He came to an abrupt stop half-a-dozen feet from his friend, his words trailing off into silence. The wizard’s hands were still at his sides—not extended to receive his own. The owlish face was hard, and the bushy eyebrows furrowed.

Questor Thews was looking at Ben as if he had never seen his King before in his life.

Ben stiffened. “Questor, what’s the matter?”

The wizard continued to stare at him. “Who are you?”

“Who am I? What do you mean, who am I? It’s me, Ben!”

“Ben? You call yourself Ben?”

“Of course, I call myself Ben! What else would I call myself? That’s my name, isn’t it?”

“Apparently you believe so.”

“Questor, what are you talking about? I believe so because it is so!”

Questor Thews frowned. The lines about his brows furrowed even more deeply. “You are Ben Holiday? You are Landover’s High Lord?”

Ben stared back at him speechlessly. The disbelief in the other’s voice was unmistakable. “You don’t recognize me, do you?” he ventured.

The wizard shook his head. “I do not.”

Ben felt a sharp sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. “Look, it’s just the clothes and the dirt, for Pete’s sake! Look at me! Meeks did this—changed the clothes, messed me up a bit. But it’s still me!”

“And you are Ben Holiday?”

“Yes, damn it!”

Questor studied him a moment, then took a deep breath. “You may believe yourself to be Ben Holiday. You may even believe yourself to be High King of Landover. But you are not. I know because I have just come from the King—and he was not you! You are an intruder in this castle. You are a spy and possibly even worse. You have entered uninvited, you have listened in on conversations that were private, you have attacked the High Lord in his bedchamber, and now you are claiming to be someone you clearly are not. If the choice were mine, I would have you imprisoned at once! It is only because the High Lord has ordered your release that you are free now. I suggest you go quickly. Seek help for your affliction, whatever it is, and stay far, far away from here!”

Ben was stunned. He could not think of what to do. He heard himself telling Meeks, “Medallion or no medallion, I’m still me and you’re still you!” He heard Meeks reply, “Are you certain of that?”

What had been done to him?

He turned quickly to Bunion, searching for some hint of recognition in the kobold’s sharp eyes. There was none. He rushed past them both to a mirror that hung upon the wall next to the doorway. He peered through the half-light at his image reflected in the glass. It was his face! He was exactly the same as he had always been! Why couldn’t Questor and Bunion see that?

“Listen to me!” He wheeled on them, frantic. “Meeks has come back from the old world, stolen the medallion, and somehow disguised from everyone but myself who I am! I look the same to me, but not to you!”