromancer was powerful beyond belief and he created a massive army of undead and evil living mortals. The Empire set out to destroy him and called upon many of its allies to help. Most of the allies refused, believing that the Empire could handle the situation alone. That is the reason the Emperor no longer acknowledges the sovereignty of most other races within the borders of the Empire. We are now all one. Enough of that though, a bare few of the Empire’s allies did respond. The Clansmen, three dragons, and the Legion of Daath all came to aid the Empire. What applies to you of this tale is tragic, and I am sorry to have to be one to tell you of it. Krystuia was one of the dragons that came; the other two were her parents, Sul and Karynia. Krystuia was young by dragon terms, barely into her third century. The Legion of Daath is not often spoken of, but they hold immense power. Every member of their army possesses skills on par with Imperial Special Operatives, and the Legion’s army is six-thousand men strong. The Commander of the Legion at the time was a warrior of incredible skill and cunning. He was also a mage the likes of which the world had not seen in centuries. As such a powerful and charismatic human it was not unlikely that he would attract the attention of your mother. The war raged for nearly a year, and just before the final battle Krystuia gave birth to his son, you, while in the form of a human. She chose to do so that you could live as a man; for half dragons in draconic form usually find life difficult. The next morning the enemy struck a surprise attack, and the necromancer himself led it. The horde was near the tent where your mother was caring for you and your father….. Your father lost himself to his rage. He sought to protect the both of you, and acted from a pure intent. He used a spell that the ancients had crafted for protection against the undead. It was foolhardy, but brave. The spell requires immense power and was never intended to be cast by a single mage. It took every erg of his magic, but it worked. Every undead in the entire province fell to ash, and the necromancer was completely destroyed. The repercussions of the spell however were severe. Your father still stands there upon that field; under watch by a full company of the Legion. He is frozen in a single moment of time. Time passes for us, but anything within four feet of his body is completely suspended. Your mother gave you to your father’s best friend and made a few preparations for you, and then she summoned a most powerful spirit, Artur. She called upon him and asked him for a boon. She wished to free her love, and he agreed. There was however a catch. The spell that your father cast was intended to protect your mother and you from all undead and anything related to the undead, like necromancers. It remains in effect and will never fade. Artur told your mother that he could free your father, but in order to do so she would need to enter into a contract. The plan is simple; far from here there is a place of great power, where your mother sleeps within a spell circle. The circle is slowly draining the spell effect from your mother and storing it within a crystal. The process could be done instantly, but that would kill her; in order to keep her alive the process will take another five years, and then she will be released. With the power of the spell safe and able to be used against other necromancers in the future, Artur will pull a fraction of its power to release your father from his stasis. Please understand this Toric, Artur did not do this to be cruel, it is the only way it can be done. And your mother would have rather raised you herself, but if your father is not freed within the next decade he will remain frozen in time forever.”

Drax stopped speaking and reached to his belt, taking a very short sip from the flask he pulled free, and then offering it to Toric.

Toric was reeling from everything he had been told. First there was the pain of the Anchor spell, then the meeting with Artur, next he had gotten to meet his mother – but not talk to her – and now there was everything Vorxin and Drax had told him. He reached out and sucked down at least half of whatever was in the flask. He had long since discovered that alcohol didn’t really affect him like it did others, at least now he knew why. The drink made him blink and shake his head, warmth spreading through him and calming his frayed nerves. Blinking he handed the flask back to Drax and made a mental note to find out what that was and get some. After a long moment thinking he decided he had one question that needed to be answered.

“Thank you Drax for telling me all of that, but there is one detail you left out that I need to know. What is this birthright I was told to ask for?”

Drax decided he needed to stick around this kid, he had been surprised more times since finding Toric unconscious in that recruitment center than he had been in the last ten years. It was a refreshing feeling. Toric had just drunk at least four ounces of Black Fire and it seemed he had just barely felt it, and that was the smallest surprise yet. Chuckling as the young dracuman asked about the birthright he turned to Vorxin and gestured for him to take this one.

“Vorxin would be the best one to tell you of that Toric, he is Second-Mage of the Empire and as such can act as an official representative in this case.”

Vorxin stepped forward and bowed his head formally to Toric, his fist coming up to rest over his heart in an official salute.

“Toric Fatesblood, son of Devyn and as such, Blood of the Legion. It is my honor to meet and recognize you as what you are. I am aware that you are uninitiated in the protocols of your station and will see to it that a Legion Officer is called to act as your aide. The birthright you seek is a complicated affair, but the Empire will do everything in its power to expedite the process. Drax left out a few things when telling you of the Legion earlier. Your father Devyn is not simply the Commander of the Legion of Daath, he is their ruler. As his son you are his heir.”

Toric interrupted Vorxin, aware of the rudeness of it, but unable to quench his outburst.

“Wait, from what Drax said I had thought the Legion was some sort of army, not an entire people. How can there be a king? Are you saying I am some sort of prince? That is crazy!”

Vorxin smiled as Toric babbled the questions in a childlike manner. This was the first evidence he had seen of the young dracuman acting his age. It was refreshing to see that he could be rattled, and an indication of his good heart that he reacted with incredulity to the news of his elevated station.

“Bear with me please Toric and I will explain. First of all let me tell you of the Daath Legion. They are not mercenaries, nor are they just an army. The Legion consists of many different races, people of various creeds and principles, all with at least a single thing in common. The Legion only allows members that have the appropriate blood to join. A mage can draw a single drop of blood from an applicant and use a special, secret spell to test it. The Empire respects the Legion’s privacy and has not tried to determine what the spell looks for, or how the spell is performed. I do know that you were tested at birth and determined to be Legion, but after the battle your mother hid you away with your father’s blood-brother and the Legion bowed to her wishes in the matter. The Legion occupies the Island Citadel of Daath. It is an island in the Imperial Lake, just a few miles from here. The island was occupied by the Legion long before the rise of the Empire and they retain control of it. It is a massive island, nearly thirty miles long and slightly over sixteen miles wide. Only those of the Blood may step upon the actual island, even the Imperial Embassy is on the docks and not on the island itself. The Commander of the Legion, that is their title for their, “king” as you said, is determined by the one with the strongest connection to the Blood. Devyn had the strongest connection ever recorded, and after she was tested, your mother was determined to have the Blood nearly as powerfully as he did. Your connection is the result of their blending and as such is extremely powerful. You would be named the Commander, were it not for the fact that your father still lives. The Law of Succession for the Legion is clear. There can only be a single Commander at a time, and as long as Devyn lives, you are his heir. I believe the actual title for your position is in fact Prince. A Legion Officer will be summoned as I said and we will settle everything in time. There is a great deal that must be done, but for now you need to rest. This conversation has been intriguing, and I will strive to have everything ready for you once you awaken again. Does this meet with your approval?”

Toric was now beyond amazed at everything that had happened, and just nodded as he spoke. Deciding that since everyone was looking and speaking as if he had real authority he might as well use a bit of it or a selfish reason or two.

“Yes sir, that meets with my approval. I need a few things though. Please allow Davyd to remain with me if that is okay with him; he has been a true friend and helped me a great deal. I would like for someone to fetch my father from the Dragon’s Home. I have a great deal to discuss with him, and no matter what I have learned he remains the man that raised me. In short I need my dad. The last thing I must ask of you two is I hope simple for you to grant. I understand that there is respect due in public, but when we are in private could you, Vorxin, and you, Drax, please treat me as just Toric? I may be a prince, but that does not take away my need for friends, and from what I have seen, heard, and learned recently, you are both excellent men and would make good friends.”

Drax grinned and for a moment looked like just another kid. Leaning forward he laid his hand on Toric’s shoulder and nodded firmly.

“Consider it done; I would be honored to be your friend. Besides, it looks like you might be able to keep my life interesting; and it would get my father off my back. He keeps insisting that I shouldn’t play around as a soldier and instead should settle into life at court and make powerful allies. Gods, I love him, but the man can just suck all the fun out of life.”

Vorxin was not nearly as exuberant as Drax, but he smiled as well and bowed his head.

“It has been nearly two decades since anyone asked me to be their friend. Seems I do not get out enough. I would also be honored young Toric. A friend and teacher I will be to you; after all there is a great deal you must learn. Drax can be your friend in the public eye and raise no questions, but I must maintain a bit more distance in public. However in private I have no issue with dispensing all the formalities and treating you as a kid that needs to learn respect and commitment to his studies.”

Toric and Drax shared a laugh at how Vorxin was able to both compliment him and imply that he and Drax were little better than unruly children compared to him. It was a masterful performance and it managed to come through as kind instead of scathing. Suddenly Toric felt his eyes growing heavy and he leaned back against the wall again. Remembering to release the spell he gestured and the containment bubble collapsed moments before he felt himself falling into a peaceful but exhausted sleep.