Raising my boot, I knocked over King Elnar’s pole. His head did not roll free. I bent to pry it off, but then I discovered it was not stuck on top of the pole, but had somehow become a part of it… flesh and wood grown together in a horrible mingling of the two.

“Liege-killer!” the heads shouted.

“Traitor!”

“Murderer!”

“Assassin!”

“Hell-creatures—help us!”

I pulled the pole free from the ground. A little more than four feet from end to end, it only weighed twenty pounds or so. I raised it easily over my head and smashed the head-part on the nearest stone with all my strength.

King Elnar’s face shattered, but instead of bone and brains, a pulpy green mass and what looked like sap sprayed out. It smelled like fresh-cut lumber.

Half sobbing, I smashed it again and again until the head was completely gone. Then I used the pole to smash the other heads, too. All the time they screeched their insults and called on the hell-creatures for help.

They couldn’t help it, I told myself. They were no longer the people I had known.

Finally it was done. Alone again, I stood there, listening to the wind moan softly through the battlefield, the smell of fresh wood mingling with the carrion stench. Rain pattered down harder. Darkness began to fall. Lightning flickered overhead.

Turning, still dragging the pole, I looked toward Kingstown. Perhaps I could find answers there… or a way back to Juniper. I needed time to rest and think and gather my wits.

Then I heard the one sound I feared most: distant hoofbeats. A lot of them. Hell-creatures? Answering the heads’ frantic calls?

I didn’t doubt it. The hell-creatures must have left the heads to watch for my return. And they had betrayed me as soon as I arrived.

Desperately, I looked around. There was no one left alive to help me here, and no place to make a stand. I might hide among the fallen bodies for a time, but a search would find me soon enough, and I didn’t look forward to a night spent lying motionless in cold mud.

I snatched up a fallen sword, only to discover it was chipped and bent in the middle. The second one I grabbed was broken. Damn Dworkin and his no-swords-in-the-workshop rule! If I’d had my own blade, I might have stood a chance.

With darkness falling rapidly now and rain drumming incessantly, I didn’t have time to hunt for a weapon I could use. With the hell-creatures approaching, I had to find cover, and fast. In my current condition, I didn’t think I’d last two minutes against any determined attack.

I ran toward Kingstown. Perhaps it still stood. Perhaps the remains of King Elnar’s army had rallied there and still held it. Though I knew the chances were slim, it seemed my only remaining option.

At the very least, I might find a place to hide until morning.

Kingstown was a burnt-out ruin.

When I topped the small hill overlooking the town, tongues of lightning showed nothing but blackened rubble. Not a single building remained. Here and there stone chimneys still stood, marking the passing of this place like gravestones. I would find no help here. Oberon… 

A distant voice seemed to be calling my name. I gazed around me in surprise. “Who’s there?”

Aber. Think of me. Reach out with your thoughts. I tried to picture him in my mind. As I concentrated, an image of him grew before me, wavered, and became real.

“It is you!” I gasped. Perhaps my situation wasn’t as desperate as I’d thought.

“Yes. Dad said he… lost you, somehow. I thought I’d try your Trump. Where are you now? What happened?”

“I’m cold, wet, and tired. Can you get me back home?”

He hesitated only a second. “Sure.”

“Thanks.”

He reached out his hand toward me, and I did the same toward him. Our fingers touched somewhere in the middle. He gripped my wrist firmly and pulled me forward. I took a step—

—and found myself standing in a room lined with tapestries of dancers, jugglers, and scenes of merriment. An oil lamp hung from the ceiling, spreading a warm yellow light. A rack of swords, a cluttered writing table, a high canopied bed, and two plain wooden chairs completed the furnishings.

I glanced behind me, but another wall stood there now, this one lined with shelves full of books, scrolls, shells, rocks, and other odds and ends such as anyone might accumulate over the years. Ilerium, Kingstown, and the hell-creatures had vanished.

“Is this—?” I began.

“My bedroom.”

Only then did I relax. Safe. Back in Juniper. I found myself trembling from sheer nervous exhaustion. I had never felt so helpless before.

But I had escaped.

“You look like a drowned rat!” he said, laughing a bit.

I glanced down. Rain had plastered my clothes to my body. Mud and sap and wood-pulp had splattered my pants and boots. Water dripped from my hair, trickled down my forehead and cheeks, and dripped from my chin.

“I feel like a drowned rat,” I told him. “Sorry about the mess.” Gingerly I lifted first one then the other foot. My boots left a muddy brown smear. Water began to pool all around me.

“That’s okay.”

“But your carpets—” They had to be worth a small fortune!

He shrugged. “Oh, I don’t care. They can be cleaned or replaced. Having you back safe is what matters. Now, sit down—you look like you’re about to collapse!”

“Thanks.” I took two steps and sank heavily onto one of his spare wooden chairs. My clothes squished. Water ran in my eyes. I just wanted to find a warm dry place and curl up there for the next month. “I think this has probably been the worst night of my life.”

“What have you got?” Aber asked.

“Huh?” I looked down and realized I still held the pole… the one upon which King Elnar’s head had been stuck. I let it drop to the floor. Somehow, I never wanted to see it again. It was cursed or bewitched or both.

“I was going to defend myself with it,” I said half apologetically. “Hell-creatures were hunting me.”

His eyes widened. “Hell-creatures! Where were you?”

“Back home… the Shadow I came from… Ilerium.”

“How did you get there?”

“Dad did something. He was trying some experiment, some idea he had to get around my using the Logrus.” Taking a deep breath, I pulled off first one boot, then the other. Half an inch of water sat inside each. After a moment’s hesitation, I put them down next to the chair.

“Well?” he demanded. “Did it work?”

“I don’t think so. It gave me a headache, then somehow he dumped me back in Ilerium—that’s the place I grew up. King Elnar—his whole army—had been butchered. The hell-creatures had burned the town, too. I don’t think anyone survived. And they were still there, waiting for me. If not for you…”

“I’m sorry,” he said sympathetically.

“It can’t be helped,” I said heavily. It seemed I’d escaped my destiny. Dad really had saved me. “If I’d stayed behind to fight the hell-creatures, I’d be dead, now, too.”

“You look half frozen as well as half drowned,” he observed. “How about a brandy?”

“Please!” I pushed wet hair back out of my eyes.

An open bottle and a glass sat on the writing table. He poured me a large drink, which I downed in a single gulp, then a second one, which I sipped.

Rising, I went over to the fireplace. It had been banked for the evening, and its embers burned low, but it still radiated warmth. It felt good to just stand before it, basking like a cat in a sunny window.

Aber threw on a couple more split logs, then shifted the coals with a poker. Flames appeared. The logs began to burn. The room grew warmer, and I toasted myself quite happily front and back.

“How did you bring me here?” I asked him. “The Logrus?”

“Yes.” He went back to the writing table, picked up a Trump, and brought it back to show me. It had my picture on it. In typical fashion, he had drawn me holding a candlestick and peering into darkness.