The Chronicles of Amber

—and found myself standing in a room lined with tapestries of dancers, jugglers, and scenes of merriment. An oil lamp hung from the ceiling, spreading a warm yellow light. A rack of swords, a cluttered writing table, a high canopied bed, and two plain wooden chairs completed the furnishings.

I glanced behind me, but another wall stood there now, this one lined with shelves full of books, scrolls, shells, rocks, and other odds and ends such as anyone might accumulate over the years. Ilerium, Kingstown, and the hell-creatures had vanished.

“Is this—?” I began.

“My bedroom.”

Only then did I relax. Safe. Back in Juniper. I found myself trembling from sheer nervous exhaustion. I had never felt so helpless before.

But I had escaped.

“You look like a drowned rat!” he said, laughing a bit.

I glanced down. Rain had plastered my clothes to my body. Mud and sap and wood-pulp had splattered my pants and boots. Water dripped from my hair, trickled down my forehead and cheeks, and dripped from my chin.

“I feel like a drowned rat,” I told him. “Sorry about the mess.” Gingerly I lifted first one then the other foot. My boots left a muddy brown smear. Water began to pool all around me.

“That’s okay.”

“But your carpets—” They had to be worth a small fortune!

He shrugged. “Oh, I don’t care. They can be cleaned or replaced. Having you back safe is what matters. Now, sit down—you look like you’re about to collapse!”

“Thanks.” I took two steps and sank heavily onto one of his spare wooden chairs. My clothes squished. Water ran in my eyes. I just wanted to find a warm dry place and curl up there for the next month. “I think this has probably been the worst night of my life.”

“What have you got?” Aber asked.

“Huh?” I looked down and realized I still held the pole… the one upon which King Elnar’s head had been stuck. I let it drop to the floor. Somehow, I never wanted to see it again. It was cursed or bewitched or both.

“I was going to defend myself with it,” I said half apologetically. “Hell-creatures were hunting me.”

His eyes widened. “Hell-creatures! Where were you?”

“Back home… the Shadow I came from… Ilerium.”

“How did you get there?”

“Dad did something. He was trying some experiment, some idea he had to get around my using the Logrus.” Taking a deep breath, I pulled off first one boot, then the other. Half an inch of water sat inside each. After a moment’s hesitation, I put them down next to the chair.

“Well?” he demanded. “Did it work?”

“I don’t think so. It gave me a headache, then somehow he dumped me back in Ilerium—that’s the place I grew up. King Elnar—his whole army—had been butchered. The hell-creatures had burned the town, too. I don’t think anyone survived. And they were still there, waiting for me. If not for you…”

“I’m sorry,” he said sympathetically.

“It can’t be helped,” I said heavily. It seemed I’d escaped my destiny. Dad really had saved me. “If I’d stayed behind to fight the hell-creatures, I’d be dead, now, too.”

“You look half frozen as well as half drowned,” he observed. “How about a brandy?”

“Please!” I pushed wet hair back out of my eyes.

An open bottle and a glass sat on the writing table. He poured me a large drink, which I downed in a single gulp, then a second one, which I sipped.

Rising, I went over to the fireplace. It had been banked for the evening, and its embers burned low, but it still radiated warmth. It felt good to just stand before it, basking like a cat in a sunny window.

Aber threw on a couple more split logs, then shifted the coals with a poker. Flames appeared. The logs began to burn. The room grew warmer, and I toasted myself quite happily front and back.

“How did you bring me here?” I asked him. “The Logrus?”

“Yes.” He went back to the writing table, picked up a Trump, and brought it back to show me. It had my picture on it. In typical fashion, he had drawn me holding a candlestick and peering into darkness.

I had to chuckle. “That’s exactly how I feel right now,” I told him. “Lost in the dark. Or perhaps found but still in the dark.”

I reached out to take the card, but he said, “Sorry, it’s not quite dry yet,” and carried it back on the writing table.

Taking another sip of brandy, I felt its warm glow spreading through my belly. Maybe there were some advantages to belonging to this crazy family after all. A last-second rescue by a brother I’d only met the day before… it was the sort of thing a bard could easily spin into a heroic song.

Frowning, I thought back to King Elnar and my fellow lieutenants, all dead now, their ensorceled heads smashed to pulp. If only the story had a happy ending… 

Aber had taken a blanket from the bed and now handed it to me.

“Get out of those wet things and dry yourself off,” he said. “I’ll bring you another set of Mattus’s clothes. As soon as you’re up to it, you must see Dad. He’s worried sick about you.”

“Thanks,” I said gratefully.

Aber returned in short order with shirt, pants, and undergarments, plus my valet. Horace looked half asleep and I guessed Aber had dragged him from bed to help me.

It didn’t take them long to get me changed and cleaned up. I found myself moving slowly; after all I’d been through, the lateness of the hour, and the effects of the brandy, my arms and legs felt like lead weights, and my head began to pound. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and pass out for the next day or two.

Aber had a spare pair of boots, but they proved several sizes too small. Horace went out and soon returned with a larger pair—I didn’t ask where he’d found them, but I suspected he swiped them from another of my brothers. Not that I cared at this point.

“You’ll do,” Aber said finally, looking me up and down. “Just try not to collapse.”

“I feel better,” I lied.

“That’s just the brandy. You look terrible.”

“Could be.” I took a deep breath and turned toward the door, swaying slightly. Time to visit our father, I thought. I couldn’t put it off any longer. I said as much.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Aber asked suddenly, steadying my arm.

“No need,” I said. “He’ll want to see me alone. We have a lot to discuss.”

“You’re right, he never wants to see me. But still…” He hesitated.

“I know the way,” I said with more confidence than I felt.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll just wish you luck, then.” He glanced at Horace. “Go with him,” he said, “just in case.”

“Yes, Lord,” Horace said. He stepped forward, and I leaned a bit on his shoulder.

“Thanks,” I said to Aber, “for everything.”

“You don’t know how lucky you are!”

“Sure I do.” I grinned at him.

“Go on, get out of here. Dad’s waiting.”

Horace helped me into the corridor, where I took a deep breath and forced myself to stand on my own two feet. I thought I could make it successfully downstairs on my own. I didn’t want the other servants to see me limping and leaning on Horace—rumors of some personal catastrophe would be all over Juniper before daybreak.

With Horace trailing, I made my way unerringly downstairs and through the maze of corridors, past two sleepy looking guards, and straight to Dworkin’s workshop.

I didn’t bother knocking, but pushed the door open and went in. Dworkin had been seated at one of his tables tinkering with a four-armed skeleton.