The Chronicles of Amber

experiment with it later. Maybe I could get him to explain how it worked with the Logrus…

“I'll meet you downstairs,” I said as he stripped off his shirt and began splashing water onto his face. “I want to hear about everything I missed. And I'm sure Blaise does, too, whether she admits it or not.”

I carried Dad's sword downstairs with me and had Jamas put it away for safekeeping. Then Blaise and I passed a pleasant half hour sitting quietly at the bar, sipping a cool, fruity red wine and sharing a comfortable silence. We both had a lot to think about.

Jamas had just informed Blaise and me that his eldest son had left to fetch for Old Doc Hand when Aber trooped down the staircase and joined us. My eyes widened in surprise. He now wore a shimmering blue tunic, deep blue hose, and black riding boots with heavy silver kickplates at the toes. His brown hair, brushed straight back, glistened damply. With the dust and dirt scrubbed from his face and hands, he looked even more gaunt than before.

“Much better,” I said. Then I sighed. “But you used the Logrus again, didn't you?”

“Uh… sorry.” He gave a sheepish grin and pretended contrition. “Really, I couldn't help myself. I hate being dirty. Besides, no one can trace us when we use the Logrus. Ask Blaise if you don't believe me.”

“Blaise?” I glanced at our sister.

“How would I know?” She shrugged. “I don't care how the Logrus works. I'm just glad it does!”

“Considering our enemies,” I said, “I'd still rather err on the side of caution. They seem to know more about how magic and the Logrus works than anyone else here—including you and Dad.”

“True…” He sighed. “I'll be more careful. Besides, we aren't going to be staying here long, are we?”

“Just long enough to get Dad well.”

Aber took the stool next to mine, on the other side from Blaise. I caught a whiff of lavender—he'd even perfumed himself. I shook my head in disbelief.

“What are you drinking?” he asked, peering over the rim of my tankard.

“Stout.”

“I'll have a pint, too,” he said to Jamas.

“Aye.” Jamas squinted at Aber as he drew a pint from a keg.

“Didn't see you go upstairs, sir.”

“I'm pretty quiet,” Aber said with an half smile. “People don't notice me much.”

“Not quiet enough,” Blaise murmured to herself.

“Better quiet than blathering.” Aber glowered at her.

Blaise suddenly found it necessary to study her fingernails.

“Cut it out!” I told them both. “We don't have time for such childishness. If we're all that's left of our family, we will get along. Got that?”

“You're right, of course, dear Oberon,” Blaise said. She put her arm around my shoulder and gave a not-so- subtle wink. “I'm sorry, Aber,” she said. “You certainly didn't deserve that. I'll try to be more kind?”

“You're not my sister,” Aber said darkly. He drained half in stout in one long gulp. “The real Blaise would never apologize. It's not in her nature.”

“You don't know anything about her nature,” Blaise said. “My nature, I mean.”

“Whose nature?”

“You're an idiot!”

He brightened. “Now that's the Blaise we know and love!”

I sighed. So much like little children… I half wished I could spank them both and send them off to bed without supper. But Blaise would probably break my arm if I tried.

Better to simply change the subject.

“Tell me what I missed in the Courts,” I said to Aber. “What happened to you?”

“It's quite a tale.”

“I'm not going anywhere.”

“Neither am I,” said Blaise somewhat contritely. She leaned on the bar, pillowing her chin in her hands. “Tell us of your heroic cowering in basements.”

“Blaise…” I said warningly.

“Don't mind her,” Aber said. “No one else does.”

Chuckling, he drained the rest of his stout, then motioned for Jamas to refill his tankard. With a new drink in hand, he cleared his throat, leaned back, and launched into his story.

Chapter 9

After I left you and Dad at the Pattern,” Aber began, “I returned to our home in the Beyond. A week or more must have passed while we were away. The house was strangely quiet—it had that echoey, empty feeling a place gets when there's no one left alive. Even the torches had gone out.

“'Hulloo!' I called several times. I got no answer. Where had the servants gone?

“I used a quick spell and sent several balls of light spinning toward the ceiling. Their glow revealed a dozen corpses up there—on the ceiling. Each one had been beheaded. From their uniforms, they all belonged to the household guard.

“After that, I moved cautiously through the house, looking at all the damage. Every piece of furniture had been smashed, and every door had been torn from its hinges—even the magically protected doors. That took a lot of power. Uthor's men—at least, I assumed it had been Uthor's men—had not been fooling around.

“I counted thirty-nine headless bodies on the ground floor. The second and third floors had also been trashed. In my own rooms, someone had poured all the paints, pigments, and inks onto the floor, then smashed the empty jars against the walls. It made a huge sticky mess. Of course, I could replace it all; what really hurt was the loss of my storage trunks—and, with them, my most treasured possessions, including hundreds of Trumps I'd painted over the years. Those Trumps showed places I'd been, friends and classmates, and, most of all, relatives. I could easily imagine Uthor's men using them to round up our family.

“Dad's workshop had been cleaned out. Everything, from the largest of his inventions to the smallest scrap of notepaper, had been taken away. Not so much as a piece of lint remained. That didn't particularly worry me, of course—Dad hadn't looked at any of those things in decades. His last ten years of work and research had taken place in Juniper, after all.

“Finally I made a methodical search of the building from attic to basement. It didn't take me long to determine that nothing of value remained anywhere. I counted ninety-four bodies in all, all guards. None of our servants lay among the dead—they must have either run away or been taken prisoner… or, considering how hard it is to find good help these days, perhaps they were, ah, shall we say—forcibly hired away?

“Finding a mostly intact couch in one of the spare bedrooms on the fourth floor, I flopped down and tried to rest. I didn't know what else to do. From the looks of things, the lai she'one had gone through the house so thoroughly, they wouldn't need to come back. I felt safe enough for the moment.

“Exhaustion overcame me. I fell asleep.

“When I finally awakened, hours must have passed. But instead of feeling rested and refreshed, a strange uneasiness settled over me. I had never felt anything like it before. An odd pressure filled my ears. My nerves jangled in warning. The very air itself seemed curiously charged, almost as though a lightning storm were about to break. More than anything else, I wanted to crawl into a hole and pull it closed after me… and yet I could not have told you why.

“Something was coming. Something bad. I felt it in my bones.

“It took more courage than I thought I still had, but I forced myself to go downstairs. Cautiously, I crept to the front doors—one lay flat on the ground; the other hung off its hinges at an angle—and I peeked out.

“The sky looked strange. Clouds boiled and churned, lit from within by constantly striking bolts of blue lightning. All across the courtyard, balls of fire rained down, smoking and smoldering. The air shimmered with odd