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HENRY'S PRELUDE

His first real sensation was warmth and heaviness. Through eyelids that felt as heavy as lead, he was aware of the flickering pulses of many candles.

Not long ago, he faintly remembered cold, and rain, and the sounds of womens' voices arguing. Each individual moment was like a self-contained dream, one impossible to wake from, surrounded by utter blackness and utter heaviness of the body.

Now, he found that while it was difficult, he believed he might be able to open his eyes and even sit up a little.

He opened his eyes slowly, mind racing. He felt... hunger, a sort of black, directionless hunger that was all kinds of desire rolled into one. He tried to think when had been the last time he had ate, and realized he did not know. Worse yet, he could remember nothing... Not who he was, not... He had been a king, he knew that. Possibly still was. So he would sit up, and he would discover what in the hell had happened to him.

He shoved himself upright and looked around, shuffling his memories. Cold... Rain... women arguing. Something about those memories did not feel right to him.

Sitting upright quickly left his head aching and feeling curiously top-heavy. Nonetheless, the first blurs of vision quickly solidified into a room positively cluttered with lit candles of a thousand colors. In their amber glow, the cherry wood and gathered materials of a lady's bedchamber could be clearly seen. The room held drawers, a desk, the bed upon which he lay, a mirror above a small table set with a pitcher and bowl, as well as a free chair upon which a young woman was sitting.

He was aware that beneath the thin sheet of the bed he was naked, and the young woman was extraordinarily attractive. She had thin, elfin features, dusky skin, and long jet black waves braided with cords of scarlet. Her eyes were dark, she was dressed in dusty leathers, and she had a steely-looking crossbow trained directly upon his heart.

"So you're awake, vampire," she said flatly.

Vampire? It was possible, he supposed. But whether he was a vampire or not, he was still a king, and one should not point crossbows at kings. A flare of anger and arrogance rose inside him, but weak as he felt, he suppressed it. He smiled at the girl. "I am awake, whatever I am," he said. His voice startled him - it was a low, bass, thing, almost gravelly. For a moment he had thought it would be rich, mellifluous, baritone. "I must admit to a certain curiosity as to the state of my... sojourn here. If I am your enemy, why lodge me so comfortably? If I am not, why point weapons at me?"

The woman's smile was tight, crooked, nearly feral. "Mother's orders. She thinks you would be useful to us, and it certainly looked like the bitch had grown tired of you, you just lying there weak as a kitten, and naked as the day you were born. But don't try to claim you're no vampire, bye-o, nothing comes of that castle but vampires these days. I'm surprised she'd throw away the only male one I've ever seen, but that doesn't mean I trust you."

She shifted, crossbow still trained, and leaned over to gather a tray of food which had just been out of view. "Nevertheless, Mother said to offer you food when you awoke, and while I think it's useless, I'll go ahead. You want something to eat?"

"Yes," he replied, his hunger overwhelming his other senses for a moment. And then something else of what she said struck him, and his eyes snapped up to meet hers. "I'm no one's servant, however, and I never have been. I certainly was servant to no woman."

One might have expected his sharp tone to further aggravate the lady, who seemed already on edge, but instead her eyes twinkled and she emitted a low, smoky caress of laughter. "Good on you, if you speak true," she replied easily, but with no less suspicion. One strong brown hand slid the tray of meats, cheeses, bread and fruit on the edge of the bed, careful not to lose a clear shot or sight of him. "But then, what were you doing nude as a man in a faery ring just outside that bitch Snow White's castle? I remember way back to when the Princes of Amber ruled there, but now it's only the slut White and her vampire bitches."

For a moment her expression became pensive and she sighed, toying with the red threads corded upon her jet black hair.

The mention of Amber gave him a sense of warmth, of power - he ruled Amber, he remembered that quite clearly - but he still had no real idea of who he was.

He regarded her for a moment, enjoying just looking at her, and then he began to eat, slowly at first, but then with a ravenous appetite. In between mouthfuls, he said, "Any number of things could have happened in that event."

She gave him a level look. "Why don't you try starting with the one that did."

He winced inwardly at that. It did not seem quite the time for the truth - which she would probably not believe in any case - but he was missing too many important pieces of information to formulate a decent lie.

The only thing he could think of was misdirection. "Your pardon, my Lady. We seem to be running a bit ahead in terms of conversation. What may I call you?"

She set her jaw, but then replied coolly, "Bess. Bess Blackwell. And what shall I call you, noble sir?"

He hesitated only briefly. No names forthcoming, he settled for the name of a king. "Henry," he said.

"Henry." Bess seemed about to say more, and likely nothing pleasant, but she was interrupted by the opening of the room's single door. In the wake of its hinges' creak, another woman slipped in. She was delicate, slender, with lines of pain and fatigue around her wide eyes, and her long blond braid and simple dress carried a puff of delicate roseate perfume as she passed Henry.

She touched his cheek gently, clinically, like a doctor, and then smiled. "Good. I thought the food would help you, for now."

Henry found himself smiling again, this time warmly. "Yes, thank you." He still felt hunger, of various kinds, but considered it impolitic to mention, since Bess would no doubt consider it proof of vampirism.

The Lady's own smile softened into something room-brightening. "You are very welcome. I am the Lady Grace Blackwell. I have a favor to ask of you, but first, I will offer a bit better hospitality than we have shown so far. My daughter is suspicious, but you will soon understand that she has a reason to be."

Grace hesitated, and something fluttered behind her eyes. "Er-... The last King of Amber's clothing should fit you. I will... I will fetch it for you. Bess, come away as well, I have a task for you."

Growling, the darkhaired girl rose and stalked over to the door, waiting.

Henry watched silently. Inside, his mind was racing. The last king of Amber... but that must have been him. How could this woman not know that, if she possessed his clothes? And if she possessed his clothes, why did he not recognize either of the women?

Grace smiled at him once, and then both girls left the room. There was a certain spreading, interminable silence during which Henry was left to stew in his own thoughts...

Henry growled to himself and tried to find a mirror. Maybe a look at himself would refresh... something.

There was one mirror, dark, with a bronze-ish verdigris around the edges. It reflected a big, powerful man, with a body and face that would be considered handsome by any, and by most the quintessence of male beauty. Nothing was soft save the lips, and the mouth that melted so easily into a smile. The eyes were brilliantly blue, with undertones of grey, of green, and of violet. The hair was black, straight and thick, with a close-trimmed beard.

Well, he thought, at least I'm good looking. Capable, too, from the look of me.

He ran a hand through his hair and returned to the bed. He resolved to ask questions when the women returned, and to insist his questions were answered.

Both women did not return at once. Grace was the first, and she arrived with a handful of silks and leathers in red, black and silver. They weighed down her slender arms considerably.

Henry moved to take the clothes from her, not in the least nervous about his nakedness. "Thank you. Whose clothes did you say these were?"

She hesitated and seemed not to wish to speak, but then she spoke. "Eric of Amber," she said simply, "I was the clothier and seamstress for the royal family for years. You... much resemble him. Only..."

Henry had to reach for the post of the bed when she said that name. Eric! He knew... something about Eric... many things, possibly... some of them contradictory. "Only?"

"Only Eric of Amber is dead," she said softly, and not a little bit sadly. "He was killed by the Master of the White Keep, almost thirty years ago."

Henry sat down on the bed. "And Amber? Who ruled after Eric?"

"There is no Amber," she replied simply, and her eyes were wet and glittering, suddenly, "The Black Road... years and years ago, it appeared. Now there is a Black Sea, surrounding small ruined islands of what was Amber. And all of it is changed... all of it is dark. The Castle is half-ruined, home to vampire women, and one raving madman who dares to live there with the dead. And people... un-whole people, naked, mad... they emerge from that place all the time, craving blood. But they are not vampires, and the blood never sustains them. They decompose... destroy themselves... except for the Quincunx of White Keep and Snow White."

His hand rose to his chin, fingered his beard. His mind was racing, and the answers that came either made no sense or perfect sense, depending on how one looked at it. "Then I am... one of them, and that is what I have to look forward to. But while I am not whole, Lady, yet am I not mad. And I will not see vampire bitches from the Courts of Chaos ruling my City."

"Your-" her eyes widened and she sank into a seat, legs almost losing their strength beneath her. "Then my guess is correct. The half-creatures of the palace... they are somehow the princes of Amber. And you are Eric... or some incarnation of him?"

"I do not know," Henry said. "I know that I was king of Amber, and I know that the name of Eric means something to me. Beyond that, I know nothing. I am, as you said, not whole. My memories are missing. I hope your daughter will forgive me for lying to her... I did not know what she would do if I told the truth, and I have no wish to harm either of you."

"It is better..." Grace said softly, "if she does not know. Not yet. But... you may get dressed. I will leave you long enough for that, and then... I will answer any further questions you may have. But there is something I wish to ask of you in return." She lowered her eyes.

"And that is?" Henry's smile crept up one side of his mouth.

"I want you to go to the Castle and destroy the vampire women. It is the only way to save my other daughter."

Henry grunted, and then nodded. "In return for answers. Very well. You have weapons as well as clothes?"

"Indubitably." She smiled. "The only reason I do not go myself is that I... well, it will be necessary for you to destroy her. I haven't the strength in my heart."

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