“I am allowed to offer commentary and advice as needed. You ought to rest.”
With a sigh, I said, “Thanks. I don't need advice right now, though.”
“Very good, Lord Oberon.” He had a slightly snippy tone. “Henceforth I will keep my advice to myself.” His face disappeared, leaving an empty wooden panel in the door.
“I didn't mean to offend you,” I said. But he didn't reappear. Well, screw him and his opinion—I didn't need to get into arguments with inanimate objects.
I had thirty minutes to kill while Aber set up his magical tripwires. I didn't want to fall asleep and miss the results, so I dressed, pulled on my boots, and went out into the hallway. Might as well explore some more, I thought.
I prowled the length of the hall. Each door had a different face carved into its middle, all with eyes closed, seemingly asleep. I did not knock on any of the doors. Port had been loud and talkative. I didn't want to mess up Aber's work by distracting him.
The hallway dead-ended. To the left, in a small dark alcove, a narrow servant's stairs wound up and down. It had to be the same one I'd explored earlier with Rhalla.
I headed down. What I really needed now was a drink—and something stronger than wine. With a house this big, at least one of the rooms ought to have an ample supply of liquor.
Two floors down, I went to the end of the corridor, turned right, then right again, then a third and a fourth time. My mind told me I had come full circle and back to my starting point, but I found myself in a cavernous hall at the foot of a broad set of marble stairs.
Two guards, both of whom I recognized as men we'd brought from Juniper, snapped to attention as soon as they spotted me. They stood by a pair of huge iron-shod doors at the far end of the hall. Not much chance of an attack coming from that direction, but it never hurt to be prepared. While I didn't know either one of them by name, I gave a quick wave. They grinned and saluted. My presence definitely seemed to raise their spirits—the hero of Juniper, the only son of Lord Dworkin who had been able to defeat the hell-creatures and drive them back. Yes, I would definitely be a rallying point for our troops.
“Any idea where they keep the drinks around here?” I asked as I approached them.
“Do you mean the wine cellar, sir?” one of them asked.
“I was hoping for something stronger.”
“Try this.” He pulled out a small metal flask and offered it to me.
I unstoppered it, and the smells of a strong sour mash rose. I took a tentative sip.
Whatever it was, it burned going down. I gasped, eyes watering. I'd only tasted rotgut this bad a couple of times. If it didn't cause blindness and insanity, it sure felt like it ought to.
“Do you like it, sir?” the guard asked, grinning. I noticed his two upper front teeth were missing.
“Awful! Simply awful!” I grinned back, then took a bigger swallow. It went down a bit easier this time. “Quite a kick. What's in it?”
“You don't want to know.”
“Thanks. Here you go.” I held out the flask.
“Keep it, sir. I'll have plenty more in a few days.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You make it yourself?”
“Yes, sir! Two weeks old, and that's as good as it gets!”
I laughed. “Thanks, I will keep it.” I gave an approving nod. “I'll return the flask when it's gone.”
“Much appreciated, sir.”
After that, I wandered off down the hall, opening doors and taking small sips. I discovered a salon with comfortable looking couches and chairs, a library filled with racks of scrolls and shelves of books, a map room, and several closets. A couple of narrow corridors seemed designed for servants. No one except those two guards seemed up and about at this hour.
Aber had to be nearly done with his magic by now, I figured, so I climbed the marble steps back up to the third floor, found my bedroom door, and Port let me in without my having to ask. My valet was nowhere in sight— still sound asleep, I assumed—so I sat down at the desk to wait for Aber. Idly I opened both drawers, but except for quills and a small blade for sharpening them, they were empty.
After a few minutes had passed, Port's voice interrupted:
“Sir. Lord Aber is here.”
“Thanks.” I rose and went out to the hall to join him.
“It's done,” he said. He looked exhausted; the spells seemed to have taken a lot out of him. “I don't think anyone will be able to spy on us now without setting off alarm bells.”
“Good. And Taine?”
“I tried, but…” He shrugged. “No answer.”
“He might still be unconscious,” I said. “He wasn't in good shape.” He might also be dead… those injuries were enough to kill any lesser man.
“I'll try again tomorrow morning.”
I nodded. “Good.”
“We both might as well turn in,” he said. “We've had enough excitement for one night. The guards are supposed to call me if Dad comes back. Do you want me to wake you if he does?”
“Yes.”
“All right. And,” he went on, “don't forget to have Horace watch over you while you sleep, just in case.”
“All right. I'll wake him,” I promised.
He bade me good night and returned to his room. I went back into mine, found Horace sleeping in his little room off mine, and shook him awake. Then I told him he needed to watch me again while I slept. To his credit, the boy didn't protest, but immediately went out and took his seat on the stool.
I stripped and climbed into bed, and the second my head touched the pillow, I slept.
This time I dreamed strangely. There was a chanting voice saying something in a language I almost but not quite understood. Shadows moved around me. Someone—a dim figure, but I had the impression of unblinking round eyes—sat on my chest, making it hard for me to breathe.
“Hell-creature!” I heard myself snarl, and I reached instinctively for a sword that wasn't there.
“Shh, my lord,” a familiar woman's voice said.
“Helda?” I asked.
“Sleep, Lord Oberon,” the voice said.
I groaned. My head hurt. The pressure on my chest grew. I couldn't tell if I was dreaming or awake. Could this be another vision? Some premonition of danger to come?
A face loomed out of the twisting shadows. I blinked rapidly, trying to focus my eyes. Black hair, pale skin, perfect white teeth, a grave expression—
“Rhalla?” I whispered.
“Lie back,” she said. Soft hands pushed me down onto the bed. “You are still sick,” she said, and she began to rub my chest. Her hands were warm as blood. I felt myself relaxing, sliding back toward sleep.
“It's this place…” I whispered.
“Yes,” she said, “it is.” Then she pressed a small goblet to my lips and poured. “Drink this, my lord. It will make you feel better.”
It was warm brandy, and it had been spiced with something like cinnamon. The taste did not excite me, but liquor was liquor so I gulped anyway. What the hell. If I had to dream, I might as well enjoy it.
The brandy had a bitter aftertaste. She had added something else to it. An herb? Some medicine? I didn't know, but almost immediately I felt its effects. My vision clouded, and I felt myself sinking down, down, down, borne away on a river of darkness.
I slept the sleep of the dead.
The next time I awakened, I felt… different. Weak and lightheaded. That was the first thing. And the second… complete disorientation.
I lay on my side, staring at the wall and the desk. All the confidence and strength I had felt the night before had fled, and now the world drifted around me. The bed seemed to be rocking like the deck of a ship at sea. The walls slowly oozed colors, and the faint light from the lamp on the desk, its wick turned low, dribbled up to pool on
