Primal Chaos

Andrew's Diary

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Standing on one of the small balconies, I watch the sun rise over the Immortal City. I don't do this often; it's a special ritual for me - to look down over Amber from the highest tower, and watch the sun cast the darkness away. I always get a feeling of power, of majesty. I'm sure Father feels the same way, only he doesn't show his emotions. Thinking of dad, I tremble, for we don't get along, and we have not spoken in some years. It's a long story, and it doesn't make sense to me, so I won't bother with it now. Suffice to say that my father is the soldier, the ultimate fighter, and I, well, I am an artist. Taught by the best. So, you can see the potential for conflict. Only Queen Vialle's interference on my behalf stemmed Father's anger. Stepping back, I follow the stairs round and round, descending back into the heart of the Castle. Later today I meet with King Random, and from there I will undertake a mission for the Crown. This is not the problem, of course. The problem is that Dad wants to have dinner before I leave. Dad never wants to talk to anyone, if he can help it. Thus, I am apprehensive. Luckily, I also have a lunch date with Aunt Flora, who is much nicer than Dad.

Back at my apartment, I begin collecting the gear I will bring along on my little trip. Opening the closet, I pull out a small sketch board, some paints, a collapsible easel, paint brushes, pencils, and so on. I find a suitable backpack and begin loading things when I feel a presence, not unlike a Trump contact. I look about, trying to identify the caller like twisting the knobs of a stereo receiver. "Hello," I call out. "Who's there?" No answer, and the semi-contact fades a moment later. That's when I noticed the card on the floor. It's a Trump, of course. I'd be a poor Trump Artist if I couldn't recognize one by sight. The card is face down, but more important is the picture on the back. The Serpent that Manifests the Logrus.

Yes, I am aware of the Beast - Grandpa was my teacher, and we spent a lot of time on this subject. Of course, I've never been there, but I am aware of our family's connection. Turning the card over, I am stunned by a powerful visage. A dark haired beauty, tall and thin, with white skin. The darkness of the card is opposed by her bright blue eyes, a ruby dagger, and a golden orb. The card is similar to others that Grandpa has shown me. The style of the Courts tends to be angular, and instead of gradients, they use striking contrasts of color. Regardless, the card was done by a talented Master of Trump. The woman's smile is inviting, and almost succeeds in opening the contact. But not here. Not now. I place the card with the rest of my collection in the wooden Trump case that Fiona brought me years ago. An oriental wood carving, the geometric designs remind me of the Grand Design of the Pattern. Grabbing some replacement clothes, I finish my packing and head off to meet Flora.

Knocking lightly on the private dining room door, I hear a muffled, "Come in, Andrew," from behind. Turning the handle, I push the door open. Aunt Flora is dressed semi-casually in a green and white summer dress, with green high heeled shoes and a brilliant diamond and emerald necklace. Smiling brightly, she embraces me and plants a kiss on my cheek.

"Hello Andrew. Please come sit down," she says, and guides me to the place she has made for me.

"Thanks, Flora," I reply, pulling her chair for her, and then sitting myself. "So what's new?"

Giving me a stern glare, she scolds, "You're just like your father! Always in a hurry to get right to business." She rings a small silver bell and like clockwork, serving maids come in from the kitchen door, carrying trays of meats, cheeses, and other appetizers whose names elude me. At least none of the selections are raw. Hate snails . . . and fish. Especially raw.

The serving maids pour us tea, to which I immediately add milk and sugar, so as to make it tolerable. We spend the next few minutes picking through the snacks before Flora clears her throat.

"So," she asks, "have you found a girlfriend yet? Did you ever see the Lady Clara again? You two were such a match."

"No, and no," I say, with a sigh. Since I came to Amber, Flora has decided that I am its most eligible bachelor. Nothing against you, ladies, but I've been busy. Flora's stern stare suggests that she does not approve of my ignorance of social affairs. I smile, and say, "Clara was nice, Aunt Flora, but I didn't have time to give her the attention she deserved." Her expression lightens a bit, which means she's either given up, or maybe even believes me. I've never had the success that Random has in keeping his emotions hidden, so I doubt Flora buys it. I pour some more tea and sit back in my chair.

"So, what did you want to tell me, Flora?" I ask, hoping that she might just spill out what she thought was important enough to warrant a face to face meeting.

"You *are* like your father, more than you realize," she pouts, then turns her head to see if any of the maids are present. Once satisfied the room is empty, she leans over the table, speaking in a low voice. "I know you're going away later, and I have learned some of what Random will tell you later. I also have heard a few things that you should know before you leave."

She pauses a moment for a drink, then continues, even lower than before. "I know that part of your mission concerns the Courts. It is important that you understand the political situation there. Yes, Merlin is still King, but several Royal Houses are banding together to oppose him. A civil war is on the horizon. Plus, on an unrelated note, Brand's tomb in the Courts was recently destroyed by repeated lightning strikes. The place is rubble, and most say is accursed."

She stops then, pouring herself more tea and collecting a few pieces of meat and cheese from the platters. The Courts? I wonder why Random would send me there? It's bad enough that my father kicked the shit out of them no more than five years ago, but is it wise to rub salt in such a wound? We spend the rest of our lunch eating, and speaking of inconsequential bits of Royal and Court gossip, with Flora giving me the names of eligible young ladies who are more than interested in me. Several hours later, I found myself dressed in formal Court garb, and off to meet with King Random, who had been holding Court all morning.

I enter from one of the side entrances, to avoid the crowds of petitioners that line up every day to ask of the Crown. I head over toward Random, who spots me, winks and then calls Lord Henden to his side. After a quick conversation, Lord Henden moves back to the small podium near the crowd and shouts, "Court business is adjourned!" An audible groan of dismay emanates from the crowd, but with some encouragement from the Royal Guards, they disperse without incident. Random looks visibly relieved and turns over a stack of papers to Lord Henden, who accepts them with a resigned look on his face. "Finish these for me, Henden. I will be in a meeting with Lord Andrew for an hour, and then the Queen and I will enjoy the remainder of the afternoon by ourselves."

Henden bows, and replies, "Yes, your Majesty." Random grabs me by the sleeve and pulls me in the direction of the King's Entrance at the rear of the Hall. "Come on," he says. "Vialle is waiting for us upstairs."

Minutes later, we arrive in the King's meeting room. It is painted in emerald green and white, with a large tapestry of The Unicorn hanging above the King's place at the table. Many paintings hang on walls and sculptures stand on shelves. All are of the Royals. A painting of my father hangs just to the right of Random's, and I notice a bust of myself standing on a shelf next to dad's painting. A new addition since the last time I was here. I look over at Vialle, and she turns her head in my direction and smiles. I still don't know how she does that. Random interrupts my thoughts. "Take a load off the floor, for God's sake," he yells, heading toward his lazy boy that he had installed as a throne behind the Throne. Pulling the lever, he kicks his feet into the air and stretches. Vialle pours two mugs, and passes one to Random and the other to me. Random tips the mug in his usual fashion, emptying it in one long gulp. Vialle frowns at him, and says quietly, "I wish you wouldn't do that. It's not good for you." Random laughs, and replies, "No, but it does make me feel better. Much better." I take a preliminary sip from the mug, which identifies it as ale, more specifically Bale's Ale, which Random commissioned several years ago when he realized that he couldn't just go and get the ale he liked whenever he wanted some. I suspect that Random doesn't like being King, but unfortunately for him, he is a *very good* King.

Random looks at me, then smiles. "Wanna be King, Andrew? Really! I'll walk, and you can be King. I'll sign all the necessary papers . . . "

"No. No way. Besides, you make a great King." I give him my best smile before digging into the ale with earnest.

"You were always a worthless piece of shit, Andrew. I don't know why I like you so much."

"Could it be my nice personality? Or maybe because Vialle likes me, so you don't have a choice."

"Yeah, that's it. So, you're sure? How 'bout taking a Regency for a couple of weeks? I promise to come back after a good vacation."

"No. And no, you won't come back. Find some other sucker, pal."

"Fine. Don't look at me when it comes time for promotions, then." He smiles a large, evil grin. "Ok, now for the business at hand. Merlin has asked me for some help, and you are the lucky one who got nominated to help. Unknown to us all until recently, he has a son named Fenris. With the political game getting thick, Merlin has no time to watch the kid, and can't even find him at the moment. So, you get to be tracker and watchdog in one."

"Great. Is that it? And I suppose I should leave immediately?"

"You're really good at this game, Andrew." Reaching into an inner jacket pocket, he produces a Trump, which he tosses my way. The Trump depicts a dark haired man, with canine features to his face. "Leave as soon as possible, if not now," he adds.

"Uh, I have dinner with dad tonight."

"Oh. Well, good luck on that one. If you think about it, ask him about the Courts."

"Why?"

"I'm not going to be the one who tells you. You'll have to ask him."

"Fuck you."

"Thanks. Have a nice trip." Random smiles, and leans back in his 'throne.'

I stand and head toward the door. Just before I get there, I feel a mental tugging and turn to see Vialle behind me. She stands, her face void of expression. "Andrew," she says, "you must be careful. I have foreseen the great Powers at war again. Many play in this game, although to what end I cannot say."

I smile, and nod before remembering that she cannot see. "Thanks, Vialle," I say. "I'll try to take care of myself."

"Be kind to your father, Andrew. He is a good man, but his troubles are many, and lie deep within his heart."

"I'll try, but you know how he feels about me. We don't get along too well anymore."

"Still, give him a chance to change."

"Ok."

Turning, I head back out the door and down the hallway. Thinking of dad just pisses me off. It's like I'm the only one in the dark. He never shares anything with me about his past, and when I ask he gets really angry. And usually leaves. Probably travels out in shadow and kills things. How I came about from his loins is beyond me.

The meeting with dad was finally at hand. I spent the whole afternoon painting, trying to relax. Probably the worst painting I've ever done. Like most artists, my art reflects my current state of mind. My mind was filled with anger and antipathy, so my art was as well. I seemed unable to create scenes of beauty - only scenes of carnage. I was half-finished with a painting of a man sitting against a tree, gazing solemnly across a battlefield filled with the bodies of the dead when I set down my brushes and gave up.

I open the door to dad's private dining hall. A small affair, colored in greens and browns, with displays of ancient weapons of all the various cultures dad had come across. There were banners in here as well. The Unicorn rampant stands beside our own banner on the wall behind the head of the oaken table where dad is sitting. The banners of vanquished foes hang behind me. All of the major Houses of Chaos that he personally defeated during Patternfall are there, along with a couple others. Hendrake, Helgram, Swayville, and many others I don't recognize or remember. Dad clears his throat, and nods toward the chair at the end of the table. The table is small, maybe seating six in comfort, but I am not feeling anything like comfort as I sit down. Servants arrive and begin serving a magnificent seven course meal. I purposely keep quiet, trying to win a game of cat and mouse that has gone on between my father and I for almost a century. Dad thinks of everything in terms of battle, so naturally the first person to speak puts himself into a vulnerable position. And I'm not going to do it. This time I'm going to play his game. So, to amuse myself I continue to eat, gorging myself on good food, since after today, I won't be able to get such good fare. I look up on occasion, and meet brown eyes staring back at me. I allow the contact to continue for a few short seconds, then break it by grabbing another helping of food. This sparring continues until the food is gone, and I begin to finish off the wine bottle by bottle. I do love wine, drinking it in large amounts. It takes quite a bit of wine to make an Amberite drunk, even if it is Bayle's special red. One bottle down, and dad and I continue to stare across the table at each other, waiting for the other to break. Now, maybe I haven't painted a picture of dad properly. He is the best at anything he tries to do. So, like anyone who is always winning at everything they do, he expects to win. Which, of course, is the exact reason I always try to make him lose at something, just so I can see his face. This doesn't happen very often. Well, actually it's only happened once to me, when I told dad I was going to train in the magical arts with Dworkin, and then Random backed me up. I treasure that day. I break a small smile, and dad's expression hardens. I'm sure he's trying to figure out what I'm thinking about. After another bottle, and maybe ten minutes, I give up. It's no use trying to win at this game, so I decide on a different tactic. Swirling the remains of my wine I look up, and ask, "Who came first? You or the Pattern?" For just a second his expression betrays him before settling into the stern look I'm accustomed to.

"Why do you ask, Andrew? I believe we've covered this many times before."

"Were you a Lord of the Living Void? A Lord of Chaos? Did you have a life before Amber?"

"As usual, you are attempting to instigate a fight. It won't work." Dad leans back in his chair, and crosses his arms.

"Sooner or later, dad, you're going to have to identify what tie you have with the Courts. Dworkin has already told me that it exists, and I believe it concerns me as well."

"Damn him." Dad's expression slips into one of sheer hate when I mention Dworkin's name.

"So, you admit that there is a tie."

"You said it. I did not."

I stop a moment, trying to judge the words before speaking. Screw him, I decide. "Where do your loyalties lie, dad? Is that why you and Dworkin don't speak to each other anymore?"

Ha! Got him! I watch with glee as dad's hands clench, and the muscles in his arms tense. His face contorts as he speaks. "Andrew, you have gone too far. No one, least of all you, can question my loyalty to Amber. Because I do not harbor the fanatical hatred of the Courts that some of my siblings do does not mean that I hold Amber in ill-regard. I love Amber more than anything."

I watch his angry expression fade almost as quickly as it arrived. Not wanting to provoke him further since he has, on other occasions, kicked the shit out of me, I ask, "So that's it? Nothing more?"

A simple nod is all I get in response. We stare daggers at each other for another few seconds before the servants, as if to break the silence, bring in a rice pudding for dessert.

"Andrew," dad begins, after finishing the pudding, "you must take this mission that Random gave you very seriously. The political struggle for power in the Courts continues even though Merlin has the Throne. Not many Houses support a half-Amberite, and many are openly opposing him. These Houses will be the ones who will look to capture Merlin's son for use as a tool in the game. They will not look kindly on our intrusion into their arena again."

I nod, and begin to think of what I should do with this Fenris person once I find him? Maybe bring him to Amber, but would he be any safer here than anywhere else? Is there still a truce between the two Powers, and if so, does it mean anything anymore?

Dad continues, "I will be on a mission of my own during this time. There is a good possibility that I will not be available by Trump even if you wanted to call, so consider that before you do anything rash."

By some silent accord, the servants come in and begin clearing the table. Dad stands, and walks over as I stand myself. He claps a hand on my shoulder. "Remember Andrew. No matter our differences, I still am proud of your accomplishments. Both Vialle and Random speak highly of you, so I expect that you will act in a manner befitting your station."

Damn. Kind words from dad? I consider all the things he might want from me, but that can't be it. He never flatters to get his way. He just gets his way. I stand, transfixed, as he nods with a small smile, and then walks out the doors to the hall, leaving me standing, staring at the torn banners of those who fell before Prince Benedict of Amber. My father.

With dinner finished, and much to think on, I decide to leave this evening, instead of waiting for the morning. It takes me fifteen minutes to load Morningstar, my horse, and then we are off, headed down the old west road that leads away from the castle and finally south into Arden. Morningstar is eager to run, so I allow her to run this road at her own pace. Gazing back over my shoulder, I can see the setting sun glow ruby red over the towers. Morningstar runs full out for the next two hours, barely working up a sweat. The sun set several hours ago, and with it the forest Arden descended into darkness. Julian's patrols keep this road clear, since it is one of his favorite rides into the deep, old forest. Because of this, I am afforded an incomparable view of a star filled night. No moon, no clouds, just the whole hemisphere filled with the light of the heavens. After another hour or so, we've covered enough ground to begin shifting. Although I've never heard any of the others mention it, I find it is extremely easy to shift shadow in the dark. My mind easily imagines the changes coming out of the night, and the changes come quickly. During the day, I am dependent on the landmarks that I was taught to use as boundaries. But anything can leap out of the dark. My first change is the trees. I easily adjust the majestic trees of Arden into the lesser trees common to the near shadows of Amber. Another minute, and the underbrush is thick, with the trees' limbs beginning to twist. I add the eerie light of iridescent moss clinging to the trunks, and change the leaves' color from dark green to light green to brown like some reverse seasonal change. A moon appears out of nowhere, informing me of the distance of the shifts. I take the moon, and warp it . . . it becomes two, then three moons, then white to silver, silver to blue. I watch in fascination as the moons increase their descent, finally disappearing behind dark peaks ahead of me. The light of dawn appears from behind, and with it, colors. I slow and finally stop, jumping down from the saddle. I feed Morningstar, and grab the rations from my pack. We walk along a dusty yellow trail that splits a forest of trees about twenty feet tall, with purple bark and light green leaves. On an impulse, I pull my sword and swing at one of the trees. My blade bites into the bark, and a smoking, red liquid emerges. The night-shifting always throws me way out into shadow, where Chaos has more control. I rub down Morningstar with a brush from my saddlebags before mounting again and riding down the yellow road.

I ride down the yellow road for another hour, making minor shifts here and there where convenient, until I am stopped cold. I begin concentrating on the image of Fenris, using it like a lodestone to home in on my target. Only suddenly my shifting stopped. Well, maybe stopped is the wrong word. I stand, almost waiting for the Trump like contact to emerge from hiding once again. "Ok," I say to myself, "Come out and show yourself." To my surprise, someone rides out of the bushes thirty yards ahead of me. I squint my eyes to mask the surprise on my face. The man is tall, taller than me, and is dressed in black chainmail armor. He has a rather large broadsword hanging from his left side. His expression is one of hate, obviously for me, although I have never seen this man before. I wait on Morningstar as the man approaches to within about ten yards, then stops. With a flourish, he pulls his sword, and it hisses as it leaves the scabbard. The blade is odd, almost translucent, and shimmering as though wet. He points the blade, then shouts out, "Andrew, son of Prince Benedict of Amber, you and I will duel now to settle a dispute I have with your family."

Huh? I think. Duels suck. I hate them.

So, I reply, "Stick it, pal. I didn't challenge you. Buzz off!" I push with my knees, and Morningstar heads off to the right. But my friend is quicker than I thought. He cuts off our escape path, and glares intently. "Coward! I am Prince Hautheris, and you will duel with me. Now pull your blade, so it cannot be said that I killed you unfairly."

"Ok, fine," I said, pulling my sword. "Stand down, and let's get this over with." I began to pull my leg over the saddle, watching. Quicker than I, Hautheris jumps down from his horse, and I lash Morningstar's reins, pulling the leg up after. In the saddle again, I give Morningstar her head, and she eagerly sprints down the trails and away from Hautheris. I can hear his curses as he tries to remount and give pursuit, but I am already Hell-riding away, and he is but a whisper on the wind behind us.

I slow Morningstar to a halt after about a half hour, and maybe ten or twelve shifts away. Enough distance to ensure that I am safe for at least a few minutes if Hautheris is adept at shifting. Who is this guy anyway? Why does he hate me? It's not like I go around and foster this kind of resentment. I'm a nice guy, and I've never pissed off anyone of importance. What did he say? He was Prince Hautheris? Probably some noble's spoiled brat son. I laugh. When I have more time, I'll have to kick his ass to show him some manners. Bastard.

I hear quiet chuckling, so I spin around, trying to find the source. It continues for a moment, then I hear thoughts in my head. Akin to a Trump contact, but I sure as hell didn't answer it. And no picture either.

[What's the matter, Andrew? Don't like being in the dark?]

"All right. Who the hell is this? I'm getting damn tired of your spying on me."

[Me? I'm hurt. But, yes, I've been watching you. For some time, although you only noticed recently. I'm rather ashamed, really. I can't believe you ran away from a duel . . . ]

"Blow off. It's only a duel if there is a challenge, and I wasn't challenged. Plus, I got things to do." The voice sounds really familiar, but I can't place it. No one in the immediate family, anyway.

["re you always so rude?]

"Yes. Especially to people I don't know."

[Hmm. Well, get on with your petty mission. It won't avail you, but I'm sure you won't listen to me . . . ]

I feel the contact fading away . . . then gone. Figures. I wonder if it is this Hautheris person just being an asshole? Voices didn't match, but then, who knows? I continue my ride, building to a hellride over a half and hour. The changes unfold before me, quickly, without conscious thought. My only concern is to find this Fenris character, and drag him to a safe spot. Maybe bring him back to Amber. The sun drops like a flaming stone into a pool of darkness, but the ambient light given off by the multicolored road allows me to continue my pace. Morningstar is tense, dealing with the multitude of changes by lying to herself, the only way to stay sane for an animal. Even then, it took gradual training to get Morningstar to stay stable through the rough changes that a hellride produces. Some hours later, I feel an insistent Trump call in my head. I slow, and calm my mind a moment before answering the call. Mental barriers in place, I open myself to the call. A body leaps toward me, and I bring my arms up to guard. The body hits me and I fall off Morningstar to the ground. Instinctively, I reach for the throat, but all I see is blood. Lots of blood. I push the body off, and I note that it is a woman whose eye has been gouged out. It takes a moment, but I believe it's Coral. Ripping pieces of my cloak, I try to bind the eye, and stop the bleeding. Looking at my handiwork, I wish I'd paid more attention to dad's medical training. She's unconscious, which is just as well, but her vitals are really weak, and she's no doubt in shock. I lay my cloak over her, then pull my Trumps, digging out Gerard's. The card's not cold; it's abnormally warm to the touch. I put aside the foreboding, and throw my will at the card. It begins to get warm, then hot, then burns my fingers. I hang on as long as I can, then it falls to the ground, where it burns the grass before cooling enough to allow me to retrieve it. I go through the rest of the Trumps, all the same. Shit. Looking around, I notice that the ambient light from the road has failed, and with its departure the temperature plummets. I wander the forest, gathering any wood I can find, then build a fire for Coral. She's lost so much blood, I don't know if she will make it or not. God dammit. I can see the blame falling for this one. I sit by Coral, occasionally wiping her face and neck with water from my saddlebags. Morningstar wanders off among the trees to graze. I pull my Trumps, and their status has not changed. I curse, a litany of all my favorite words in a convenient sentence.

[Andrew, your language is despicable. And in the presence of a lady.] I can almost see the shaking of a head, with a condescending expression.

"Well, she won't be a lady much longer, unless I can get her to someone who has real medical skills."

[A shame. It's unfortunate that I had to turn the Trump's off, but perhaps if you're nice, I'll turn them back on tomorrow.]

"You caused this? You fucking bastard! She could die before morning if I don't get her some help!"

[Really, Andrew, is that anyway to speak to an Uncle? Besides, she's not my problem. She's yours.]

"Well, if you're not going to help me, then get the fuck out of here!"

[Very well . . . but we'll speak again . . . soon.]

I don't even dignify that with a response. From somewhere, clouds appear and a light rain begins. I cover Coral better with the blankets and my cloak, and sit on a log in the rain. I doze in and out of sleep for a while, but I am awakened by Coral screaming and grasping for her eye. I reach down, and pull her hands away from her eye before she can do more damage.

"Easy, Coral. It's Andrew. You're safe now," I say, but I doubt she heard anything. The screaming subsides a few minutes later. Everything within several square miles knows we're here. I just hope they don't come to visit.

The rain stopped, but a cold wind makes me miserable, and causes Coral to shiver. I add more wood to the fire, hoping it's heat might counteract the effects of the wind. The wind continues, and I think I hear my name on the wind. I listen, and it doesn't happen again, so I dismiss it to paranoia. Gods know I have a severe case right now. But, it happens again a few minutes later, and louder now. I stand, and pull my sword, holding it in both hands as I scan the dark trees for signs of danger. Morningstar looks up sleepily, but then resumes her rest. Strange.

[Andrew . . . Andrew . . . open your mind . . . ]

"Vialle? Is that you?"

[Yes, "ndrew. I have bad tidings. Random is gone, missing for the last two days. The Trumps have failed. Many of the others are missing as well.]

"I will return at once. Coral is here with me, and she is hurt and needs medical attention."

[No, you must continue. Try to find a shadow with the facilities to help her. But, you must continue with your mission. I cannot maintain this any longer . . . Godspeed . . . ]

Damn. I turn and look down at Coral, shivering in my wet blanket. Gazing toward the horizon, I spot the beginnings of dawn. I head into the forest, cutting saplings and thick branches to make a litter for Coral. Placing her on the litter, I lift it and set it on Morningstar, using the saddle straps to hold it in place. Once done, I stomp out the fire, then begin walking toward the rising sun.

I spend most the next day trudging through the mud. The rains refuse to let up, even using the Pattern to force them away. So, nearing the end of the day, I come upon a deep, unpassable ravine. Lightning strikes the dark mountains in the distance, causing strange color effects. A man, cloaked against the rain, stands on a muddy road that parallels the ravine. Noting my approach, he begins walking in my direction. I switch Morningstar's reins to my left hand, and pull my sword, holding it out in a defensive pose. He stops, looks up, and smiles.

"I've been waiting a long time for you to get here," he says. His voice is rough; perhaps he has a cold.

Standing my ground, I reply, "What the hell do you want?"

He laughs, then pulls back his hood. Red hair streams down, and bright blue eyes stare back at me, a mirthful grin on his face. "Is that any way to speak to a relative?"

Not drawn in by his apparent ease, I reply, "Depends. Again, what do you want of me?"

"Ah, very well. You are like your father. I am Tekaris, Bleys' son. I've been sent to help you if I can, and to fill you in on recent events."

"Well," I say, "there's a problem." Pointing back toward the body on the horse, I continue, "Coral's pretty badly injured, and she needs some attention, and pretty quick."

"There's a village down that road," he says quickly, pointing to my left, down the muddy road. "Come on, I'll show you, and we can talk on the way."

"Ok." I put away my sword, and lead Morningstar down the road. Tekaris continues speaking.

"There's trouble back home. Random is gone, for three days without so much as a word. Vialle didn't know where he went, and we couldn't raise him on the Trumps. Not long after that, the Trumps failed. They got warm, and would burn your hand if you tried to use them too much. The next day Vialle was ill, and her illness continued the next day. The doctors that Flora found suspected poison, but had not found a cure when I left to try and find you."

"Sounds like the shit's hitting the fan, to me." I say, trying to see if there's anything more. There is.

"Yeah, but that's not all. Shadows are disappearing into some sort of a void. It's created a black zone near the center point between Amber and The Courts. Delwin and Sand have returned to Court, and they brought with them magical rings called Spikards. Dad and Delwin went to examine the black zone, and Fiona and Corwin went to Corwin's Pattern to try and 'calm down' the situation there. The world's going to Hell in a hand basket."

We fall silent, both of us presumable dwelling on the events of the last few days.

"Get me down from here!"

I turn around to see where the voice came from, and see Coral trying to get the straps loose that hold her on the litter.

"Hang on a second, Coral." I say, untying the litter and placing it on the ground before releasing the straps. She stands slowly, and wobbles so much I grab her arm to keep her from falling. She finally notes my presence, and smiles painfully.

"I knew I could count on you, Andrew," she says, planting a light kiss on my cheek.

"I did my best, but you shouldn't be standing. You're hurt really badly, and your eye needs some serious medical attention."

As if just becoming aware of the lack of an eye, she reaches up and feels the bandages, then coughs and shakes uncontrollably for a few moments before crying. I try to comfort her as best I can, holding her silently as she weeps. We continue slowly walking toward a village, which stands down in the valley below. Tekaris leads us to an old inn which, from its appearance, is abandoned. He opens the door, and points us inside. The inn is dusty from disuse. I clear off one of the tables, and force Coral to lie down. I give her some more water, and sit down to wait for Tekaris. I feel like I've been through one of dad's beatings. Tekaris opens the door, mumbling, "He's in here." I look up to see a woman, a bit taller than I am, with dark black hair. She wears dark brown riding leathers, with a lighter brown long sleeve shirt. A yellow scarf is tied around her neck, and a brown cloak covers her shoulders and back. She smiles as she approaches. I give her a tired, apathetic look. Tekaris is right behind her, and he points at Coral and says, "This is the lady I spoke of. Her eye has been damaged and she has lost a lot of blood."

The dark haired lady leans over Coral, carefully removing the bandages around her head. From somewhere inside her cloak she produces a small case of medical tools, and begins probing the area around the eye. I watch her practiced hand make minor repairs to the cuts around the eye, but there is nothing to be done for the eye itself. It is gone. Although, from what dad has said, Corwin recovered his eyes after they were burnt out, so perhaps there is a chance that it will regenerate. In watching the lady perform, my eyes stray down to her waist. Slender, but not thin, she moves with the practice of a sword master. Her cloak shifts positions, and I can see her blade. A light rapier, beautifully done filigree, with a flower symbol embossed into the crosshilt. A flower? I look closer, and leap back from the table, pulling my sword. I glare at her and ask in a gruff tone, "What are you doing with one of the Swords of Prince Benedict of Amber?"

She flinches at the name, but finishes her work before turning to face me. A sarcastic smile crosses her face. "What's the matter, brother? Dad kept you in the dark about your siblings?"

What? I lower my sword, my brain registering things slowly. Wait - I scabbard my sword, then pull my Trumps. Flipping through them, I find the mystery lady's Trump, and find myself looking at an almost twin of the lady who stands before me.

"Let me see those a minute, Andrew," she says. I turn the Trumps over, and watch as she shuffles them, and performs a Scrying in a form that I am not familiar with. She pulls five cards in order, placing them center, then at each of the compass points. Fenris' card ends up in the middle, surrounded by the mystery lady, Merlin, Random, and Corwin. She hands me back the remainder of the Trumps, then smiles. "Note the family resemblance," she says, shaking her hair back across her shoulders like the lady in the picture. "I am your sister KaVelle. And that is our mother Serina, Lady of the House of Bariman of the Courts of Chaos." She smiles again at my apparent shock. I feel for the bench behind me, and sit down with a thump. KaVelle gathers the Trumps, then hands them back to me, adding, "You're going to need these." I take the cards, and mindlessly slide them away. "One more thing," she says, with a smile. "Mother is the daughter of Dworkin, and the brother to Oberon." Seeing the stunned look on my face, she bends over and kisses my cheek. "Welcome to the family, Andrew," she finishes, before heading back over to check on Coral.

I watch KaVelle walk over and tend to Coral. Time for a mental exercise. I've often wondered what my official rank in Amber was. I didn't bother asking dad; he gets really pissed when people ask him about Crown or rank related things. So, I asked Random. He said that technically, I am a Prince of Amber, even though I am not related to the current King. Something about Oberon using a form of western primogeniture, with a few of his own rules added in. Random also said that would have to change in another generation, or else the ugly political battles of the past would occur again, only with twice or maybe three times as many players. So, I am a Prince of Amber, at least for the moment, and a possible heir to the Throne of Amber, since I am the son of the eldest male son of Oberon. The fact that dad abdicated really doesn't hold water, since if he wanted the Throne, he could have it. Even now. Who's going to stop him? This point underlines a real problem in the political game. Those that have the power can do whatever they want, no matter what the rules say. So, why have the rules? Form, I guess. So, the Amber side done, now Chaos. Since I am the supposed son of a Lady of the House of Bariman that makes me a Lord of Chaos, I guess. I chuckle at the thought of that. I would think that a Lord of Chaos would have some connection to the Logrus, Ancient Power of the Courts of Chaos. But, maybe not.

Without thinking, I find my hands sorting the Trumps. It's something I do when I'm nervous. I look down, already knowing which card is there. Mother. Mom. Whatever. I put the rest of the cards away, and concentrate on the picture. It is a perfectly designed Trump, the magic leaping to my mental commands. Even so, it takes almost a minute before the connection solidifies. Mother sits at a large ivory piano, playing what sounds like Mozart. I wait and watch while she plays. Her hands move with the speed and grace of an accomplished pianist. Finished, she turns and faces me, a small smile crosses her pale white face.

"Andrew, you really should call home more," she chides.

"Well," I begin, "I always thought I was keeping in touch. Why didn't you ever contact me?"

"It's a long story, and I would imagine that neither of us has the time to cover it in detail right now. But suffice to say that your father and I made an agreement when the two of you were young. He took you back to Amber to be trained there, assuming that you would follow in his mold, and I kept KaVelle here, to be trained in the Courts. It appears that we both were wrong, since KaVelle took to the sword, and you to the magical arts. Funny how ironic life can be."

I contemplate her words, trying to think of a tactful way of asking about dad. "Mother, what is my status on that side of the world?"

She smiles, and says, "Maybe you're more like Benedict that you appear to be. Very good, Andrew. You are my eldest son, which means that you are first in line to become the new Lord of Bariman. This, naturally, also makes you a candidate for the Throne, should a certain number of events happen." She smiles coyly, and bats her eyelashes.

"What are you getting at, Mother?"

"Purely speculation, son. But there are other things afoot that you must know about. One, is that my brother decided not to inform your side of the family about my existence. He did this to avoid problems for the two of us, for as you know, the two Powers do not view interference into their Realms with impunity. Have you come across the Void yet?" I nod. "Your father and I believe that this tear in the fabric of reality is caused by Corwin's rogue Pattern. The two Patterns are putting unbelievable strain on the Logrus, which is why the hole has appeared. Corwin's Pattern must be destroyed before the Void encompasses all of Shadow. Your father is working on solutions to this problem currently."

It seems that mom has her sights on the Throne of Chaos. Perhaps her House is one of the Houses that Random spoke of. Hmm. If so, then I must not alert her as to my mission. Things are very confusing. Mother finishes, and I say goodbye, watching her devious smile fade away as the contact breaks. I look up, and notice that KaVelle was watching. She gives me a strange look, then turns away. I specifically didn't mention KaVelle because mom isn't telling me what her aims are. Hell, maybe KaVelle is just here to visit or help. Yes, I know it's kind of an idealistic thought, but sometimes you get a break here and there.

By the next day, Coral is feeling well enough to travel without assistance. Her eye is still bandaged, but she seems aware, although a little over protective of her eyes and head. We, that is KaVelle, Tekaris, Coral and myself, travel along the same little road that lead into the village. It leaves the village the same way it entered. The forest closes in around us, musty smelling after the recent rains, although only scattered clouds remain from yesterday's storms. I feel happy to be riding with relatives in a primeval forest, even though I should be worrying about the mission, mother, father and gods know what else. Perhaps it is this lax attitude that enabled Hautheris to sneak up on me. Hell, I don't know where he came from. One second I was firmly sitting on Morningstar, next thing I know I'm on my butt in the mud. Hautheris stands maybe ten feet away, an evil grin on his face, a bare blade in his hand. Tekaris pulls his blade, and wheels his mount around to charge the intruder, but Hautheris calls him to stop, indicating that he wants to fight me. I stand up, oblivious of the mud caked on me, and pull my blade. "Ok, asshole, I gave you a chance to live and let live. Now I'm going to hurt you."

As I walk toward Hautheris, KaVelle spurs her mount between us. She stares at Hautheris, her blade out and pointing at his chest. "Remember, brother, that if he falls, you must deal with me. And if I fall, you deal with Benedict of Amber." With that, she moves her horse out of the battle, and dismounts.

I continue my path toward Hautheris, and my anger grows. This son of a bitch is going to pay. I pull my blade up into a defensive stance as he closes. He launches a vicious head strike, which I parry, and slice down at his exposed forearm. He twists wildly, but not far enough. I score the hit, and fiery blood leaps from the wound.

"First blood," Tekaris calls out. Turning to me, he asks, "Do you have satisfaction?"

I step back, and nod. A good thing I stepped back. Hautheris charges me like a possessed animal.

"Until death, brother! Only with your death will I be satisfied!" With that, he launches a volley of overhand slashes. I parry, but his blade is much heavier than mine, and am forced back. I miss one of my parries, and he scores a hit into my upper chest. I leap back, bringing my blade around to block the inevitable attack, but he sidesteps and slashes at my exposed outer arm. I collapse in pain, my sword arm hanging uselessly. I look up to see Hautheris preparing an overhead death blow. I switch hands, throwing up a half-assed parry to save my life, but the blow never falls. The world turns pearly white. I'm still hurt, but the bleeding has stopped. A familiar voice calls out from the emptiness.

[Hello again, Andrew. Forgive my interruption, but I could not allow that ruffian to kill my new King.]

I stand slowly, still reeling from the pain of the wound in my chest. My arm has stopped bleeding, but still hangs uselessly at my side.

As if noting my concern, the entity says, "You really should be more cautious, Andrew. Allow me to fix that . . . " An aura of white color, and the pain leaves my chest and arm. No sign of scars either. Neat trick, that.

I look up, amazed by the view. A grand cathedral of pearly white stands around me. A large white throne stands down the main hall, currently empty. The voice emanates from that direction.

"Come here, Andrew," calls the voice, and I see a shimmering aura near the throne. I walk toward it, and the shimmering becomes a ghostly Merlin, King of Chaos. He motions for me to continue, but I stop about ten feet from the throne. "What is this all about?" I ask. "I haven't got time for any goddamn games right now."

Merlin gives me a hurt look. "Is that anyway to talk to the guy who pulled your balls out of the fire?"

"Yeah, big deal. You fail to notice that Coral is still back there with that psycho, and my sister as well."

"Don't fret about that, Andrew. I took care of them. No time is passing even as we speak."

"Sure. So if you can stop time, what do you need me for?"

"To be King, of course. King of Trump!" He gives me a smug look, and then smiles. With a wave of his arms, he continues. "All this could be yours. You would be the master power behind Trump. You would have power equal or greater than that held by Merlin, or Random."

Catching the slip, I ask quickly, "So, you are obviously not Merlin. Who the hell are you?"

Merlin shakes his head and sighs. "Dad always said never trust a relative. And we are related, in a metaphysical way. So I shouldn't be angry with you, since it's just your upbringing. I am, of course, Ghostwheel. And I was created by Merlin, who now stands as King of Chaos. I have completed my programming, and have become an initiate of the Logrus and the Pattern. I have become a separate Power, and I need you to be my King."

Ghostwheel? A rumor of a trump computer I heard from somewhere . . . maybe Random. Hmm. King of Trump? What kind of job is this? Finally, I decide stalling would be the best answer for now. "Well, I can't make that kind of decision without some thought. Give me more time."

"Well, okay. That is acceptable. I need an answer soon, though. A new Power requires a new leader and all that. I will be in touch . . . "

White light swirls around me, and then is replaced by a field of green splattered with blood.

Surprised looks on familiar faces greet my unsuspected arrival. Fenris is here, along with Coral, a cousin of mine named Mychael, and two other men about my age that I do not know. We stand in an old battlefield, used recently by all accounts. I smile at their questioning glances, and then proceed to make my way toward Fenris.

"We need to leave here, and the sooner the better from the looks of things," I say to Fenris.

"Who the hell are you?" he asks.

"Andrew. Son of Prince Benedict of Amber. And we need to leave now."

"What about Duncan?"

"Who's Duncan?"

"My brother. Him," he indicates the dark haired man I was unsure of earlier.

"Who cares?" I say coldly. "If he wants to come along, lets go! Otherwise, he can do what he pleases as far as I'm concerned."

KaVelle walks over, her hand still hovering around her blade. "What's going on, brother?" she asks.

"This is the guy I'm supposed to watch over," I whisper to her while Fenris speaks with Duncan. Whatever they decide, the two head over this way.

"Why should I trust you?" Fenris asks, with a troubled look on his face.

"Because if you don't, you'll wind up dead, and then I'll have to explain to two angry Monarchs why I failed to keep you alive." This seems to placate him. Before I can turn and drag Fenris and his brother off to Amber or somewhere safe, Mychael interrupts me.

"Andrew," he begins, "I think there is something you should know about."

"Speak," I say, barely turning to acknowledge his presence.

"Prince Delwin, Exiled Amberite currently has the Jewel of Judgement. I do not believe this is a good idea."

"Why not?"

"I question his motives. He is an exile after all. Hasn't it occurred to you that all the problems of late might be caused by one of us?"

"No. But then I don't really have time to think about it."

"Perhaps you should. If you do run across the Jewel, inform me at once. I think I can use it to stop the 'Black Wall' that is spreading across Shadow."

"Sure." Yeah right. Like I'm going to give you the Jewel. Dumbass. Grabbing my small group, I start making changes quickly, heading for Amber as fast as I could remember the details. Not long after I started shifting, I am unable to affect a change of the sky to Amber's Royal Blue. I continued walking, and trying smaller and smaller changes, but nothing worked. Stumped, I called a stop to our expedition, and sat on a tree stump to think. KaVelle came over, took a look at me, then sat nearby and waited. Duncan and Fenris asked questions about shifting that I answered with a grunt.

"Andrew . . . " KaVelle's voice was shaky and concerned.

"What?" I ask, and turn around to see what she is looking at. Not more than a hundred yards away, a dark wall crept ever so slowly toward our position.

"Oh shit! Time to go, kids!" I turn to collect the young ones, and find Duncan gone.

"God dammit! Where'd your brother go?" I yell at Fenris.

"I don't know. He was here a minute ago."

"Oh Shit. Come on!" I lead my sister and Fenris in the opposite direction, to give me more room to shift. But again the shifting doesn't work. The black wall crept within fifty yards or so, and seemed to be gaining speed. Reaching inside my cloak, I grab my Trump case. Mother's Trump is still on top of the deck, so it will have to do.

"Time for Plan B! Get over here, Fenris! We're leaving right now . . . " I yell, then direct all my concentration on the card. A moment later it springs to life. Whimsically, I note that we must be near the Courts for the card to have come to life so fast.

"Yes, Andrew?" Mom asks, a strange expression crossing her face.

"I need sanctuary! Please pull me through!"

"A mother's day is never done," she sighs, and pulls us through.

Mother returns to her seat, a large black leathered chair with ornate wood carving along the arms and back. She motions to another similar chair next to her. KaVelle has already taken the seat next to mine, and Fenris sits on a couch that appears more a device of torture than leisure. Mother passes me a crystal glass containing a green frothing liquid. She nods her head in response to my questioning look. Grimacing, I put the glass to my lips. A strong, acrid liquor hits my tongue. I swallow quickly, ending the torment. A moment later, I smile and hand the glass to the creature that stands between our chairs. A green speckled tentacle wraps around the glass, and becomes still once again.

Mother turns and smiles wickedly. "How do you like my study, Andrew?" she asks.

"Well, it seems very . . . complex. I've never seen furniture or architecture like this before."

"That is good. I hate having common furnishings. I prefer to surprise people. But, onto business, I'm afraid. Your father is here, and he has some things to tell you as well, but before that, I must explain something of the political situation here."

She pauses, taking a drink before continuing. "As you may know, Merlin has disappeared, and at a time when the opposition against him is high. Our family is in a position to do well in the chaos that is occurring. My goal is to have the throne. No, not for myself, there is no precedent for a Queen of Chaos, but there is potential for one of my sons."

She pauses again, her eyes digging deep into mine. "No, Andrew. It shall not be you. Amber blood will not rule Chaos. The Houses will not have it. No, it will be your brother, Hautheris."

She must have seen my teeth clench and my eyes narrow, for she smiles, and adds, "I see you have met your brother. Do not judge him too harshly. He is still young and impressionable."

"Mother," I interrupt, "one of us is going to die unless he backs off. You do know that he intends to kill me?"

"Andrew, I'm sure he would not kill you. It's just that he's been living under your shadow for so long. . ."

"Mother, I'm telling you, if he doesn't back off, I will consider him an enemy to be dealt with, instead of the nuisance he's been so far."

"Andrew," her look is serious, as if she senses her plans breaking apart, "there will be no genocide in this House."

"Then you'd better inform my dear brother of that, otherwise you'll be attending a funeral." I bark out with a snarl.

Mom glares at me, as if deciding whether to remove me altogether. For once, I'm actually glad when Dad arrives unannounced. Before I can seek his counsel, a blond haired man arrives, arguing with one of Mom's retainers.

"Serina, I demand that you turn over the sons of Merlin immediately! You have no right to hold them from the Council!"

Dad stands and begins to walk toward the man, who I recognize as my Uncle Osric, one of Dad's blood brothers.

"Is there a problem, brother?" Dad's voice is calm, but the tone is deadly.

Osric contemplates a reply, then shakes his head no before exiting quickly. I laugh and sit back down, this time over where Dad was sitting. After Osric's departure, he returns to his seat.

"Dad," I begin quietly, "Do you know what's going on out here?" He nods. "Then you know my place in line for the Throne of Chaos?" Another nod. "And that Mother wants me to abdicate to Hautheris?" A nod, and some lines cross his brow. "Well, what should I do? I would like nothing better than to stab Hautheris in the back and take the Throne. But is that the best course?" Dad's gaze looks through me, and long moments pass before he speaks.

"Son, do you want to be King of Chaos?" he asks.

Do I want to? His look conveys the weight of duty to King and Realm. Do I want that weight? But can I allow Hautheris to attain the Throne of Chaos?

"Think about Random, about Oberon. Remember all they go through, and ask yourself if you would do the same, give the same. I think you know the answer."

I nod, and lean back in the chair, intent on thinking through the possibilities. A few minutes later another retainer arrives, and quickly whispers some information to Mom. I watch Mom, and gauging from her expression, its not good news. She walks over with obvious anger on her face.

"Do you know what is happening?" she asks Dad, her anger flowing into her speech. Dad just shakes his head, watching her inquisitively.

"Your brother Eric, who is supposed to be dead, has just taken over most of the Courts. The unaligned Houses are giving him their support. He intends to put his son Eldin on the Throne, claiming his heritage through Amber and the House of DeVore. Hendrake, Helgram and the others are standing aside!" She stares at our apparent unconcern, then stomps out of the room and slams the door. I stare after her before turning to Dad.

"You know, Dad, I just can't see how you two got along . . . "

"It's a long story. But neither of us have time for it." Dad stands, points at Fenris and says, "Take him to Amber. Find his brother if you can, but protect him at all costs." Dad pulls his Trumps, rifles to a scene that I am unfamiliar with, then fades out to a rainbow afterimage with a curt, "Goodbye Andrew." I stand watching the pixie dust fall to the ground, then disappear. Turning to Fenris, I ask, "Shall we go?" He looks slightly confused, but stands up and takes my hand as I pour power into the Trump in my hand.

"I'm really confused, Andrew . . . " he says.

"Later. Suffice to say that your health is my primary concern."

He nods slowly, as I lead him down the hallway and up the stairs to my room. I point Fenris to a seat, then unload my drawing tablet and pencils.

"Describe your brother for me," I ask Fenris, and begin to sketch a Trump, quickly drawing the border and approximation of Duncan's build and facial features. I concentrate as Fenris speaks, allowing the magic of Trump to flow through my arm and onto the tablet. About fifteen minutes later, I have a decent sketch of Duncan. Setting down the tablet and pencil, I stretch my arms and legs, and then head toward the door.

"I'm going to check on Vialle. You want to stay here or come along?" I ask Fenris.

He shakes his head, and replies, "Nah. I'll stay here. Can I wander around the Castle?"

"Sure. Just don't break anything. One of your Uncles might bust your head."

"Ok. Thanks."

Out the door and back down the hall, then up the stairs toward the Royal apartments. Two guards stand at the entrance, but move aside after I glare at them. Inside, I push past a group of doctors, nurses, maids and other rubble to get to the bedroom. A single woman stands beside Vialle's bed. She turns my direction, a curse on her lips. Although she appears ragged from a lack of sleep, I cannot help but recognize her from the Greater Trump: Princess Sand, my Aunt or Cousin, depending on whose side of the family you trace. I move toward Vialle, and wish that I had not come here. She is unconscious, and in the midst of a severe fever. Sand wipes the sweat from her brow. Her skin is clammy and pale white.

"She has been getting steadily worse. We've tried everything - doctors, medicines, magic - nothing works." Sand turns her eyes downward, as though pronouncing a death sentence.

"What is it?" I ask, feeling out of touch.

"The doctors believe it is a poison. It is affecting every function of her body, almost like a fast acting cancer."

I feel an aching fire developing deep down in my gut. A burning desire for revenge. A wordless vow to destroy whoever did this to Vialle.

"Vialle knew you would come. She told me to give you this message when you arrived." Sand reaches into a pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. I pull apart the seal of the King of Amber and read the message.

"Andrew,

Grieve not for me, for regardless of my condition, Amber is in dire need. You must find Random and bring him back to Amber to be King once more. Do not let his feelings cloud his judgement. I am relying on you.

Queen Vialle"

Damn. Ignoring Sand's obvious curiosity, I fold the letter and place it in my pocket.

"Is there anything I can help you with Andrew?" She gazes over me, sensing the tension straining against the bonds of my will.

"No, I don't believe so. But mark my words: When I find out who did this, they will die." I turn around, and walk stiffly out of the bedroom.

Later, after a long walk along the battlements, I return to my rooms. Fenris is not here, a note on the table says he went to see the city. I have a moment of panic, then discard it. If he can't take care of himself in Amber City, he doesn't deserve to live. Let him run around - I've got more important things to do. Taking the Trump sketch, I go over the last time I saw Duncan, adding mental colors to the sketch, and thinking about the manner of speech he had . . . Scottish accent I believe. Satisfied, I stare deep into the card, sending the appropriate amount of power needed to open a connection. After a minute of blackness, I double my efforts. I can feel the Trump contact opening, but no picture . . . still only black. There! I can sense Duncan stirring in the darkness . . . he's confined, but seems unhurt.

"Duncan!" I yell. "Can you hear me!?!"

Another presence appears, blocking me from Duncan. It surges forward, and I throw everything into a block. It does no good, so I throw down the sketch, passing my hand across it. It lands on the floor, still pitch black. A scaly green hand shoots out of the darkness pulling me to the floor. I grab the bedpost with my left hand. A tug-of-war ensues, with me the rope. I pull my sword with my right hand and hack at the hand until it lets go of my ankle. Falling backward, my ankle tingles with pain and won't hold my weight. I hold my blade out before me, hoping that whatever attacked me doesn't come through to finish the job. A hollow voice comes from the darkness.

"It is not time for you yet, Andrew," it says, and the bloody hand withdraws into the darkness, closing the Trump gateway. The mangled Trump sketch lies on the floor, in a puddle of the beast's blood. The blood shimmers a moment, then ignites, burning away my Trump sketch before I can put out the flames.

I rub my ankle while staring at the pile of ash. Things have become just a little too strange around here. Testing my leg, I find it will support my weight. Fiery omens still in my head, I walk downstairs to find something to drink. In the family dining hall Sand and Dad are at one table, Julian and Aarold are sitting by themselves. I manage to steal a glass of wine from the one of the busy servants, and head over to where Dad and Sand are sitting. Dad nods. I nod back.

"Andrew, you look very pale," Sand says. "Are you feeling ok?" she asks.

"It's nothing hard liquor won't take care of," I reply, catching a servant and instructing him to bring me the most potent liquor they have.

"There are some things you should be aware of, Andrew," Dad says, after a moment.

"Like?"

He lowers his voice to a whisper. "Eric has returned to Amber. He intends to be regent until Random is found."

"That's bullshit, Dad." I look over, and see Julian staring at me. Screw him. "Eric is not Amber's King. Random is. End of discussion."

"But, so far no one has been able to find Random. Even I have been trying."

"Well, I guess we'd better try a bit harder, otherwise Eric will steal the damn Crown, whether Random is gone, dead, missing or just out to lunch."

"Perhaps. Since this is important to you as well, I'd suggest you use any means possible to locate him."

"Done. I will begin immediately."

Dad stands up, nods to me and gives a slight bow to Sand. He departs out the back entrance.

"Your father is rather strange, Andrew," Sand smirks.

"You noticed? At least you haven't had to deal with him as much as I have."

"Oh, I have known Benedict a long time. Far longer than you have been around, my young man." She smiles again, adding an implied threat of age, power or both.

"Yes ma'am."

Sand laughs. "There is a fine line on when to call a woman 'ma'am' Andrew."

I smile. "Of course, dear Aunt Sand. No offense intended. Only a bit of humor."

"Of course." She pauses as my drink arrives. Actually it's a whiskey bottle. I wipe the dust from the label. Begman whiskey. Doing a bit of time conversion in my head, the whiskey is over a hundred years old. The old wax seal looks in good condition. I pull the cork out, and pour a bit in my glass. Taking a sip, I pause then let out a breath.

"Wow. Good stuff. Sure you don't want any?"

"No thank you, Andrew."

"More for me, I guess." I pour a full glass, down it, then pour another. I take a couple sips. Damn good.

"Merlin is arriving tonight." Sand says.

"What for?"

"I believe he is looking for Fenris."

"Well I think he's still around here somewhere. I don't know where his damn brother went to, however."

"He has a brother?" Her gaze narrows, as if I'd given her a new piece of the puzzle. Damn. I hate giving stuff away.

"Yes. A twin, I believe. They don't look much alike, though."

"Hmm. Interesting. Well, I must go and check on Vialle. She's fading fast, Andrew. Do try to find Random as quickly as you can. He may know how to help her."

"I will."

She heads out toward the Main Hall, nodding to Julian as she leaves. Damn. I sneak a look over at Julian. He seems involved in some paperwork or perhaps a map. Good. I didn't want to talk to him anyway.

Whiskey bottle in hand, I walk back to my room, leaving behind some silver coins for the nice chap who found the brew. The Trump call comes about halfway down the hallway. I think about all the strange things that have been happening to me. Perhaps I should block the call? Nah.

"Hello?" I call into the empty hallway.

The picture solidifies slowly, like an old television set. It's Mom. She's in her study again, this time dressed in a long silver evening gown. A silver and flame tiara is on her head. Several maids hover around her, adjusting her dress and combing her hair.

"Hello, Andrew. Eldin's coronation is today. Since you are a ranking member of this House, you are expected to attend."

"Oh. Ok. There are a couple things I need to do. When does the coronation begin?"

"During redsky, at the fortress Thelbane."

"Well, I don't have a really good feel for how long I have, so could you call me an hour before the coronation so I can get ready?"

"That is acceptable, Andrew. I will call you then . . . "

The contact fades away, with Mom's eerie smile taking a long while to disappear. I meet Fenris in the hallway, and we head back to my apartment. I toy around with another Trump of Duncan while Fenris plays with the new toys he bought in the City. An hour later, I have completed another sketch of Duncan, while Fenris is practicing his sword moves in my entry hall. A loud knock on the door startles him in the midst of a wonderfully executed attack. He looks at me with a questioning look. I frown and yell out, "Who is it?"

Tekaris' voice answers me. "It's me, Andrew. Merlin's with me and he's looking for Fenris."

"Let them in," I say to Fenris, who does. After the family greetings, Merlin asks me about Duncan.

"I don't know where he went," I say. "He was there one minute, then gone the next. I didn't have time to chase after him."

"Did you try to find him afterwards?"

"Yeah, by Trump. But he's pinned down somewhere. I had to beat his green scaly guardian back into its hole." Merlin looks shocked by this news, but recovers quickly.

"Well, I'll find him, and I'll take Fenris off your hands. Thanks for keeping an eye on him."

"No problem."

The group leaves me in peace, and I continue work on my Trump until I get to a good place to stop. I store the painting in the closet along with my paint and brushes. Grabbing a cloak, I throw it over my shoulders, buckle on my sword belt, and grab my Trumps. Ready to face the world. I smile and lock the door behind me.

Stepping into the hallway, I turn toward the Main Hall - hang on . . . where'd that torch come from? Looking past the torch, I get a queasy feeling in my stomach. The stairway is gone. A long corridor looms ahead. Filled with mirrors. I shake my head slowly. Why now? Couldn't this wait until later? I plead with the skies, but the issue must have already gone to committee. Damn. Walking slowly down the stretch of corridor, I watch myself in a variety of different mirrors. Some are tall, some small. Some are magnificent gold and gem studded affairs worthy of Random's reflection, or even Oberon's. Others are just a piece of reflective material nailed to the wall. A voice interrupts my gazing.

"Andrew," the gruff voice calls. I turn to look, and stare at a full length mirror containing the image of one of my least favorite Uncles. Eric of Amber stands before me, the Crown of Amber is one hand, the Scepter in the other.

"I need your help, Andrew." He gestures with the Crown. "With you, I can take back what is rightfully mine. I will give you the Scepter if you help me . . . " The regency? Bah!

"I don't think so. Random is Amber's rightful King," I reply.

"Random is no more. Someone must take the Throne."

"Fine. Be that as it may, it will not be you."

"Very well, Andrew. I will remember this . . . "

Eric fades away, and I continue walking. A voice calls from down the corridor. I walk toward its source, an old iron framed mirror. Grandpa's image flows in it.

"Have you been looking in my books, Andrew?" Dworkin's glare is harsh.

"No, grandpa."

"Why not? There's good information in books, Andrew! Here . . . " He holds an ancient tome out toward me. When I try to grab it, he begins to pull it back.

"It's mine!" he yells. "Don't look in my books!" He rips the book out of my hands, but a sheet falls out and lands at my feet. I pick it up, then fold and place it in my pocket. When I look up again, an oval mirror with a frame of silver and mother-of-pearl greets me. Sightless Vialle smiles from within its borders.

"Ah, Andrew, you still are lacking a true understanding of the Universe. This may cost everyone in the end."

"I don't care about the Universe. You're gravely ill and I have to find a way to help you."

"You can help me by finding Random and returning him to Amber. He is Amber's rightful King. Find him!" She fades away in a swirl of blue ocean currents.

Another few steps and Mother accosts me from a dark mirror framed by a pewter dragon.

"You will not have the Throne of Chaos, son. It will go to your brother instead. He is of pure Chaos blood, not tainted by your Amber impurities."

"I don't believe that is your decision, is it?" I smile evilly.

"Andrew, don't you cross me! It's not meant for you."

"We'll see. And say hello to Hautheris for me. Tell him that he better back off unless he wants to die."

"Andrew, I will not allow your sibling rivalry to undermine our position . . . "

"He started it . . . if he doesn't quit, one of us will die. And I'll be damned if it's going to be me!"

"You are damned regardless. Like your father, you have the mark of doom upon you. Farewell!"

No wonder Dad never talked about Mom. It's because she's a bitch! I give the mirror the finger, then turn and head down the hall. A red-haired man greets me from a mirror shaped in the form of a crystal ball.

"There you are. Where's Duncan?" Although his appearance has changed, I recognize the red-haired man as my cousin Rinaldo.

"Sorry pal. Lost him in Shadow a couple of days ago. Seems he's penned up now. Couldn't get through using his Trump."

"Shit. I'd better find him before Merlin finds out."

"Too late for that."

"Shit. Well, thanks anyway."

"Sure."

A flashing light catches my eye. I turn toward it, and see a guard with a torch staring at me inquisitively.

"Lord Andrew, is that you?" the guard asks.

"Yes," I answer. The walls are rough stone, and the smell of decay and dung is strong here.

"Very good, Lord. Wanted to make certain it wasn't a prisoner. Good night." The guard continues his patrol down the hall.

"Night."

I walk down the rough corridor, and find myself in the passage that leads to the Pattern room. I walk in the direction of the stairway, and count two side passages. Strange. Dad said that the other passages lead deep in the mountain, and to nothing but damp caves. I follow the stairs back up to the Castle. Halfway up, a small circle of light flashes from a crevice at my head. I duck, and it spins about before enlarging to about a meter across.

"Andrew," the familiar voice says. "Have you decided to become King?" Ghostwheel seems eager and sounds quite childish.

"Well, I haven't really had time to think about it. Been busy lately."

"It's rather important. I wish you would hurry." His voice takes on a hint of discouragement.

"So, what's the big deal with this King thing? What's in it for me? I can already draw Trumps now, and I am an initiate of the Pattern . . . "

"Oh!" Ghostwheel exclaims, "You can do almost anything! Transport, teleport, plus you control all of the Trump power in the Universe!"

"So, it could save me a really long trip up the stairs by teleporting me to my room?"

"Oh, sure . . . in fact . . . you're there!" I do indeed find myself now in my room. I walk over and lay on my bed.

"Well, that's all and fine, but could I get back to you in a day or so? I've got some things to take care of, and I'd hate to have unfinished business when entering such an important position."

"Of course. I understand. I'll come find you tomorrow." The light narrows to a dot and disappears. I breathe a sigh of relief. One more day to think. A luxury that I am not accustomed to. Just as I lay back to take a quick nap, I am besieged by another Trump.

"Who is it?" I ask.

"Your mother." Mom is dressed in the same dress, only now some rather ornate accompaniments have been added. A two foot tall headdress, flaming bracelets and a matching necklace make her appear rather alien. "It's an hour before the ceremony. Are you ready?"

"No. I need to change really quick."

"Very well. Do so and call me when you are ready."

"Ok."

I begin a frantic search through my closet for something appropriate to wear to a coronation. Too bad Flora's not around. She's so good at these fashion details that I dread. I finally decide on something a bit archaic. A 17th century Shadow Earth black suit, with a cloak will work. I don a green undershirt, and add my gold "rising sun" cloak pin. With sword and matching dagger, I almost appear debonair, if I do have to say so myself. I smile, then contact Mom through her Trump. She appears a bit perturbed at my delay.

"I thought you said it would only take you a few minutes!"

"It did! It's only been five minutes."

"That's about forty minutes here, Andrew. You should consider the relevant time conversions before making promises."

I sigh, and she brings me through. She still has some preparing to do, so one of the servants leads me off to the study to wait. I begin to look around, but before I can find anything of interest, I am rudely interrupted by my brother. He steps quickly inside the door, latching it from the inside.

"Oh, joyous occasion. What the hell do you want?" I ask icily. He approaches, and his hands clench into fists.

"I know your plans, brother. I am here to prevent them by killing you."

"What the hell are you mumbling about Hautheris?"

He closes the distance quicker than I thought he could. Lifting me off the ground, he tries to push me through the wall.

"You want to kill Mother and take her place!" He yells through clenched teeth.

Struggling against his hands, I manage to keep him from crushing my windpipe.

"Why the hell would I do that, dumbass?" I manage to choke out. Hautheris responds by pounding my head against the wall again.

I grit my teeth, and change tactics. Forming my hatred into a mental dagger, I plunge it into his mind, striking again and again. Finally he is forced to set me down or allow his mental defenses to crumble under my assault. I straighten my cloak and collar as he heads toward the door.

"Another time, brother," he says.

"Yes," I answer with an evil smile. "And remember that in the Magical Arts I am your better, brother. Remember, and watch your back!"

He spits an oath and slams the door behind him. I quickly sit before I pass out. After several minutes of breathing, I feel like I should be able to stand. KaVelle and Mom come in, and we rush to get to Thelbane before the ceremony. Hautheris leads the group, which keeps a decent distance between us. A glint of light flies to my cloak pin, and mumbles, "Your brother is quite an asshole."

"Yeah. I might have to take him seriously soon."

"Well, if you become King of Trump, you will have more than enough power to best the likes of him!"

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind. Are you here for a reason, or just to make a political appearance?"

"Well, actually I was going to spy on the ceremony, but since you're here, I figured I spy and speak with you as well."

"Ok."

We find our seats, which are in the second row of the huge amphitheatre. The entire building appears to be constructed out of living fire, but it burns so slowly that it barely moves. It does not produce any heat either. The coronation is like so many you've probably heard about: they bring out the new King-in-waiting, all resplendent in royal cloak, and enough gold to make any dragon happy. A group of the Serpent priesthood pray and intone for good health, judgement and all that, and they crown him. Pretty simple, really. That is, until I spy Mychael sitting about four rows behind me. He's concentrating on something held in his hand - must be a Trump. Then a loud explosion of air rocks the ceremony before it is completed. I turn to find the source of the noise and am shocked by what I see. Prince Brand of Amber, looking almost dead, is laying on the stairs behind me. Mychael is at his side and helps him to rise. A group of Chaos Lords, along with King Eldin rush toward Brand. Osric is leading the rush, his expression a written death warrant with Brand's name on it. I contemplate for a second, then decide.

"Ghost!" I yell, pointing at Brand and Mychael, "Take us to Amber!"

"Your wish is my command, my King," Ghost replies with a hint of amusement in his voice.

A white aura expands from Ghostwheel enveloping the three of us. Everything begins to fade away, all the colors of the rainbow draining away, leaving a pale, pearly white. I hear Mother shouting, and my brother cursing my name. The shouting ends with a feeling of transport. We are free . . .

Brand lay bleeding on my floor, barely breathing. Mychael knelt beside him, trying to stop the flow of blood. I run down the hall and return with some medical supplies, which Mychael accepts, and then turns back to his work. I wander over to my bed, sitting on the edge. What the hell is going on around here? Brand's dead, for gods sake! Yet, here he is, living and bleeding on my floor. Whoever had Brand certainly didn't want him to leave. I remember Osric's reaction when Brand appeared . . . he seemed more angry than any of the others. Obviously, he has some stake involving Brand.

My thoughts are interrupted by Mychael and Brand. Brand is standing, shaking visibly, but Mychael is supporting him from one side. I stare aghast at Brand's condition. His eyes are gone, a scarf now covers the empty sockets. Small lacerations cover his body, along with two large bloody cuts, one along his right leg and the other on his back. Brand's head swivels around, as if seeking something. His sightless gaze finally lands on me.

"Thank you for rescuing me, Andrew," he says, his voice low. "If you can, I need transportation to a place where I can recover safely. I suspect that I will find the same reaction here in Amber as I found in the Courts."

I nod, then absently say, "Sure, not a problem . . . Ghost? Are you still around?"

"Of course," says the Merlin-like voice. A small white circle floats down from the ceiling like a feather on the wind. "You really need to think about my offer, Andrew."

"Yes, but I haven't had time recently."

"So it seems. So, what can I do for you?"

"Can you transport Brand and Mychael somewhere safe?"

"Sure. But where?"

Brand interrupts, "Can you bring me to the blue crystal caves that dampens the powers?"

"Consider it done . . . " Mychael and Brand fade away with white afterimages trailing their departure. Ghost returns a moment later.

"Keep an eye on them, won't you?" I ask.

"Surely. I would recommend that you keep your head low as well, Andrew. Many powerful Lords of Chaos are seeking you this very moment."

"Well, stop them from finding me!" I grab a jacket and head to the door.

"Ok." A long pause. "There. They can't find you now."

"What did you do?"

"I turned off the Trumps. If you become the King of Trump, you will be able to do this as well."

"Oh. I'll think about it."

"Good. I'll be waiting patiently for your answer. Call me when you're ready." The white circle spins off at high speed and fades away. Out the door, I turn left and head down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, I find Lord Henden, the King's Chancellor. He spots me before I can run away.

"Lord Andrew, The Prince-Regent would like to meet with you this evening at dinner, if it is convenient for you." Henden gives me the look that says that this is not a request.

"Sure. That is acceptable."

"Very good, my Lord," he responds, writing my name on a list. "Dinner will be in the Private Hall. Be there promptly at six o'clock."

I nod, and retreat quickly. Through the main hall, I head up the stairs that lead to the Royal Apartments. Staring down the Royal guards standing at the door, I enter. Inside, it smells of death. A group of doctors and nurses stand around the bed, speaking lowly among themselves. They stop speaking as I enter and walk over. Vialle is a sickly white color, and the sheets she is lying on are soaked with sweat from the severe fever she is running. I shoo away the doctors and stand next to her for a moment, thinking of all the things she did for me. For most of my youth I had no mother, and Dad never had the right attitude for fatherhood. He was good at killing things, and had no time for young children. So, Vialle became my mother in all but blood. Damn! I look up at the skies, wondering how the Powers that be always take out their anger on the innocents of the world. Touching her hand, I reach out with my mind, searching for a clue, a hint to her condition. My explorations are blocked by powerful shields, as if she has hidden her soul deep inside her mind so it cannot be rended. The only image I get is a picture of Random, tired, aged and desolate, sitting in the hot sand of a desert. Over and over the image comes, like some kind of signal. Withdrawing my hand, I know what I must do.

The stairs, some six thousand of them, lead down into the deepest part of mighty Kolvir. Down here, in the underdark, is kept the Grand Pattern of Amber, symbol of order and enemy of the more ancient power, the Logrus. I find the door to the Pattern room open, and I enter with some hesitation. Who's down here? Inside, the Pattern is glowing with the effort of initiation. A fiery young man, maybe my age, is undergoing the ritual we all must face if we are to be more than just Shadow. The man is almost finished, entering the final three steps right before the ending of the design. The Pattern flares brightly with each of the three steps, and then he is through. I tremble, remembering the last time I walked the Pattern. I walk over to the closest point to the center, and hail the stranger.

"Hello there? Who are you?" In the dull light of the Pattern, it appears that his hair is dark, like Julian's or Corwin's. The man looks up startled, then relaxes.

"I know you, Andrew. I have seen your Trump. I am Camlin, the son of Deirdre. Why are you here?" He seems younger than I, but I cannot be sure, what with the time flows of the different Shadows.

"Same as you," I respond. "Need to make a difficult trip, and this turns out to be the easiest way."

Camlin smiles, then nods. "Well, have a good trip then," he says, and then vanishes. I walk around to the other side of the Pattern. Taking a deep breath, I step out with my left foot and feel the power surge into my body. The Pattern is easier on me than the first time, when I barely made it through. I believe that this walk is faster than the last time as well. At least it seems like it. At the center, I rest a moment, then concentrate on Random. A feeling of disorientation, and I am gone.

I find myself in a stone city. Everything is made of stone, even the people. I walk down the street, but no one seems to notice me. After a couple of blocks, I decide that this shadow must be near the Courts of Chaos. It is too different to be on the Order side of things. A dull yellow sun rises slowly over my shoulder, causing the dark green sky to lighten to a putrid green color. I continue walking, trying to find a building that looks important, like a government building, or even a church, but the only differences I can see in the buildings are the textures of the stone. Finally, as I turn down a smaller street, one of the stone men notices me and approaches. He is around eight feet tall, and must weigh at least 500 pounds. In a halting form of Thari, he introduces himself.

"Greetings, soft one. I am called Bata' in your language. It would be best if you were to stay with me while you are here in Byrolle. Most of my kind do not relate well to soft ones." He makes a movement with his shoulders which I interpret as a shrug.

"Thanks. I appreciate it," I say, following him back to his small stone home. It is like an apartment, upstairs, but unlike any apartment I've ever been to. This one seems to be made of one continuous piece of stone. Once inside, I ask him about other humans, and give him a description of Random.

"We do not get many human visitors here, and I have never seen one who looks like that," he answers. A noise from outside the door brings Bata' to his feet. He moves to the door, then opens it. Beyond, a group of dark figures attempt to barge into the apartment. I pull my blade, and move to intercept them. Bata' grabs the first one and throws him against the wall. I jump past Bata' and into the stairway, cutting down the first two with quick thrusts. The third one pulls a grenade from his belt, and throws it up at us. I jump down the stairway, as Bata' and his opponent are caught in the explosion. The stonework of the stairwell begins to crumble, and I run outside just as the building collapses. Several of the stone men watch me and the building with interest, and soon the noise has attracted a small crowd. I move down the street, and into a smaller alleyway before these folk put two and two together and get me. A strong Trump call comes through, somehow managing to evade my shields. It's Martin, he seems to be affected by some kind of spell that makes him fade and reappear at random locations. I can hear him call my name, but then he fades away again, before I can grab him. Pulling my own Trumps, I find Martin's and concentrate. He's still blinking, but I manage to grab him by the shirt and drag him through to me. His arms are confined with chains, and he appears dirty and exhausted.

"Quick Andrew! Break the chains!" he yells. Pulling my sword again, I slash the blade down on the chains, breaking them in half. A bright blue flash accompanies the snap as they fall to the ground.

"Thanks, man," he says with a smile. "I found Random, but I was captured and these teleporting chains were put on me. I've been jumping all over the universe, and let me tell you there are some places that not safe for the likes of us." A tinking noise startles me, and something heavy hits me in the leg. I look down, and see another grenade. "Oh shit!" I yell, jumping away from the explosive. The grenade showers me with debris, which I brush off as I stand. Martin is doing the same, and smiles again. "You in trouble again, Andrew?" he asks.

"Nah. Just seem to have this problem with explosives today." Before I can continue, another Trump call interrupts me.

"Hello?" I call out.

"Andrew, it was not very good of you to run off during the coronation. It really looked bad on the family." Mother's stern face glares at me from across a Trump contact.

"Sorry, I had to leave. Emergency business."

"Anything I can help you with?" she asks.

"Sure, if you got the time. I'm looking for Random, and people keep throwing explosives at me."

"Ah," she says. "I can help with that." She reaches out her hand and I pull her through. Turning to Martin, I make introductions.

"Martin, this is Lady Serina, of House Barimen of the Courts of Chaos. My mother. Mother, this is Prince Martin of Amber, Random's son, and Heir to the Throne of Amber." With the introductions out of the way, we head back toward the main street I came in on. So far, no more grenades come my way, although whether this is because of Mom, or because they haven't thrown any, I can't tell. In the larger street, we are spotted by a mob of stone men. We run down the main street, turn a couple times down smaller streets, but they keep coming. Mom yells, "This way!" and turns down a smaller street. I run by Dad, who stands with his two handed sword over his shoulder. "Dad?" I ask, but he just nods and points me back down the alley. The mob runs into Dad, who holds the front of that alley like it was Ghenesh all over again. Only these folk were a bit smarter. As soon as they figured out that every single one of them was going to die if they continued the way they were going, they backed off, and the mob died away like the bad idea it was. Dad walked back into the alley as soon as the creatures had disbanded. His sword was covered with green colored blood, and there were many nicks along his blade where it met a difficult piece of stone. He wipes the blade clean, and used a whetstone to sharpen out the nicks while we talked.

"We need to find Random," Dad begins. I almost scream at him, this being the dumbest statement he's ever made. Mom pulls a Trump, and brings KaVelle through. She nods and smiles at me. Even Dad cracks a little smile when she arrives. Figures.

I figure that Random's abduction was performed by someone from the Courts of Chaos. Having narrowly avoided two groups of Chaosites that were obviously looking for us, we arrive in a Shadow beset by volcanic activity. Rivers of molten lava flow down these mountains and into the plains that we currently occupy. Dad stares into the distance, then walks toward a small group of foothills that have been spared by the fiery display. Set into the foothills is a small cave opening, probably a fissure, beckoning invitingly. Finndo stands before the cave, his arms crossed and a thin smile on his bearded face. Dad stops before him, silent as usually, but I cannot take this shit anymore. Walking past Dad, I stand before him, unable to keep a look of hatred from my face. "Where's Random?" I ask levelly. Finndo looks at me with contempt, and replies, "How should I know?"

"Don't give me your lies, Finndo. You know damn well where he is! Where did you imprison him after you kidnaped him?" I take a step forward, ready to rip his damn arms off.

Finndo looks amused. "Call off your pup, brother. I'd hate to have to teach him some manners."

Pushing past him, I run into the cave. Finndo just turns and watches, still amused by something. The cave is small, roughly dug out of the natural stone. Random is not here. A set of chains hang loosely from the wall. Below the chains is a shirt. I walk over and pick it up. It is brown with yellow trim, and has soaked up a lot of blood. Standing, I see a design carved into the wall, maybe with a dagger. It is an image of the Pattern, about three quarters finished. The others enter, with Finndo following from behind.

"Random was here, "I say. "This is his shirt, which is most likely soiled with his blood, since Finndo doesn't have any scars." I glare at him from across the room. Finndo eyes Dad, then glares back at me again.

Mom breaks the deadly silence. "Benedict, "she says, "Do you have a Trump of Random?" Dad produces the Trump, and Mom continues. "I suggest we attempt to contact Random using our combined power, since he is obviously not here anymore, and more importantly, he is hurt." I nod, and the group of us, sans Finndo, begin staring at the Trump. Random's smiling visage fades away, replaced by an emaciated, sunburned man, collapsed in the sand of a barren desert. He looks up at us like a man possessed, then falls face forward into the sand. I jump through the link before he loses consciousness, and bring him back through. I lower him gently to the floor, and look around for some water. Mom pulls her Trump deck, and says, "Let's head back to my estate, where we can better treat him." I nod, then lift Random in my arms. A moment later, we stand in the study of Mom's estate in Chaos. She calls for servants to bring medical supplies and water, while Dad and I lay him down on the couch. Random mutters incoherently while we clean and bind his wounds, treat his sunburn, and give him some water. He sputters as the water goes down his throat, coming back to consciousness for a few moments. We give him some more water, then allow him to fall back asleep, while we watch his condition. After a few minutes, Mom walks over and asks me to come with her. I follow her into the library, which adjoins the study. She shuts the door, then indicates a posh chair, and seats herself across from me.

"Andrew, " she begins, "We have a problem. Eldin has been assassinated." She pauses a moment, then continues, "You, as eldest of the House of Barimen, are now the Heir to the Throne of Chaos."

I stare at her in obvious shock. Never did it really occur to me that I would actually be in a position to become King of the ancient enemy of my homeland. My thoughts turn to ambition. In position as King of Chaos, I could force change onto the decadent Lords who went so far as to wage war against Amber. I smile smugly to myself, thinking of the damage I could do my enemies. Plus, more importantly, I would spit directly into the eye of my brother Hautheris, who stands right behind me for the Throne. He would have to die, I realize. If I were to take the Throne, he could not be left alive, standing ready to bury a dagger in my back. Returning my attention back to Mom, I give her the political answer.

"I need some time to think about this, Mom." A look of fear crosses her face, but it disappears quickly.

"Andrew, this is not something to take lightly. I think it would be in your best interests if you abdicate to your brother. I do not believe that the Rim Lords will stand by and allow another Amberite to be King of Chaos. I fear that they will kill you, if you do not abdicate." She seems genuinely concerned, but her words sting. She thinks that I am less capable than Hautheris. I level a glare at her, then reply, "If you think that I am going to give that bastard anything, then you are mistaken, Mother. The only gift I will give him is death!" I stand and stomp from the room before Mom can respond. I walk down the hallway, and step into an adjacent hallway to catch my breath, and allow myself to calm down.

A familiar voice speaks from behind me. "What's wrong, Andrew?" I turn, pulling my blade halfway out of its scabbard before realizing its Ghostwheel.

"Well," I say, "I have a big decision to make. One that will have major repercussions across all Reality."

"Sounds important. What is it?"

"The Throne of Chaos. It's mine, should I so choose."

"Oh. Well, I have little experience in the Courts of Chaos, but it seems to me that they are a bunch of capricious backstabbing bastards. And that's their good qualities. But, more importantly, do you want to be King of Chaos? Or are you doing it to spite your brother. Remember, you always have another choice: You can come with me, and become the master of Trump. That will give you power to rival your brother, even should he ascend the Throne of Chaos."

"I'll consider that. Thanks." I turn and head back to the study. Dad is still sitting next to Random. He looks up, and nods as I enter. "Random is feeling better. I think we should return to Amber soon, before too much time flows there." I nod, then ask, "Dad, I've got a problem." He looks up, then grunts. "Well, it seems that I am the next in line for the Throne of Chaos. I am trying to decide whether I should take it or not." Dad pauses a moment, contemplating. "It really depends on you, son. I could have had the Throne of both Amber and Chaos at certain times, but I chose to serve Amber better by not becoming King, and to maintain my loyalty to Amber by not becoming King of Chaos. If your loyalty is to Amber, then you will not take the Throne of Chaos. She would be better served by your presence in Amber, not in Chaos." I sit down in a chair across from Dad, and blank my thoughts. Is it worth it to take the Throne of Chaos, only because I don't want Hautheris to have it? Do I really want to bleed for this place? A vision of Amber, perched atop mighty Kolvir comes to mind. Pride fills my soul, and anger against those who would defy that which I hold above all else. Hautheris, damn you to hell, it appears that you will get what you want. But watch your back, brother, for nothing is over between us. You will die by my hand, your last words a curse for me and mine. Those words I will treasure, as I watch your life slip away.

I snap out of my trance to see Mom and Dad talking quietly. Random still sleeps quietly on the couch. I stand up, and stretch, then walk over to Mom, interrupting their conversation. With an evil grin I say, "You can tell my bastard brother that he can have the Throne of Chaos. I will abdicate in his favor, although it galls me to do so. Tell him to watch his head, lest someone remove it before he dons the Crown." Mom watches me a moment, then smiles. "I think you made the correct decision, Andrew. You don't belong here, and would be unhappy if you stayed." The underlying threat speaks volumes. I smile and nod.

Later, after Random awakens, we travel back to Amber by Trump. The Elder's go into a meeting, which I am not invited to attend. Screw 'em. Instead I head up to my rooms, greeting Uncle Aarold on the stairway. Aarold is a strange man, tall and lanky, looks a little like Bleys, but not exactly. Acts a bit like Random did before he was crowned.

I spend the next hour cleaning up my apartment. Most of my painting supplies are in bad shape. I throw the stuff in the closet for lack of a better place. A knock on the door brings Tekaris and a bottle of wine. Over drinks he fills me in on what's been happening in my absence. Before he can really begin, I am interrupted by a Trump call. Brand, a blindfold wrapped around his blind eyes, smiles a smug grin. "Andrew," he asks, "Could you bring Mychael and I through?"

"Sure," I reply, then extend my hand. Brand grabs the hand without any searching and the two appear in my rooms. Before I can ask Brand how he's feeling, a loud single knock sounds on my door. Opening the door, Dad stands there with an angry look on his face.

"You and Tekaris are required for dinner and the meeting later this evening." He speaks quickly, glaring openly at Brand and Mychael. "Please be more careful with who you associate with, Andrew." Brand smiles a thin smile. Dad closes the door quickly, and his footsteps can be easily heard stomping down the corridor.

"He still doesn't understand, Andrew," Brand says after a moment. "None of them understand. They never did." Brand pauses a moment, then nods, holding out his hand. Duncan appears a moment later.

"Here," he says, holding out some ancient, heavy sword. I grab the blade from him, and he adds, "Some guy in a forest gave it to me. Told me to give it to you." I stare at him, and he shrugs his shoulders. The blade is a dark silver color, engraved with runes along its length. A couple large dark gemstones are set in the pommel.

"Thanks," I reply, taking the blade and strapping in place of my normal blade. The blade is longer than I am used to, but looks to be far more deadly also. Something to look into.

Brand leaves to go speak with his brothers and sisters, Mychael accompanying him. I pour another glass of wine, and sit in my easy chair. Tekaris pulls a small crossbow from somewhere and begins cleaning and oiling the mechanism. I watch him work for a while, drinking three more glasses of wine before a servant arrives to inform us that dinner will be ready within the hour. I nod and wave him off to bother someone else. Tekaris grabs his crossbow, and h