“Not much chance of that with you on guard. How about some food?” I felt a yawning emptiness inside. “And wine. Lots of wine.”

“Are you sure that's wise?”

I hesitated. He was probably right.

“Okay, skip the wine. I'm starving. If you can find it, I want something plain. Bread, cheese, maybe a meat pie—whatever you can scrounge up on short notice.”

He hesitated, glancing toward the door. “The dining hall is downstairs. Dinner won't be served for another two or three hours. Do you think you can make it?”

“I… I think I'll eat here.” I wasn't ready for stairs just yet.

He reached into the air and pulled a dinner tray from nothingness, then set it on the table. Bread, cheese, a sharp knife, and a large glass of what looked like cider of some kind.

“Thanks. Join me?”

“Not yet. I—”

He broke off as a bell sounded outside. It rang three times, then grew still. From the way his brow furrowed, I didn't think it was good news.

I said, “What's the alarm for?”

“Visitors.”

“The unwelcome kind?”

“I… don't know.” He rose, took a step toward the door, paused. “Don't go to sleep,” he said ominously, “or else. There's plenty more water where that pitcher came from. I'll be back in a couple of minutes.”

“I won't go back to sleep,” I said with a chuckle, trying to appear innocent. “After three days of it, lying down is the last thing on my mind right now.”

“Hmm.” He gave me a suspicious look, then shut the door. I heard his footsteps receding on the other side.

The food did look good. I carved a large chunk off the cheese and chewed it slowly. Sharp and well aged, with a slightly smoky aftertaste, it was quite delicious. I took another bite. No sense waiting for my brother if he wasn't going to eat.

The bread, warm and crusty, went well with the cheese. The cider didn't appeal to me much—it had always struck me as a child's drink unless properly laced with spirits—but it washed everything down satisfactorily.

I finished everything, then sat back, feeling full and vaguely content. No sounds came from the hall, and the bell did not ring again.

Then I heard a distant banging sound, followed by a couple of softer bangs. Doors? Windows opening to air out some long-unused parlor?

Much as I hoped for a simple, harmless explanation, doubts crept in. What was happening down there? Where had Aber gone? Why hadn't he come back?

As I listened for Aber's returning footsteps outside the door, my apprehension grew. I hated being sick and disoriented. I was used to being in control of every situation, a leader and not some helpless invalid. If anyone attacked us, I would not be able to leave this room, let alone protect Aber or fight my way clear of the building.

I strained to hear over the constant low hiss of wind. No clash of weapons nor screams from dying guards reached me. If we were under attack, wouldn't I hear something! Our visitors had to be friendly. Probably neighbors paying a social call; after all, Dworkin hadn't been here in years. Wouldn't everyone want to stop by, say hello, and catch up on all the gossip for old times' sake? That must be it. As host, Aber couldn't get away. Nor would he want to let them know about my illness. We couldn't reveal our weaknesses to anyone here.

A long silence stretched. The wind rose slightly. I picked at the crumbs on my plate, gulped the dregs of the cider, and waited impatiently. Doing nothing had always been hard for me. The chair creaked slightly as I shifted. Not so much as a whisper came from the outside.

It had been at least half an hour. Aber wouldn't have left me here this long unless something had happened. Who were these mysterious visitors? What did they want?

I heard a crash like that of breaking glass, fairly close, and stood. Guests didn't go around breaking windows. Something was definitely wrong.

It couldn't hurt to take a look outside. After all, nobody had told me I couldn't leave the room—just that I couldn't go back to sleep.

Bracing myself against the arms of the chair, I rose. The room wobbled a bit, but steadied when I remained motionless for a couple of heartbeats. Where was my swordbelt? There—hanging on a peg to the left of the door.

Half walking, half gliding across the shifting floor, I made my way safely to the other side, took my swordbelt down, and fastened it around my waist. The calm before battle settled over me. If I was to die, I would die like a man, with a blade in hand. My sword's cool silvered hilt felt comfortable and reassuring as I rested my palm upon it.

And then everything suddenly began to tilt to the left; I braced myself against the wall and pressed my eyes shut. Stop it, stop it, stop it! Slowly, equilibrium returned.

Like an old man, I eased my way over to the door, straining to hear over the dull distant rush of wind. For a second I thought I heard angry voices, but couldn't be certain.

Lifting the latch, I pulled the door open smoothly. Good; Aber hadn't barred it from outside. Clearly he didn't think I'd be foolish enough to go exploring on my own.

I carefully peeked out into a long stone corridor that seemed to be oozing reds and browns. As with my room, all the angles seemed wrong. Doors opened at irregular intervals on both sides, with what might have been oil lamps burning in sconces every few feet between. Light dribbled in faint golden trails toward the ceiling, where it pooled.

My head swam as I tried to take it in. Aber and my father seemed to have no trouble walking around; what was their trick? Perhaps it had something to do with the Logrus. I felt a rising sense of depression; I didn't think I'd ever get used to this place.

Thankfully, no hordes of hell-creatures rushed to attack me. In fact, I saw no one at all. If that bell had signaled the arrival of guests, they were still downstairs. I listened for a long time, but heard nothing—no banging, no breaking glass, no angry voices. Had I imagined them? I didn't think so, but in this place, I really couldn't be sure.

While the floor tried to push me into the wall, I braced myself and waited for my sense of balance to return. It did, but slowly.

This place was insane. The sooner we left, the better off we would be. I didn't see how I could possibly help anyone here.

The hallway appeared to dead-end thirty or so feet to the right, which meant Aber must have turned left. The passage curved out of sight in that direction.

I hesitated. I needed a plan. What exactly did I hope to accomplish with this little expedition? Did I want to check on Aber and these mysterious visitors?

No, not yet. If my brother had run into trouble, I was in no condition to help him. In fact, I'd probably make things worse by needing rescue myself. And if—as I half suspected—some of our neighbors had dropped in, I did not want to reveal my weakness to them. Better to let everyone wonder what had become of me.

The thing to do was reconnoiter. I wouldn't go far; no sense in getting lost. Perhaps I could find my father's rooms… there might be something there that could help me.

Keeping one hand on the wall, I turned—and found myself face to face with one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. I took a deep breath. Her black hair shimmered with bluish highlights. Her eyes held the honeyed color of molten gold. Her skin, pale as milk, held the faintest of blushes at her cheeks—save for a small beauty mark on the left. From her high, finely drawn cheekbones to her delicate chin to the sensuous fullness of her deep red lips, I had never seen anyone like her.

Where had she come from? One of the other rooms on this floor?

“Hello!” I said.

She looked startled for a second, then dropped her gaze to the floor and curtsied. “You are… Lord Oberon?”

“Yes.” From her demeanor, she had to be a servant. I felt a pang of disappointment. “And you?”