“You failed once more, it appears. Explain why you are worth binding to a new body.”

  The wraith of Heron Hartford, Commander of the Ninth Undead Legion, bore none of the ugliness that being Undead had inflicted upon him. His elfin face was both smooth and sharp, his curly hair neat with a part over one eye. His body, though shrouded by the memory of armor, appeared lithe and strong.

  Heron immediately fell to one knee, bowing his head before his lord and master: the Elven Prince. The True Prince who would bring the world to heel.

  The First Lich.

  “Your highness,” Heron began, “I have no excuse. Maeryn d’Vert’s fire magic has reached new heights, though I know not how. It should have taken her years to progress from the Flame Lances she used against me to that level of sustained almost-white flame. But I was a fool, and rushed in when I saw my opportunity instead of waiting for the rest of the Undead army I’d called for.”

  The Prince said nothing, so Heron continued. “I assume the army also failed to kill them, considering you called my entire operation a failure. This is troubling; the Karkadann alone should have been enough to kill them all.”

  “It was butchered by dwarven golems,” the Prince’s soft, almost velvety voice informed him steadily. “They were reactivated by another human. An alchemist, it would seem.”

  Heron’s fists clenched by his side as he attempted to dip his head even deeper. “I see. My shame is greater than I knew. All I wish for, my Prince, is to kill them. I am certain that ending Maeryn d’Vert and her forces will remove the head from the human resistance.”

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  The Commander kept his eyes firmly fixed to the floor, not daring to look at his master as he waited for an answer. “She will die.” The Prince’s words were simple, his tone almost pleasant. “All mortals do, given time. And time is an infinite resource for me. Is there any reason why I should not simply wait?”

  “My Prince,” Heron acknowledged, “the humans are uncovering the secrets to solar magic, which we had previously believed were dead with the drow. Already they have investigated the old dwarven capital, Korinth. In a matter of months, they could grow their forces to become a real threat.”

  “In a matter of months, they will all be dead. It will not matter how many solar magic users they have at that point.”

  Heron closed his eyes bitterly. “As you say, my lord.”

  “That being the case…” the Prince mused idly, “They are an annoyance. And there is a chance, however small, that they could meet up with the other thorn in my side. Were that to happen, my plan may encounter… trouble.”

  The First Lich took one slow, meaningful step after another, until he stood directly above Heron. “I will bind you once more. And only once more. I care not what you do with this chance. Spend what time you have on this planet seeking your vengeance. Indulge your vices, or play at purpose. It does not matter. But should you die, do not bother showing yourself to me again.”

  “My lord. Thank you.”

  “Your thanks are unnecessary. Only your service. Now, begone from my sight. Go to kennels where we keep the mindless, and select your body.”

  Heron immediately dropped through the floor, leaving the Prince alone once more.

  “Ah. Blessed silence. Soon, all will have it. And I shall finally, finally be free.”