Chaos and Amber tdoa-2

by John Gregory Betancourt

  “What is it?” he said.

  “It's Oberon. I need to talk to you.”

  “This is not a good time.”

  “I may be about to walk into an ambush. I need your advice.”

  “Wait“

  And then there was nothing. I couldn't tell if he had deliberately severed our connection, or if something else had interrupted it.

  After trying twice more to contact him without success, I went downstairs, got a small crossbow from the guards' armory on the ground floor, loaded it with a bolt, and returned to my room. I stayed long enough to write a note explaining what had happened and where I was going. If Dad showed up, he'd be able to follow me; if Aber and Freda found it, they would know what had happened… and that the man who was almost certainly impersonating Locke had probably betrayed and killed me. Then I buckled on the enchanted sword that Aber had swiped for me from our father's rooms.

  “I'm going out,” I said to Port. “The next time Freda or Aber come past, let them in. Tell them I left a note for them on my desk.”

  “Very good, sir!”

  I took two Trumps, Dad's and the one of my bedroom that Aber had made, and put them into a pouch at my belt. Then I used the Trump that fake-Locke had sent and went through to Tsagoth Square half an hour early.

  As the picture had indicated, Tsagoth Square was a small paved courtyard with huge flagstones underfoot. Dark buildings rose on all sides. Four moons moved through the heavens in different directions overhead, and stars swirled like fireflies. I looked around by the half-light they provided and spotted a few statues of hideously deformed men holding swords at the far end. They offered the only cover, so I hid behind them, where I could see the center of the square, but not be seen.

  I drew out my father's Trump and stared at it. I felt a faint distant stirring, but no direct contact.

  “I'm in Tsagoth Square,” I said. “If you can hear me, I could really use your help now.”

  Nothing happened. No reply, no sense of his presence, not a word. I sighed and put the Trump away. So much for parental loyalty. I should have known better.

  As I'd expected, I didn't have long to wait. Suddenly, the false Locke stepped into the square. He was alone. Drawing his sword, he stood ready to attack me when I tried to enter through the Trump he'd sent. Had I been on time, I would have been quickly killed.

  That settled it. I rose silently, aimed, and fired the crossbow at his back.

  He seemed to sense the bolt coming; whipping around, he batted it out of the air harmlessly.

  “So,” he said, stalking toward me, “you know.”

  “Yes.” I drew my sword and bounded into the open. The blade fit my hand like it had been made for me. I advanced on him, too. “Fenn gave you away. You spoke to him. He's in our house now.”

  He shook his head and sloughed off his face like a snake shedding its skin. I stopped and stared, bewildered and horrified. It wasn't Locke. I'd expected that. But the face underneath… Ulyanash?

  “You're dead,” I said. “I killed you!”

  “You are as stupid as your father,” Ulyanash sneered, wiping bits of skin away from the corners of his eyes. “You have no power here, unholy mongrel! You do not know our ways. You could not hope to stand against a Lord of Chaos who wants you dead.”

  “I did it once.”

  “That was my cousin Orole. I could not attend Lady Lanara's party and kill you myself, so I sent him in my place. We look much alike. Everyone is fooled whenever we switch places.”

  “I killed him, and I can kill you.” I shrugged. “I can't imagine you're a much better fighter than he was.”

  “That shows how little you know.” He raised his sword and advanced on me again.

  “Explain it to me,” I said, trying to draw out information. I circled, keeping twenty feet between us. “Don't let me die in ignorance.”

  “Born in ignorance. Raised in ignorance. What harm to die in ignorance?”

  Leaping forward, he closed quickly, then lunged. I parried, still backing away. Best to keep him talking. He seemed as slow-witted as Aber and Rhalla had claimed. Why else take time to brag in the middle of a fight?

  “I know more than you think,” I said.

  “Tell me something, then.” He slowed his advance. “Maybe you can buy your life, if you have the information I want or need.”

  I chuckled. “Or maybe you can buy yours. How about we trade?”

  He shrugged. “You are going to die anyway. Why not? There are things I want to know.”

  “I'll go first,” I said. “Who is the serpent in the tower of skulls?”

  He looked surprised. “Lord Zon, for all the good it will do you. My turn now. Does Dworkin really have the Jewel of Judgment?”

  “I don't know,” I said honestly.

  “Wrong answer.”

  Without warning, he lunged. The silvered blade of his sword slid past my frantic parry, nicking my left shoulder. The wound was minor—little more than a scratch, really—but it stung, then turned cold. An icy feeling began to spread down my arm toward my fingers. His blade was poisoned, I realized with shock.

  “Want to change your answer?” he asked, drawing back a pace.

  “I cannot change the truth. I have never heard of the Jewel of Judgment. What is it?”

  “A ruby, a little smaller than a man's fist.”

  “Ah.” I nodded, knowing the one to which he referred. When we were in Juniper, my father had somehow taken me inside the gem. It had opened up my mind to the Pattern within me.

  “Then you do know the Jewel?”

  “Yes. I didn't know it had a name.”

  “Where is it?”

  “My father has it. Why is it important?”

  I felt a strange warmth in my right hand. The sword's hilt… perhaps it was doing something to counteract the poison? I tightening my grew. The numbness no longer seemed to be spreading from my wound quite so quickly.

  “It is… a key to controlling the Logrus. My turn. Where is it now?”

  “I don't know. The last time I saw it, Dad had it in his workshop in Juniper. It may still be there.”

  Ulyanash regarded me silently for a moment, then nodded. “I believe you,” he said. “Fair enough.”

  “My turn again,” I said. “Who does Lord Zon work for? I know it's not King Uthor.”

  “Lord Zon works for himself. One day soon, he will be King of Chaos.”

  “And you'll be his right hand man? That sounds like a plot worse than my father's.”

  He smirked. “In a way, your father made all this possible. Uthor is weak because of him. His followers waver in their loyalty. When we strike…”

  I saw movement over Ulyanash's left shoulder. A man was entering Tsagoth Square, stepping into it from empty air. Obviously he was using a Trump. Aber?

  No—it was my father! And he had his sword drawn. It seemed he'd gotten my message and followed me here after all.

  I took a deep breath. My whole left side felt heavy and cold. The warmth from the enchanted sword could not hold it back. Numbness spread into my chest. No wonder Ulyanash had won so many fights, if he poisoned his weapons. When the coldness reached my heart… I did not like to think what would happen.

  “I seem to have run out of questions for you,” he said. He raised his sword. “Prepare yourself, son of Dworkin!”

  Dad began to creep up behind him, moving as softly as a cat. I had never been so happy in my life to see someone. I had to keep Ulyanash talking for just a few seconds more.

  “I have one last thing to ask,” I said. I let my sword sag down as if I couldn't hold it up any longer. “I need to know—who was behind the attack on our family in Juniper? Was it you?”

  “Of course.” He laughed.

  I let my head fall to my chest. “I thought so.”

  He stepped forward, sword ready.

  “Look behind you,” I whispered.

  He started to glance back, then thought better of it—it was an old trick, I
had to admit. Instead, with his smirk growing broader, he raised his sword for a killing blow.

  With one swing, my father struck Ulyanash's head from his shoulders. Blood sprayed across me, then began to drift up toward the sky. His body hit the ground with a dull thump.

  “I came as soon as I could,” my father said. He bent to clean his blade on Ulyanash's shirt. “Are you all right, my boy? Are you up for more work tonight? I need you.”

  “His sword was poisoned.” I gave a pained grimace. “He nicked me. I think I'm…”

  And I felt myself collapse.

  Chapter 27

  I awoke slowly, feeling stiff. Sunlight came through an open window, showing a pleasant enough room. Whitewashed walls, long narrow bed, wooden floor. Outside, birds sang. We were in Shadow somewhere. “Dad?” I called.

  No answer. It seemed I'd been abandoned again. My shoulder had been bandaged. I sat up and pulled away the dressing, discovering fresh pink skin over the wound. Apparently I'd been here a few days. The knife wound in my arm had also healed. I washed up, dressed, and went into the next room. A small table sat waiting for me, along with a basket of cold bread, a bottle of red wine, and a note. The note said:

  I have urgent business in another Shadow. Time runs very fast here, so it will probably be a few days before I return. Get your strength back. I need your help.

  The note wasn't signed.

  I ate slowly. The crusty brown bread had gone a bit stale, but the wine more than made up for it.

  As I chewed, I began to have a strange sensation of being watched. I remembered the serpent-creature who had used Taine's blood to scry upon me... Lord Zon, Ulyanash had named him. Zon might well be spying on me now and cursing the day I had come to the Courts of Chaos. Hopefully he had lost one of his chief lieutenants in Ulyanash.

  The Pattern within me seemed to have special properties. Let's see how I could use them.

  With the bread knife, I began to carve an image of the Pattern into the table before me. As I did, my sight seemed to drift away from the reality of here and now. I saw dark lines, threads of energy, rising from the table. They formed an image of the Pattern, slowly spinning in mid air. I willed it up, up, larger and larger, surrounding and protecting me.

  Suddenly, like a door closing, my sense of being watched came to and end. Whatever connection Lord Zon had made between Taine's blood and me, between the tower of skulls and this little cottage, had been broken.

  I let the Pattern go, and it fell apart. The carving became just scratches on the tabletop, no more. My breathing relaxed. Goodone problem had been taken care of.

  It seemed I, too, could command some real magic—untrained though I might be. I could at the very least protect myself from being spied upon.

  My use of the Pattern further confirmed my suspicions… Dad had allied himself with some power other than the Logrus. And he had given the gift of its Pattern to me… though where the Jewel of Judgment fit into it all, I couldn't yet say.

  I sighed. Our enemies wouldn't wait. I couldn't sit around this cottage waiting for Dad to return. My every action had been well rewarded thus far… from the party at Aunt Lanara's house to the fight with Ulyanash. Of course, I reminded myself, I would have died if not for Dad's timely intervention… but wasn't that what parents were for?

  It was time to take the battle to Lord Zon and his tower. I had been there often enough in my dreams. I knew what it looked like. Now it was my turn to try drawing a Trump.

  Bending, I dipped my index finger into my cup of wine, then rose and crossed to the nearest whitewashed wall. My brother Aber always drew a representation of the Logrus beneath the images he painted on Trumps. Our father had told me it wasn't necessary; he could do it by simply keeping the Logrus fixed in his mind while he worked. I could not draw on the Logrus, as I had never ventured into it, but the Pattern within me seemed to have many of the same powers.

  I summoned a mental image of the Pattern and began to sketch the tower of skulls… from the inside. I showed the altar slab, the winding staircase of leg bones, the doorway through which hell-creatures had dragged my brothers to be tortured. The image took on an aliveness, a sense of reality and immediacy, despite being pale pink lines on the wall. Whenever I willed it, I knew I could bring the image to life and step through.

  Then, licking wine from my finger, I stepped back. Yes, it would do. Crude though it was, I really had created a Trump. I knew it would work.

  Retrieving my sword from the bedroom, I found the pen and ink my father had used, left him my thanks on the back of the note he'd left me, and told him I had gone to rescue Taine from the tower of skulls. I would return home to our house in the Beyond if successful. If not… he should try to contact me via Trump and bring me back directly.

  Then I turned to the picture I had sketched on the wall, concentrating. Slowly, I felt it coming to life before me. It grew darker, blacks and browns emerging… lengthening shadows… the altar block… the circling stairway of bones… the entrance through which prisoners came…

  Like a doorway, it filled the wall.

  Hefting my sword, I stepped through.

  The inside of the tower proved to be deserted. I knew it from the way my footsteps echoed; the shadows where I had previously seen Lord Zon remained empty. I no longer felt that malevolent presence there.

  I crept up to the shadowy doorway and peered into a narrow corridor that circled down. A single torch lit the way, its light bubbling up to pool on the ceiling. Pausing, I listened, but heard nothing… no rustle of leather, no clink of armor, nor even the moans of prisoners.

  I started forward, treading softly, sword ready. It couldn't possibly be this easy to rescue Taine.

  The passageway descended. I came to a line of doors, all of them closed. Cells? I unbarred the first one and pushed it open, revealing a dark, tiny room scarcely large enough to lie down in. A skeleton lay chained in the far corner, its bones showing signs of having been gnawed. A few tatters of clothing remained, but nothing to tell me who it had been. Hopefully not one of my missing brothers or sisters.

  The next two cells were empty.

  The fourth cell held Taine. I rushed to his side. Still alive—?

  He was not chained, but lay on a pile of straw against the far wall. His bare chest and arms were covered with scabbed-over sores and cuts, just as I had seen in my last spirit-voyage here. A yellow crust covered his eyes. For a second I thought he might be dead, but then as I bent over him and my shadow covered his face, he moaned and tried to push me away.

  “Lie still,” I said softly. “I'm your brother Oberon. I'm here to rescue you.”

  He began to thrash and cry out wordlessly. Clearly he was beyond reason. Luckily his strength was gone; his blows were like a child's. I pinned his arms with one hand, then picked him up and threw him over my shoulder. He was curiously light—he had to weigh less than a hundred pounds now, starved as he was to skin and bones—and I had no trouble carrying him.

  When I turned to leave, however, the room darkened. Half a dozen guards filled the doorway, blocking out the torch light. They all held swords at the ready.

  I swallowed and raised my own weapon. It would be a challenge to cut my way through them while protecting Taine.

  Instead of trying to fight me, however, they slammed the door shut. I heard the bar dropping into place.

  Darkness surrounded me. I had a terrible, sinking feeling inside. Taine moaned.

  “Don't give up just yet,” I told him.

  He did not reply. I put him down on the pile of straw, then sat next to him, my back to the wall and my sword balanced across my knees.

  I fished the first Trump out of the pouch at my belt, the one showing my room. A couple of thin blades of light came in through cracks in the door. I tilted the Trump until I could see I clearly and began to concentrate.

  It should have come to life before me, but it didn't. I felt… nothing. Something, some spell of Lord Zon's, prevented the Logrus from working
in here.

  So much for my first backup plan. I put the Trump away. Before I could try creating a Pattern-Trump of my own, the light faded away, leaving me in complete darkness… no way to see or draw a new Trump.

  I sighed. That just left my father.

  It shouldn't be long now. It shouldn't be long at all…

  Chapter 28

  After what seemed a lifetime, I felt the familiar sensation of someone trying to reach me via my Trump. I opened my mind and reached out.

  Dworkin appeared before me, framed by the white walls of the cottage. My wine-sketched Trump lay behind his left shoulder.

  “Where are you?” he asked.

  “In a cell with Taine. Take us out?”

  He nodded and extended his right hand. “Come on.”

  I picked up my brother's limp body, reached out to Dad, and he pulled us both through to the cottage. As the dark cell disappeared, I couldn't help but grin.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I've been waiting for you.”

  He glanced at the sword in my hand. “They did not disarm you, I see. What happened?”

  “It was a trap,” I said.

  I carried Taine into the bedroom and set him down on the bed. He stirred a moment, then lay still. He looked worse in the bright light than he had in the cell. Still, he was tough or he would have died long before this.

  “They locked me up when I went into Taine's cell,” I continued. “I tried to get out with one of Aber's Trumps, but they must have spells that prevent the Logrus from working, I think, like in Juniper.”

  “Interesting,” he said.

  “They haven't figured out yet that you're no longer using the Logrus.”

  Dworkin chuckled. “You know too much, my boy! Good thing they did not question you.”

  He looked over my brother's injuries briefly. “Dehydration and loss of blood, I think. Starvation. The wounds look worse than they really are. Get him something to drink.”

  “Water…” gasped Taine suddenly.