So it went. Over the next half hour, she lead me through the forest, then into grassy hills dotted with the round shoulders of ancient boulders. We crossed lush but empty valleys where wind sang a single mournful note, and then again entered a long stretch of primal forest where a peaceful, hush hung over everything. I could not tell if we were traveling through Shadows, but I didn't think so.
Finally, we pushed through a thick hedge and entered a broad clearing. Here, in its center, on top of a huge stone slab that must have been a hundred and fifty feet wide, shone the Pattern that my father had inscribed with his own blood. It glowed with a clear bluish-white light, cold and beautiful… more beautiful than the last Pattern, perfect this time in every way.
Slowly I approached it. Waves of energy came off its sleek lines, humming deep inside me. It felt good. Strange, unlike anything else, but good.
I basked at its edge, eyes shut, just feeling its nearness. Warm all over, strong and more alive than I had ever felt before, I might have stood there for days had a snorting bark of sound not jarred me from my half-sleep.
The unicorn. It still wanted something. Almost reluctantly, I forced my eyes open.
As my gaze swept across the length of the Pattern, searching for her, I noticed a curious lump in the exact middle. Aesthetically, it didn't belong. I stared at it, puzzling, and slowly realized it was the body of a man. Dark shirt and pants, graying hair… my father?
Panic surged through me. The longer I stared, the more certain I became. It had to be him.
“Dad?” I called, taking a step forward. “Are you all right? Can you hear me? Dad!”
He didn't so much as stir. How had he gotten there? I'd watched him disappear after creating the Pattern, teleported off to gods knew where. Why had he returned? Had he left something undone and returned to finish, only to be attacked? Or had he been hurt somewhere else and fled here for safety?
Or maybe it wasn't him.
Swallowing hard, I drew up short. Considering how powerful our enemies seemed to be, this might be a trap of some kind.
I glanced toward the place I'd last seen the unicorn, but she had disappeared again—probably watching from cover. Clearly she had brought me here for a reason, though. Why else but to save my father?
I didn't think she would lead me into a trap, but nevertheless I circled the Pattern warily, keeping a close watch on the body. When I finished my circuit, I found myself no closer to an answer. Nothing unexpected had happened. No hell-creatures had jumped from the hedge with swords raised. No barrage of arrows had flown at me. No sorcerers had hurled flames or lightning-bolts in my direction.
My every instinct said it wasn't a trap. If someone wanted to kill me, the perfect opportunity had already come and gone.
And Dad still lay unmoving in the middle of the Pattern.
I took a deep breath. Nothing to do now but investigate.
With a last glance around, I stalked toward the body. As I reached the edge of the Pattern, though, I seemed to run into an invisible wall. As much as I tried, I couldn't force my way through. The wall wasn't physical, as far as I could tell. But I couldn't get past it no matter how hard I pushed.
Circling to the right, I tried several more times to get to my father but met the same impenetrable barrier. I couldn't cross onto the Pattern no matter how hard I tried.
I stepped back to think. Dad or the unicorn must have put the barrier in place to protect the Pattern. It made a certain amount of sense. If King Uthor, Lord Zon, or anyone else from Chaos found a way to get here, we didn't want them destroying the Pattern.
Only that didn't help Dad or me right now. If I couldn't get to my father, how could I help him? For all I knew, he might already be dead.
I frowned. Think, think, think!
Dad always said every problem had a solution—you just had to find it. I tried to look at the situation from a different point of view. If I couldn't get to him… perhaps he could get to me.
“Dad!” I called again, as loudly as I could. “Listen carefully! It's Oberon! Can you hear me? Can you stand up? Give me a sign! Dad!”
No answer. He didn't so much as twitch.
He might have been lying there for days or weeks. Time moved strangely from Shadow to Shadow. How long had I been trapped in that gray fog, anyway? I had no way of knowing.
Until I found out otherwise, I had to assume he was alive but merely unconscious. Perhaps creating the Pattern had done something to him—exhausted him to the point of collapse. Maybe the unicorn had brought him back here for his own safety. I couldn't rule anything out.
I paced around the Pattern, trying to figure a way through. If I had a Trump showing the center of the Pattern, I could use it to travel there. I supposed I could always try to draw one… but with what? I had no pen, no ink. I could use my own blood, I supposed—but then I didn't have any paper or vellum.
“Dad!” I called again. “Wake up! Dad!”
Still no response. I looked around for the unicorn. Never a divine being when you needed one… she seemed to have abandoned me here.
I recalled how I had once traveled across an image of the Pattern inside the unicorn's ruby. It had been difficult, but not impossibly so. If this version worked the same way, maybe I could work my way through it to reach him.
I headed toward what seemed the obvious starting point: the place where Dad had begun tracing the Pattern with his blood. Here, when I stretched out my hand, I felt a curious pins-and-needles sensation in my fingertips… but no barrier blocking the way. Apparently I could enter the Pattern here, treading its long, convoluted line like a path.
“Hesitation is for cowards,” I told myself with more courage than I felt. Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward. No turning back now.
The moment my foot touched the Pattern, my peripheral vision flickered faintly. The tingling sensation spread from my fingers through my entire body, and I shuddered involuntarily.
With my second step, a needle of pain shot through my head. As a low drumlike throbbing began in the back of my skull, a curious ache spread through my head and into my eyes.
I can do this.
I took a deep breath.
Keep moving.
Once more the Pattern seemed to radiate power in waves. A strange giddiness ran through me, and I almost giggled. It actually felt good in a way I couldn't properly explain. Strength coursed through me. I took another step, and then another.
Suddenly everything got harder. Keeping my head down, I had to concentrate on moving my feet one at a time. With every step, a strange and slightly unpleasant jolt shot up each leg and into my thighs.
Don't stop.
One foot after another.
Keep going.
My gaze followed the sweep of the path as it wound into a series of long and graceful curves. I knew every twist and turn already, just as I knew the battle-scars on the backs of my hands. The pattern was a part of me, forever seared into my mind. Blindfolded, I could have followed the Pattern's line without missing a step.
I entered the first curve and suddenly walking got really hard. My legs dragged; I forced myself to pick up each foot and put it down again. Sparks swirled around my boots, rising to my knees, and every hair on my body stood on end.
Don't stop.
One step, then another, then another.
Things got easier at the end of the curve, and I let out my breath in an explosive gasp. My head pounded. My shirt clung to my back, uncomfortable and clammy with sweat. Nothing I could do now, though. I couldn't exactly turn around and go back. Besides, I had come at least a third of the way.
After a brief period of easiness, the path started to grow hard again. Sparks swirled up to my waist. I seemed to be slogging through mud.
Another step. Then another. Then another.
My legs went numb. Then the numbness spread to my chest, and I had to force myself not only to walk, but to breathe. It would have been all too easy to give up, but I refused to take the easy way
out. Dad needed me.
Rounding another curve, the numbness passed and I could move easily again. Blue sparks ghosted across my clothes and skin. I had the sensation of thousands of insects crawling over my body. I had never felt anything like it before.
Not much farther now.
Keep moving.
Halfway there.
I tucked down my head and pressed on. The path curved back upon itself, then straightened. Still I slogged on through what felt like miles of heavy mud that sucked and pulled at my feet.
Slowly, the end grew near. I could see my father's face clearly now. His open eyes stared up into space. Dead? Had I come for nothing? Then his eyes blinked—he was alive!
“Dad?” I gasped. “Dad—can you—hear me—?”
A crunching sound filled my ears. The hair on my neck and arms rose again. I had to force myself to take each step forward. If I stopped, I didn't think I would be able to get started again.
The path curved sharply, and all of a sudden I found I could walk almost normally. Gathering my strength, I strode forward as quickly as I could, but then a heaviness grew on me. I found it harder and harder to advance, as though chains now dragged on my arms and legs and chest. I might have been pulling a ten-ton weight.
Gritting my teeth, I pressed forward. One step. A second. A third. Each took more effort than the last. When I raised my hand, sparks poured like water from my skin.
Through!
Suddenly, I could walk again. Sparks dashed and flew all around me. I felt hot and cold, wet and dry, and my eyes burned with a fire that could not be quenched. I blinked hard many times.
One more curve.
Almost there.
Dizzy, I reeled through another curve, a short one. Then straight, then another curve.
It was the hardest yet. I could barely move, barely see, barely breathe. My skin froze, then boiled. Sparks blinded me. The very universe seemed to beat down upon my head and shoulders.
I concentrated on one foot at a time. As long as I kept moving, I drew closer to my goal. Just another inch at a time—anything to keep going—
I could barely see the Pattern. Unable to breathe, I used the last of my strength to take a final step.
Then I was through. I had made it.
My legs felt weak. Drawing on final reserves of strength I didn't know I had, I staggered to my father's side.
“Dad?” I said. It came out barely a whisper. “How about helping me out here?”
He didn't move. Somehow, I managed to kneel, then roll him over. I checked him for wounds, but he seemed whole—nothing worse than a slight bruise on the back of one hand.
“What's wrong, Dad?”
Slowly his lips moved. He seemed to be trying to speak.
I leaned close, straining to hear. He kept saying what sounded like, “Thellops… Thellops… Thellops…”
“Thellops?” I demanded. “What in the seven hells is that!”
He stared blindly off into space. His lips continued to move. Clearly he hadn't heard me. What could be wrong with him?
“Come on, Dad!” I said. I shook him. “Wake up! I can't get you out of here by myself! Dad!”
Still no response.
Grabbing him under the arms, I hauled him to his feet. Maybe he'd come out of it if I got him up and moving. His head lolled forward. When I draped his arm across my shoulders, he was so much dead weight. He made no effort to support himself.
“Attention!” I barked like a drill sergeant. “On your feet, soldier! Move!”
That would have gotten me up, no matter how hard or painful—as a soldier in King Elnar's army, obedience to orders had been drilled into me. You didn't make Lieutenant without it.
“Dad!” I said, urgently. “I need you awake now! Dad!”
I shook him again, but all he did was drool. Just great. Could things get any worse?
With nothing left to try, I slapped his face. He blinked and moaned. Then his eyes closed and opened several times in quick succession. He seemed to come out of his stupor enough to turn his head toward me.
“Can you stand?” I asked him.
“Not… real…” he mumbled.
“Of course I'm real. It's me—Oberon.”
“Imagining…”
I slapped his face again, just enough to sting. That seemed to bring him around a bit more.
“Look at me!” I said. “Can you stand, Dad? Do you need help walking?”
Mumbling, he shrugged away my hands. For a second he wobbled, but then he seemed to draw on inner reserves of strength. He straightened his back and stood rigidly upright, and an odd, slightly bewildered expression flickered across his face.
“Where… ?” he whispered.
“You're back at the Pattern,” I said. “Do you know how to get out?”
“The Pattern… yes…”
“Good. You do remember.” I turned and gazed along the shimmering path I had just walked. With all those twists and turns, it seemed a lot longer than I had first thought. “Is it easier when you're leaving?” I asked. “Can you walk? I'm not sure I can carry you back out.”
The faintest hiss of steel leaving a scabbard sent a shiver of alarm through me. Instantly, I threw myself to the left, tucking into a quick roll. I came up on the balls of my feet, fists ready.
I'd acted just in time—my father had drawn his sword and lunged at me. If I hadn't been fast, he would have run me through.
“Thellops!” he roared, advancing on my position. He had a half-crazed look in his eyes. “Never again!”
Chapter 4
“Dad!” I cried, backing away desperately. Had he lost his mind? Didn't he recognize me? “It's Oberon—your son! Dad!”
Howling, he lunged again.
Fortunately, he barely had enough strength to hold his blade. Batting his sword aside with my arm, I closed fast and punched the side of his head as hard as I could. The force of my blow sent a shock of pain the length of my arm and sent him reeling.
That blow would have been enough to knock out or even kill a normal man. Not my father, though. Dazed, the tip of his sword dragging across the stone, he gave a low groan and rushed me again, slashing.
“Dad, look at me!” I said, dancing back to safety. Somehow, I held my temper. I knew he wasn't thinking clearly. I just had to make him understand.
Staggering back, he raised his sword with a grunt and seemed to be gathering his strength for another rush.
“Why are you doing this?” I demanded. “Think about it, Dad! Reason it out!”
Clutching the hilt of his sword with both hands now, he rushed straight at me. It was a clumsy move that no master swordsman in his right mind would have tried.
Dancing easily to one side, I gave him another punch to the head. He stumbled, then reeled back, slashing at me. He missed by several feet.
“Damn Thellops,” Dad muttered.
“What is Thellops?” I demanded. “Talk to me, Dad!”
Staggering, he almost fell. I took the opportunity to draw my own sword. He might be my father, but I wasn't taking any chances. I couldn't stand here and let him attack me again and again. It only took one lucky swing.
“Won't do,” he muttered. “Won't do.”
“What won't do?” I demanded.
Shaking his head, once more he charged straight at me.
This time we met with a clash of steel on steel. I had planned to disarm him quickly, but as our blades locked, his strength returned. He hurled me back with a powerful surge of his muscles, then launched into a blistering series of double-feints and lunging attacks that I barely managed to turn aside.
“Dad! Stop it!”
“No more tricks!” he cried.
“It isn't a trick! It's me, Oberon!”
“Thellops!”
Not that again. Backing away warily, I kept my gaze on the tip of his sword. It darted from side to side like a wasp looking to strike.
“I don't want to hurt you,” I said, “But if you keep this up,
I'm going to have to!”
He feinted, then slashed at my head. I parried, giving way, then parried again as he pressed the attack. This time he used a complicated series of feints and thrusts. Even crazy, he was the greatest swordsman I had ever seen.
He got first blood. On a swift feint-and-riposte, he came in under my guard and nicked the back of my right wrist. I never saw it coming. A second later, he gashed my right forearm. Nothing life-threatening, but blood poured down my hand. In a few seconds I wouldn't be able to grip my sword properly.
He threw back his head and howled with laughter. If I fell down, would he think he'd won? I would have to keep that as a backup plan, in case he hit me again.
Before the blood ruined my grip, I switched sword-hands. Clearly I couldn't fight him on even terms. If I didn't do something fast, he'd kill me.
“This is your last chance,” I bluffed. “Put up your sword, or I won't hold myself back!”
“Thellops!” he growled. “Never again!”
So much for diplomacy.
He might be a better swordsman than I, but in the real world, I knew the best didn't always win. The smartest did. And if I couldn't out-think a madman, I didn't deserve to live.
He attacked again. I fell back before him, yielding ground quickly, concentrating on fighting defensively. There had to be a weakness in his attack. I just had to find and exploit it.
His sword blurred and darted, testing my defenses, trying to find a way past my guard. Still I parried frantically, retreating in slow circles. His every attack seemed perfect. He fell into a rhythm now: attack, rest, attack, rest.
The next time he paused to catch his breath, I took a moment to study him carefully. That's when I noticed the huge bruise purpling around his left eye—at exactly the spot I'd punched him twice. I figured the swelling must have cut into his field of vision. If I played to his left side, taking advantage of that injury…
He launched a blistering attack again. This time, though, I circling to my right. He kept blinking and shaking his head. The faster I circled, the more I noticed his pauses and hesitations.
He started to tire again. As he drew up short, his sword dropped out of position.
My turn.
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