The Chronicles of Amber

weapons—

My sister remained silent, but her face had grown hard. Her lips moved; she raised both her hands, one pointed directly toward the cloud, the other angling a Trump toward her face.

That Trump showed the Courts of Chaos. Somehow, she had opened the image on the card. Like the cloud, it seethed with dark movements. The stars in its sky moved. The buildings shimmered and swayed. Lightning flickered across the landscape, occasionally striking out through the card with little flickering tongues of light.

“Like drawn to like!” she commanded. She extended the card toward the still-expanding cloud, and as its forward edge touched her palm, her whole body seemed to flicker in and out of existence. For an instant I saw blue threads stretching from her hand toward the shadowy Primal Chaos, touching it, wrapping around it, pulling it toward her. But instead of turning her to dust, the cloud flowed along her arm, to the Trump, through it, and out of sight—back to the Courts, if that's where it had come from. I really didn't care, as long as it went away.

When the last of it had disappeared, Freda sagged. I leaped forward and caught her before she hit the ground.

“Well done!” I said.

“Did it work?” she murmured, eyes half closed.

“Yes,” I said. “It's gone. Thanks.”

She smiled then passed out.

“Take her back to Amber!” Conner said grimly. “I'll get our men home.”

“Are you sure?” I asked,

“Yes. Hurry, before anything else happens!”

Without waiting for an answer, he sprinted toward our troops, bawling orders. Everyone shouldered packs and reformed into lines four abreast for a quick march. The cavalry lined up next to them.

I shifted Freda to my left arm and rumbled out my deck of Trumps one-handed. Finding the courtyard Trump, I used it to get us back to Amber.

Servants rushed to greet me, calling welcomes. Some held basins of water and towels to clean the dust of travel from our hands and faces; others bore trays with cups and flagons of wine, and still others carried platters laden with succulent-looking sweetmeats, pastries, and other delicacies.

“Shall I get a physician?” one of the stewards asked in a quiet voice. He motioned for two others to take Freda from my arms. They carried her toward the finished wing of the castle.

“Yes,” I said. “Hurry!”

“Very good, Sire.” He turned and ran.

A small army of architects, stonemasons, and several army officers appeared as if on cue—apparently it didn't take long for word of my return to Amber to spread. They all clamored for answers to pressing questions.

“Later!” I promised. Pushing past them, I followed after Freda. I had to see to her first.

They carried her into the great hall. Work continued apace, I saw as I glanced around hurriedly: stonemasons were carefully laying out an intricately-patterned slate floor, full of red and blue interlocking circles.

Without a word, they carried Freda swiftly past and up the corridor toward the wing that housed our quarters. We passed a dozen rooms before coming to one with furniture: a divan, several low tables, and three comfortable-looking armchairs.

They set my sister on the divan and raised her feet, placing pillows behind her head and spreading a light blanket across her lap.

Suddenly her eyelids fluttered and opened. She glanced around, apparently confused.

“Feeling better?” I asked, kneeling beside her.

“A little.” She tried to sit up. I helped, fluffing more pillows and placing them behind her back. She seemed more physically exhausted than injured—working that spell had taken a lot out of her.

More servants, trailing after us, brought in silver trays laden with silver cups and pitchers, teapots, and still more pastries and intricately arranged fruits.

“Put everything down and go.” I motioned toward the tables. To the steward, I said: “Ask our father to join us. He is still in the castle, isn't he?”

“I am not sure, Sire,” he said.

“Find out.” If he wasn't here, I'd have to contact him by Trump.

“Yes, Sire.” Bowing, he scurried off.

I investigated the trays. One pitcher held cool water. The rest held an assortment of wines. I wanted something stronger, but wine would do in a pinch. First, though, I poured Freda a cup of hot, sweet-smelling tea. She looked like she needed it.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“Sugar and cream?” I asked.

“Please.”

I added both to her cup and passed her a spoon. She stirred, eyes distant.

“Aber betrayed us,” I said heavily.

“What!” she focused on me, clearly alarmed. “What did he do now?”

I told her about King Uthor's death and how my brother had vanished after relaying the message from Lord Zon. She looked distinctly unsettled.

“It must be a mistake, somehow,” she said. She sipped her tea gently, brow furrowing. “Use your Trump and call him. He must explain himself.”

“I'm sure he will,” I said. Doubts crept into my mind. “I will have to talk to him… yes. It can't have been him.”

“There may yet be another explanation.”

“Such as?”

“Someone from the Courts may have impersonated him. Chaos is full of shapeshifters, remember. You have that talent yourself.”

“The possibility occurred to me,” I admitted. I poured myself a glass of the red wine and drained it in a single long gulp. Aber's parting comment still echoed in my mind. “Our brother has a certain… style, let us say, all his own. He betrayed me. I have no doubt about it. I know him.”

“Then he must have had a good cause.”

“Something secret, but heroic?”

“That must be it,” I said.

Freda looked at me oddly. “Do you feel well?”

“Never better. Why?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Has… has Aber given you anything lately? A ring or a pendant, perhaps? Something you carry with you always?”

“Just my Trumps. Why?”

“Let me see them.”

I pulled out my deck. Before I could flip through them and pull out the newest ones, she took them from my hands and set them on one of the small tables. She raised her hands over them, closed her eyes, and murmured softly for a second.

“What is it?” I asked.

“A few spells,” she said. “Simple charms to make you like him.”

I snorted. “He doesn't need charms for that. I've always liked him.”

She made a small gesture with her left hand, then picked through the Trumps, setting five of them aside. Aber had given two of them to me in Juniper, one in the Beyond, and two in Amber.

“These are the ones,” she said, “that have charms laid upon them. Two make you like him. One makes you trust him. One makes you forgive him. I am unsure what the fifth does… perhaps it gives him the benefit of the doubt whenever his actions are questioned.”

“I don't understand… why would he need to charm me?”

“Because,” Freda said, looking me in the eye, “he betrayed you and tried to kill you.”