My Master was in his study when he called me forth. I hurried after his manservant shoving the last piece of bread into my mouth from breakfast. He met me at the door and slapped the mask on me so I knew I would be present for a meeting with men he did not want recognizing me. Today, he wore blue denim pants and a long-sleeved shirt underneath what looked like body armor. His robe that swirled around his legs and twisted the eyes. He held the door and pointed, I went to his high-backed chair and stood silently behind it. The room was small, held a large square table and enough chairs to seat a dozen. High-backed, carved of a spiral wood, and with comfortable cushions, they were beautiful. The table held accents that indicated it was a matched set, a spiraling on the edges and feet. The wood was warm to the touch and I stroked it when I though he was not watching. The walls were white-washed and painted with spells so that nothing could enter without the Master’s permission, no spells, no thoughts and once inside, no one could spy on the occupants. Under our feet, bare polished wood shone with a gleam of hand rubbing. On one wall were bookcases filled with volumes both large and mysterious. I had touched one once and woke up bent over the whipping post to find the Master seriously pissed. It was the last time I touched anything of his without express permission. He called it his Star Chamber, the equivalent of a safe house.
Within the next ten minutes, four more people entered and took up seats around the work table. Several eyed me but made no comments. Hours went by as the group discussed a plan to disrupt a trade affair and an assassination. I heard the name General Gracchus several times and had the opportunities to study the conspirators.
Mostly human, average height with the look of sleek, well-fed merchants. Two had dark hair and blue eyes, the build of a swordsman or warrior. My Master allowed no weapons inside his study save for what I wore. He had armed me with a tiny dagger shaped like a leaf and held between my middle four fingers. It could bite deeper than it looked and was designed for ripping out major veins and arteries so that its victims bled out silently, internally and swiftly.
“The party of Telemachus and Tissarette are meeting at the Anniversary Celebration,” my Master spoke. “The Minister of War, General Gracchus will be there to celebrate the second anniversary of the War’s end. There will be delegates, Ministers, and Diplomats from all over the Realm and the important Shadows. There is even a rumor that the King of the Courts will be there.”
A murmur ran through the small room and all of them shuddered. They knew of the magic and power of the Demon King, Merlin. He ruled firmly, disposing of his enemies swiftly and mercilessly, was a staunch ally of Random. It was said he had even put to death his own mother or so the rumors had it. She had certainly not been seen or heard from in the last few years. Not since a certain incident involving a child from a shadow Prince Corwin called home.
“My spies have determined the agenda and itinerary of the General, the King and his personal Guards. He will attend something called a Rockfest on the second morning of the week-long event. In the Park that borders the hills above the city. It is heavily forested and not easily guarded; we have a way in. The General will be there as a participant, not as security. He is a...band member. I believe he plays the...drums.”
My Master gestured and reached behind his chair to draw me out. I stood at his right hand dressed in smoky garments that deflected the eyes so that to them I was a shifting pillar of smoke topped by a sinister bird’s face of black metal. “My Blackbird will flit in and take first, Gracchus, his life blood and then mark the King,” he said fondly, stroking his hand on the top of my head. I laid my lips on his palm. Felt the cool rush of blood through his wrist. “So cold, Corbel,” he seemed surprised. “You are so cold.”
“Why not kill Random while he has the chance?” the man nearest the door asked. I had seen him before, he was a frequent visitor, a powerful lord on the border between Amber and Laoli, his barony had backed Eric’s takeover and not fared well after Eric’s defeat. He had come back by trading in slaves and grave robbing both sides. He was not welcome in Amber, although trade was now open between his shade and theirs. His name was Baron Resonant.
“To take the King of Amber’s life is not our plan,” my Master shrugged. “It is the death of the entire Realm we seek and to put our own bloodline atop the Shadow Kingdoms.”
“The bloodlines of Amber are imbued with the power of the Pattern,” Resonant said. “Not a one of us could walk the Pattern and survive.”
My Master laughed. Stood up and dragged me with him. Shoved me forward and pulled off the mask I had worn these two or more years. “Not even could I walk the Pattern,” he agreed. “But this broken, enslaved, docile toy that I have painstakingly recreated can. He is of the blood of Amber, he has and can walk the Pattern. He can slip into the Castle and put a knife blade where I tell him.”
“Who is he, Lucian?” they demanded and he answered.
“He was once called Prince Raven, son of Merlin, grandson of Corwin of Amber. Now, he is the Blackbird of my desire and will do anything I ask.”
“Bullshit.” Resonant spoke a word he should not know. I stared at him in confusion. It was an English word and came to me from a place long and far away, from the place where I had died.
“Corbel?” I returned my attention to my Master, lest I be punished.
“Master,” I said in the barely audible tone he preferred.
“Cut your throat and show these painted warriors how you will die to please me.”
“Master.” I pulled the leaf blade from my wrist sheath and thrust it into my throat. Blood spurted, thick and rich in time with the beat of my heart to splash against the wall. My mouth filled with blood.
“Blackbird, you are staining my clothes,” he said calmly so I moved aside. Blood pooled at my feet, I shivered as the cold crept up my legs. My vision sparkled and it was harder to remain upright. I sagged, put out a hand to hold myself up but let it fall when I touched the arm of his chair. Next, I was on the floor at his feet, his eyes locked on mine.
“Corbel?”
“Master?” My voice was lower than a whisper. I could barely hear it.
“Are you dying?”
“Yes, Master.” I wanted to close my eyes but even in death, I was afraid of his whip and tortures.
“Do you think I will let you die, Blackbird?”
“You...do...what will...Master.” It was a sigh, a mere whistle of a breath.
He grabbed me by the throat and pulled me off the floor, held me all six foot as if I weighed nothing. He recited a spell and a burning sensation filled my throat, the blood on the boards glittered, rose up and was absorbed back inside me. Carefully, he pulled the leaf dagger from my neck and held me just on my tiptoes. Breathed into my mouth with a foul corruption that I wanted to gag on but was afraid to. I swallowed.
He turned to face the conspirators. “Can you command such obedience, such loyalty? I own his soul.” He set me down, placed the mask back on my face and sent me to my hole to recover.
I lay in the corner of his bedroom, shivering in terror with tears covering my face feeling the sensation of my blood draining out of me while I could do nothing.
His servants brought food and left it. I could not eat. Not even the delicacies of real meat and fresh fruit instead of the bread, cheese and water that was my daily fare. It was late when he came to bed; he ignored me as his valet Steen removed his robes, light body armor and helped him into nightwear. He read for an hour by the light of a lantern powered by a spell before he sighed, dog-eared and closed the book, only then calling me.
On my knees, I crawled as I had been taught. “You did not eat, my men told me. You have been crying. I thought I had taken all your tears.” His cold gray eyes devoured my face. “Do you wish to be punished for disobeying my orders, Corbel?”
“No, Master.” He could barely hear me.
“Why are you crying?”
“Because you did not want me anymore. You threw me away.”
He laughed. “Oh, Blackbird, my Crow, my Raven. I want you in more ways than you can imagine. You are a lovely, shivering piece of meat. But, if I use you that way, I corrupt my magic and cannot work the difficult spells. Your value would be null. I thought your experiences in the brothels I gave you would have tempered those urges. Do you lust after young men, women? Girls? Rape? Or do you prefer to masturbate with a knife? I can arrange such diversions for you if you need release.”
I stared at him in confusion and then dropped my eyes. “Corbel, you are still such an innocent. Bring me my whip.”
“Master,” I pleaded hopelessly and went to fetch it. Outside his room at the end of the servants hall so that all within his household knew of my punishment. He was kind, though, he only kissed me ten times with a whisper, not one a kiss of death. I lay on the floor with my cloak ripped into shreds, my blouse a rag but only thin stripes of raised welts on my back. As he finished, he groaned in pleasure and I sobbed myself to sleep.