Black Dragon of Amber Book Two: The Road to Amber

by Barbara Bretana

  Gregg dismounted to take care of the horses, Petrus went in search of water and Pire established guard duty for the night watch. One of the two brothers was the cook and his twin started a fire so the other could whip up surprisingly good camp fare.

  The General whose name was Cathorian, sat by himself most of the time. He gave his disability no special favors, brushing and saddling his own mount, even managing to shave every morning. This day, Corwin sat next to him on a stump and handed over a cup of the rich dark brew they called kava and he knew as coffee. Here, they spiced it was salt and cinnamon, not cream. It was strong enough to make a man’s hair curl. He took the proffered cup and sipped nearly burning his lip. It was bubbling hot.

  “Nothing like good hot kava,” he sighed. “So, tell me how did you convince Random to let you sneak into Khafra?”

  Corwin sputtered, hot coffee. “How did–?”

  “I saw you fighting at Cabra. It’s hard not to recognize one of the Nine Princes of Amber, my Lord,” the General shrugged. “What’s the Dragon to you?”

  “My grandson.”

  “But the Prince died!” All of the Shadow Realms knew that Raven, Prince of Chaos and grandnephew of King Random had died in defense of the Queen and Amber.

  “He did. Yet, he still lives on in some fashion.”

  “The Black Dragon. A curse?”

  “Not a curse to us who love him. He wants to be human again, to have a human body. He thinks it’s possible so he took off with two of his friends. Rest assured, General Cathorian. We, that is Random and Amber have no interest in Luke’s throne, just in retrieving Raven and returning home. Not an invasion, a coup or war with Khafra.”

  “We wondered. There were rumors that Amber had sent spies to infiltrate Khafra and the Palace. We suspected that the former Queen was behind it, she seeks to control Luke and failing that, depose him. Do you know the man Ryan Secrest?” Corwin shook his head. “He is the main force behind her battles. Some say he came from a faraway Shadow Realm where techno…legy reigns.” He stumbled over the word. “He has weapons that do not fire here and made others that our people have never seen before.”

  “You’re a half-dozen up on his realm with hippogriffs, harpies, wyverns and dragons,” Corwin laughed. He sobered. “What are you going to do about me?”

  “You, Captain? I’m going to order you to track the beast down, subdue and return it home,” the General bowed, rose and retreated to his tent leaving Corwin alone to search the skies.

  Murphy dropped in on a rush of cool misted air as if the sky was threatening rain only there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Several guards spotted him and rushed up, swords drawn but when they saw the Captain conversing easily with the winged creature, they relaxed. When introduced, all they did was nod in acceptance. After all, what was a gargoyle compared to a Dragon?

  *****

  Marcus drew in a long shuddering breath of pain and tried to ignore his whimpers. He wondered how Raven had endure years of it when he had spent only an hour hanging from his wrists. He had expected blood and broken bones, torn flesh, eye gouging but all he had to show for the incredible pain he felt was faintly loosened skin. Still, he had not said one word about Raven, Roelle or why he was there.

  “Stubborn boy,” the torturer said in a guttural clip. “Talk or I’ll make you bleed. Pull out your fingernails and burn off your balls.” He reached down for Marcus’ sac and cupped them. Marcus swiveled and tried to kick the man’s away hands away but succeeded only in hurting himself. “Nice pair you got there, boy. Fancy grilled oysters myself. They taste right nice sautéed in butter and garlic.” He went back to work, stopping only when his victim was unconscious in the chains. Called the lackeys who took him down and dragged him back to his cell to throw him on the floor where he lay in his own vomit.

  The guard checked in on him, reported to the duty Sergeant who went up the chain of command to the King. It took hours before the report made it to Luke’s desk and another day before the king read it. When he finally opened the note, he cursed and threw on his coat as he hurried down the hallways. His bodyguards fell in beside him, glancing at each other before they followed. His destination was the dungeons.

  *****

  Evril, Roelle and Evraign huddled around the centuries-old blueprints of the Palace as he studied the surprisingly modern sewage system that linked the upper and lower levels and especially the dungeons.

  “If he’s in this section, we can access it,” the bookbinder said and swallowed. “These are the condemned cells.”

  “Surely they won’t kill him?” Roelle whispered. “Not for stealing?”

  “If they think he was here to harm the King or as a spy, yes they would,” Evraign said slowly.

  “But they’ll torture him first. We have to move fast. Ev, pack our bags and we’ll leave at first moonrise. Until then, we can memorize the maps. Lock the door, we’ll close early so that we have time to get ready.”

  “Won’t it be suspicious if you’re closed?” Roelle asked.

  “It’s a minor feast day and I usually close half day,” he shrugged. “It’s the Feast of the Fallen Star.”

  “Fallen star?”

  “A comet or something that fell hundreds of years ago and opened a doorway to Amber. One of the old Kings bound the core of it and made it into a State Relic. It’s in the Treasury or was. No one has seen it in two hundred or so years.”

  “What’s the riddle of the Seven Stars?” Roelle asked.

  “It’s a legend about seven objects that confer great power on a spell and how to activate it. Why?”

  “Is that what your friend entered the palace to steal? If he tells them that, he will die.” Evraign stated. There was nothing else for them to do until wait for nightfall.

  The moons, three in all rose at equal intervals at night, marking the hours of ten, twelve and fourteen. Precise enough to set a clock by and as the first shed her olivine light on the landscape, the trio left the shop by way of the back gate and exited onto the rooftops. No one but a few stray cats saw them tread quietly on the flat roofs of the residential section and descend to the outskirts of the slums where the sewage plant was located.

  The smell wasn’t bad and the building in pristine shape. When asked, Roelle was told that not only was magic used to return the waste to clean water but also something called science that the King had overseen.

  Beneath an old janitor’s cubbyhole was a door that led to an ancient staircase. By the amount of dust on the concrete floor, they knew no one had been inside in years. The staircase dropped to a room where tubes of clay sprouted from the ceiling like mushrooms. Some were cold and others warm yet none leaked or were wet with condensation. A soft mist hung near the ceiling and when Roelle lit one of Marcus’ Wyche balls, the vapor hissed against the surface. Lighting up the distance like a lance, the light shone a far way, an interminable length of pipes and hallways branching off the main corridor.

  Evraign stated, “we stay on the main sewage line until the eighth left-hand turn and after that, it’s always a second right until we reach the main passage in the dungeon.”

  “A regular subway system,” Roelle said and explained at their blank looks. “It’s something my friend used to say.”

  “Used to? Has he passed?” Evril asked.

  “Sort of.”

  “Sort of?” But she would not explain further. It took them nearly 2 hours to walk the tunnel system because it was not a straight shot and several of the passageways had collapsed in the intervening centuries. Twice, they stumbled over skeletons that had the patina of ancient bones covered by scraps of cloth which time had bleached all colors from its threads. One even had the rusted metal of an old cuff on one ankle with a short chain attached. When Evril lifted the last link, it had been smashed open. “I wonder who they were,” he whispered and Roelle’s eyes discerned that it was a woman from the shape of the pelvis and not an old woman. Her spinal processes were still clean and undamaged by arthritis.


  “Before Jasra, there was Alexander the Terrible and before that, the Impaler and a dozen others who treated Khafra like a slave colony. It’s only since Luke’s taken over that we’ve seen peace and prosperity. That’s why this thing with Amber worries the people so much. They don’t want war with Random or her allies but they don’t want to be a satellite state, either,” Evraign sighed.

  “King Random has no interest in going to war with Khafra,” Roelle swore. “Nor King Merlin.”

  “Merlin?”

  “The ruler of the Courts of Chaos. He and Random are allies and related. They share a common bond.”

  “You know a lot about the politics of Amber,” the bookbinder said.

  “I’m from Amber,” Roelle confessed. “We’re here to save my friend’s life, nothing else.”

  “Let’s hope we’re in time.”

  Chapter 22

  Luke lifted the boy’s head off the concrete floor, put his finger on the pulse point in his throat and ordered the guards to bring the Royal physician. Gently, he lifted the boy up onto the cot and went over every inch of his body checking for broken bones and wounds. “Did he say anything?” He asked the interrogators.

  “Oh unicorn and he cried for his mother,” the man said.

  “I told you not to maim him,” Luke said, his jaw clenching in anger.

  “I didn’t, sire,” he protested. “No broken bones and nothing torn or cut.”

  “Why is he unconscious, then?”

  “Well, I questioned him. Can’t question a prisoner without causing pain. Pain makes some nits pass out.”

  “He’s more than ‘passed out’, Geller. He’s unconscious with a fast heart rate and pounding pulse. In shock. What’s his name? Did you get that, at least?”

  “Marcus, he said his name was Marcus,” the torturer shrugged. “He mentioned a girl and a bird. That was it.”

  “A bird?” Luke’s interest rose.

  “A crow or something and Roelle.”

  “Roelle. He mentioned her before,” Luke snapped his fingers. “Isn’t there a barony near the border on the Golden Coast called Loest?” He turned to his bodyguard.

  “Yes, sire. The Baron Rouen of Loest.”

  “Didn’t they just have a wedding there?”

  “I heard that the youngest son got married and that the King of Amber sent gifts. One of which was a Dragon shield.”

  “Dragon shield?” Luke remembered the black scale that he had found in the boy’s pocket. Made a decision and spoke. “Take the boy to the Seashell Room, put a guard outside his door and send Arianas to see to him.”

  “Yes, sire. How are we to treat him?”

  “As if he were visiting royalty. He may be one of Random’s nobles, although he doesn’t look it. Send a squad through the city and look for a noble woman, young and blonde with lavender eyes, if I remember the look of Loest’s kin.”

  “At once, sire.” The guard gestured and another man gathered Marcus in his arms, threw him over his shoulder and followed Luke back into the Palace.

  Marcus opened his eyes slowly, carefully and thought he was dead. Nothing hurt and his body was softly cuddled in an incredibly comfortable bed. He smelled clean and fresh, and felt silk and satin under him. Someone leaned over, lifted his eyelids and he jerked in fear.

  “Easy, boy. No one’s going to hurt you,” a strange voice said. “I’m Doctor Arianas. I’ve treated you and given you some pain medicine. How are you feeling?”

  “I’m not dead?” Marcus gaped and sat up so fast he nearly brained the physician. He placed his hands on Marcus’ shoulders and pushed him back against the pillows.

  “No, son. Not dead. You’re in the Palace in the Seashell Room.”

  Marcus stared. The entire room was done in motifs of sea shells, the bed was shaped like a conch shell and the chairs like clams. The colors were muted and peaceful. “What? I was in the dungeons–.” He started, perplexed.

  “I know. I found you there in rather poor shape. Your…testicles were rather…bruised.” Marcus shivered and grabbed them. “Don’t worry, they’re not damaged. Although Geller has been known to rip off a man’s equipment.”

  “Please,” Marcus said brokenly. “Don’t talk about it. Why am I here?”

  “King Luke ordered it,” the Doctor said.

  “But why? I didn’t say anything, did I?” The boy was terrified.

  “Nothing but your name and the girl’s. Is it true that you come from Amber?”

  “How did you know that?” he turned wide eyes on the doctor.

  “I didn’t. King Luke suspected it. Who are you?”

  “Marcus Ainsletter. I’m nobody. Not a spy, just a common thief.”

  “Oh, certainly not common, Master Ainsletter,” Luke said entering the room with his bodyguard. “I know who you are, Marcus Ainsletter, son of Amber’s top Chef, friend to Raven, Prince and compatriot of Lady Roelle Rouen, daughter of the Baron of Loest.” Marcus shut his mouth. “Want to tell me why you’re really here?”

  “Nothing to do with you, sire,” Marcus gulped.

  “Perhaps to retrieve the Black Dragon?”

  “Black Dragon?” He stuttered.

  “It seems he has invaded Khafra and is helping my mother Jasra with her scheme.”

  “No! Not willingly! Raven would never do that!” he protested and shut his mouth like a snapping turtle when he realized what he had said.

  The King patted him on the hand. “Don’t worry, Marcus. You haven’t said anything to incriminate anyone or thing. Really, I’m not your enemy and I don’t want to hurt you. Just tell me why you’re here.”

  “I told you. I came to steal something so I could help a friend.”

  “Roelle? She doesn’t need money, she’s a Baron’s daughter and works for the Queen.”

  “Her father wants her to marry,” he blurted out. “And---.”

  “He doesn’t approve of you, a chef’s son?” Luke prompted, amused that on Amber, an important Chef like his father wasn’t considered nearly as high as a rock star was on Shadow Earth.

  “Just a cook’s son,” Marcus said, his lip twisted and the King saw the look in the boy’s eyes.

  Oh ho, he thought. Unrequited love? “She loves someone else?” he asked sympathetically and knew he was dead on when the boy paled. On a red-head’s complexion, it looked awful.

  “She can’t---he’s not---it’s not possible,” Marcus moaned. “This is all my fault!”

  “The Dragon? She’s in love with the Black Dragon? Marcus, look at me. Maybe I can help. My mother is a Witch, in more ways than one, but she might have a spell that can help. Is that why you came, to steal something to help the Dragon?”

  “It’s all my fault,” Marcus moaned.

  “I swear on the friendship I have with Merlin, Raven’s father, that I will aid you, Marcus. I’ll swear by the Unicorn, too if you want although I don’t believe in it.”

  “You’ll swear on the blood of the Dragon?” Marcus returned and the air chilled as the power of that vow whipped through the room and the hair on the back of their necks lifted and prickled, the air shimmered and there was music trilling in the background. Both Pattern and Logrus waited.

  “I swear,” King Luke vowed as he felt the faintest touch of magic brush him on the forehead, lips and heart.

  “You and your kingdom are bound in blood to honor this or curses will haunt your legacy,” Marcus stated. He looked suddenly exhausted. “I came to find the documents alluded to in a treatise from a wizard called Ozyandias that mentioned a transformation spell. Something called the Riddle of the Seven Stars.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the Dragon is all that’s left of Raven, Merlin’s son and he wants to be human again so that he and Roelle can be…together.”

  “How noble of you, Marcus,” Luke admired sincerely. “A real Tristan and Isolde tragedy. Or, more like Lady Hawke.”

  “Huh?” Marcus said.

  “Never mind. This realm isn’t ready for Holl
ywood yet. Great chick flick, though. You’d be Mouse. Ah well, you want to see the scrolls. Laister, bring me that scroll I have in the bookshelf under the yellow Rose medallion. It’s in a white birch case.”

  “Aye, sire.” The bodyguard hesitated.

  “Go, Jess and Ellis are outside the door and the boy’s no threat to me. As he vowed, it protects him from me and me from him.”

  “Aye, sire,” Laister bowed and slipped out the door.

  “Uh, any chance of getting something to eat or drink? No one’s fed me since I was down there,” the boy said.

  Luke nodded and pulled a cord hanging from the bed pole. It had little bells dangling from the end. In seconds a quiet woman dressed in gray uniform with white cuffs and collar, apron and sensible clogs entered, curtsied and waited.

  “Jenny, please bring Marcus something to eat and drink. Wine, tea–?” He looked at Marcus.

  “Blue’s best?” He grinned.

  “Blue’s best. Two, please. Bring me a sandwich also. I missed lunch because of you, young man.”

  “At once, sire.” She disappeared as quietly as she had entered.

  Both the guard and the food arrived at the same time. Luke saw that the young man was torn between the need for sustenance and knowledge so he stepped in. “Eat first, that way nothing will damage the parchments. They are rather old and a State Relic,” he ordered. Marcus dove into the pile of sandwiches, some of which he had never tasted before.

  “Whas this?” He mumbled around a mouthful.

  “Corned beef on rye with sauerkraut and Thousand Island dressing. Fried crab on sourdough. Tuna melt, pastrami on rye.”

  “Gods. Have to get the recipes for my dad.” He swallowed the enormous mouthful with half a bottle of ale and burped.

  “You might want to quit before you make yourself sick, Marcus,” the king warned. “Your stomach might be a bit touchy.”

  “Good idea. But leave the plate for later.” He exited the bed to hobble over to the table where the King had laid out the scrolls and Marcus’ wizards’ bits and pieces. Unrolling the thin sheet with careful hands, he saw the archaic writing that he and Raven had seen before. Read the riddle:

  Go and catch a Falling Star

  And bend it with a swimmer’s fears.

  The Star that grows on Sinking Sands,