The Chronicles of Amber

“Prophecy?” That sounded interesting.

She nodded. “Visions sometimes come to those who meditate there. There are thousands of them recorded in the Great Record. Perhaps he knows of a prophecy concerning us, or Amber, and wishes to return and consult it.”

The fake Dworkin rose and crossed to the doorway, gazing out at us. Raising one hand, he touched the space where the door would have been, but seemed to run into an invisible barrier.

“He cannot get out,” Dad said. “Spells have sealed the room.”

“Release me,” the imposter said.

“Why? So you can report back to King Uthor?”

“I do not serve Uthor.”

“Who, then? Lord Zon?”

“No.”

“Or… Suhuy?”

He did not reply this time. I raised my eyebrows.

“So it's Suhuy, then.”

“Release me, brother.”

“And it's 'brother' now?”

Freda gasped then and clutched my arm. “No… Oberon! They have done something to him—this is Fenn!”

I stared at him. Stared hard. “Fenn?”

“Yes, brother. You must let me go. Please.”

Swallowing, I looked at Dad, who shook his head faintly. I motioned with my head to one side, and we retreated up the hall to where he couldn't hear us.

“Fenn…” Freda whispered. “How horrible.”

“I think he looks rather handsome,” Dad said with a hint of a smile. “Never better, in fact.”

She glared. “This is not a time for jests!”

“At least we know how he managed to fool you and Aber,” I said to her. “Fenn would know what to say and exactly how to say it convincingly. Now comes the big question… what do we do with him?”

“He must have his old appearance restored, of course,” I said. “Dad… is that something you can do?”

“I am not sure.”

“Why is Suhuy sending spies?” Freda asked. “As Keeper of the Logrus, he should not be involving himself in politics.”

“Tell him that,” I said. “If returning Conner to us doesn't count as playing politics, what does? Unless he wants to play on both sides… by secretly helping us and King Uthor, wouldn't he keep everyone's favor?”

“Possibly,” Dad said.

“What matters with Fenn is his motivation,” I said. “If he came unwillingly, forced by Suhuy to do his bidding, perhaps he can be freed of whatever compulsion is upon him. If he's a willing spy, though…”

They both nodded. Having decided, we returned to Fenn and peered in at him. He had returned to his seat on the bed.

“Well?” he demanded.

“We don't know what to do with you,” I said.

“Let me go. I must return to my master.”

“Or…?”

“Or I will die.” He said it in such a matter-of-fact voice that I knew he believed it.

I swallowed. “How?”

“He gave me a slow poison. I must return each week to make my report and take a dose of the antidote. If I miss one week, I become weak. If I miss two weeks, I become violently ill. If I miss three weeks…” He shrugged. “So, you can see I have no choice.”

“How long has it been?” I asked.

“Four days.”

Grimly, I turned to our father. If anyone could help Fenn, he could.

I said, “You have two weeks to find a cure. Don't let him out until he's well or dead.”

He nodded gravely. “Yes, Oberon.”

Without another word to Fenn, I went to find Aber. We still had to prepare for a hundred thousand visitors.

Chapter 23

Late that night, as I lay in bed unable to sleep, I held the spikard and stared at it. The ruby glinted in the dimness. Somehow it reminded me of the jewel around the unicorn's neck.

Dad didn't seem to think it was dangerous. And yet… somehow, it made me uneasy.

As sleep stole upon me, I set it on the table beside the bed and shut my eyes. I would try to find out more about it in the morning.

I slept.

Sometime later, I felt a sharp pain on my finger and came awake. It was the ring, I realized. It had tightened painfully for a second, then released me. How had it gotten on my finger?

It tightened again. A warning—

I kept my breathing low and even, but strained every sense. A rustle near the door made the hair on the back of my neck bristle. Someone had entered my room.

Slowly I eased my hand under my pillow, careful to make no sound, and curled my fingers around the hilt of a long-bladed knife. Then, in one quick movement, I sat up and threw it.

A satisfyingly loud thunk reached my ears as it struck something meaty near the door, then came a louder thump as a body hit the floor.

Folding my hands together, I concentrated on light, shaping a ball with my thoughts while holding the Pattern in my mind. When I opened them, a brightly glowing sphere drifted toward the ceiling.

A creature dressed all in black lay on the floor by my door, the hilt of my knife jutting from one eye. I rose, dressed calmly, and pulled on my boots. Then I went over to investigate.

Clearly it was a creature of Chaos. Horns, scaled skin, pointed yellow teeth, red eyes, and thick gray-green blood… akin to the hell-creatures that had plagued my life for so long.

The blades of its knives had been painted with a greenish substance. Poison? Undoubtedly. Someone wanted me dead. Someone in my very own house. No creature like this one could have gotten past the sentries at the castle doors or on patrol atop the walls. Which meant someone with the ability to use the Pattern or the Logrus had brought it here.

I searched its clothes, felt something hard and cold, and drew out a pair of Trumps. The first showed the Courts of Chaos as seen from an open square. Buildings leaned at odd angles and strange colors filled the sky. I didn't look at it long; I didn't want the scene to come alive. The second Trump showed the hallway outside my door.

So… he had come prepared. Trumps would have provided his way into Castle Amber and then his escape back home once he killed me.

It confirmed my worst suspicions.

Someone in my own family had sent him.

I studied the Trump of the hallway with greater attention. The details had been crudely done, and the brush strokes showed signs of haste, but I still sensed the raw power it contained. Whose work, though? I had seen Trumps drawn by both Aber and our father, but those had been polished works of art in comparison. Could either of them deliberately disguised his work? Or did another family member have the talents needed to make Trumps?