Of the Blood
Disclaimer: see Chapter 1.
Chapter 6
Return of the living dead
Fiona stared at her deck of trumps. She was sitting in a comfortable chair in her own sitting room. Two servants stood outside, instructed to stop anyone trying to knock at her door. The fragrant smell of incense drifted through the chamber. Everything in the situation was arranged to make her at ease.
Well, almost everything.
Fiona regarded her cards. On top lay Bleys, her full blood-brother, smiling at her. She wondered where he was. Probably gone away to 'find some action' after the Patternfall War. He would be quite upset to find out what he'd been missing, she thought – unless her elusive brother was involved in it already. No way to find out, except calling him.
She had another full blood-brother to call first.
Fiona thumbed trough her trump deck from bottom to top. First, she passed the trumps of her long-deceased siblings Finndo and Osric, their pictures fresh as if painted yesterday, but for the thin layer of dust on the top.
Next came Oberon, her father. She turned his card over quickly.
Then came Dierdre. Such a waste.
Then – there he was, all clad in green, riding on a white horse: Brand. Fiona could only guess at the knowledge those inscrutable eyes hid for her. She breathed in and out until she was sure she did no longer emanate fear. Then she concentrated on Brand's picture.
It took a long time before Fiona felt anything. Then, the image of Brand dissipated in a vague, red mist. Only his eyes remained gazing at her, far more intense than they had been painted. Fiona held her ground, however.
"Well, well," a faint voice hissed that was unmistakeably Brand's. "My sweet sister Fiona. How are you on this lovely day?"
"Better than you, I would guess," Fiona replied. Her eyes scanned Brand's background for clues of his whereabouts, but through the lazily pulsating red mist, she could only discern a wall made of heavy, moldy bricks.
"On the contrary, sister," the voice lisped. "For me, great promises lie ahead. I bet you burn to know how I got out of the Abyss, don't you?"
"In the current situation, it is a point of academic interest," Fiona answered. She desperately wanted to know, but she was not giving in to her mad brother if she couldn't help it.
"Ah... Always academic interest," Brand mused. "Shouldn't a woman of your... appearance also explore different interests? Too much time spent in books can drive one mad, you know. Wouldn't you rather trade the library for the throne? Ruling Amber and all of Shadow? You could be a queen fit for a king – a king like me. Wearing the Jewel of Judgment would surely let me feel whole again."
"You mean," Fiona replied, "after I captured you, imprisoned you and would have stabbed you to death except for that fool Gérard? You would destroy me the first chance you got."
"Of course, my dear sister. But I was planning on doing that anyway – along with the complete and utter destruction of Amber and the Primal Pattern, so I was really being quite generous."
"Destroying Amber?" Fiona smiled. Maybe she could draw Brand out – depending on how sane he was at the moment. He certainly didn't look as if he was in possession of his full mental – let alone physical - capacities. "You and what army?"
"Ask Julian, sweet sister – provided he's not too preoccupied with dying at the moment. See you!" Brand winked and the red-misted image disappeared.
Immediately, Fiona grabbed Julian's trump.
As Julian came into focus, Fiona saw that he sat sagged against a tree stump. His mighty armour was dented and bruised, and blood trickled down his nose. Before him lay the dead body of Corwin, Greyswandir still clutched in his hand, empty eyes staring hatefully up at the sky.
Fiona's mind raced through the possibilities. This couldn't be. Then, as she saw the corpse of Benedict lying a few metres further away, obviously felled by a sword thrust through the guts, she knew that it really couldn't be.
"Ha, Fiona," Julian muttered, "I was wondering when you would get wind of this."
"What happened?" she asked.
"Come and see for yourself." With some difficulty, Julian extended his hand. Fiona took hold of it and stepped through.
The floor of the forest of Arden was strewn with corpses: not only of Corwin and Benedict, but also of other members of the royal family. Fiona winced at seeing herself lying face down in the mud, her grey-and-green robe a mess of dirt and blood. The body smelled of urine and sweet decay.
She was not surprised to see that only one family member was lacking: Brand. Corwin and she, on the other hand, seemed to be present in exceptionally large numbers. Fiona estimated there must be at least a few dozen fake Amberites lying around.
Julian's soldiers were busy binding their wounds. Those who were still able to fight, regrouped near a clearing in the woods. Soft moans and barked orders carried through the otherwise quiet forest.
Fiona squinted. It wasn't just a clearing: it was a broad path of dirt, brown leaves and dead trees leading off to the south. Not a stalk of grass on the path was alive anymore. It was as if a giant bulldozer had driven straight through Arden – obviously heading for mount Kolvir and the castle of Amber.
"One of my hawks flew over it," Julian coughed. "Immediately fell to the ground. Dead. Looks like somebody has been laying blood curses again."
"These came from the path?" Fiona asked, prodding the dead Corwin with her boot.
"They were dead when they shambled into the forest," Julian nodded. "Put up quite a fight, still. My scouts tried to follow the road through Shadow to its source, but it kept slithering away from them. They didn't dare to cross it, either. Only the dead may walk there."
"You have called for reinforcements?"
"Gérard will be coming soon with fresh soldiers."
"That's arranged, then." Fiona glanced again at the zombie that bore her image, drew her card of Castle Amber and concentrated.
Only the dead may walk there...
She definitely had to create a certain trump.