“I wandered slowly through the Courts, pausing now and then as I caught interesting bits of conversation. Everyone seemed to be voicing the same thoughts:
“'Dworkin betrayed Chaos.'
“'How many more storms will Dworkin send to destroy us?'
“'Dworkin must be stopped.'
“As I got closer to the palace, I noticed a distinct change in the tone. Instead of 'How will the king stop Dworkin?' it became, 'The king can't protect us anymore. Someone else must!'
“At any other time, such words would have been treason. And to hear well-respected citizens openly saying such things in the streets! Incredible!
“When I got to the palace, I found the gates shut and barred. Grim-faced guards stood at all the entrances, swords out. I tried not to stare, but they were so preoccupied with watching the crowds that they wouldn't have noticed me anyway.
“Then I noticed two severed heads hanging from the spikes to either side of the gates… Mattus and Titus. Signs hung from both—BORN OF A TRAITOR. A coldness touched my heart. King Uthor must have executed them to try to appease the crowds. Only it hadn't worked. Everyone wanted Dad's blood. Nothing else would satisfy them at this point.
“And, I realized, if anyone caught me here, I would probably share their fate.
“At least no other grisly trophies decorated the gates. Perhaps Freda and all the others were still alive in one of the dungeons. I could only hope.
“With no place to go and no plan in mind except to stay alive as long as possible, I went to a small tavern I knew and settled in at a corner of the bar. As I sipped a beer, I listened with interest to all the gossip and talk of Uthor's failings around me. No one mentioned any family members other than Dad—and they mostly cursed his name.
“Then they began to speculate about what the king would—or wouldn't—do to protect Chaos. Several people openly said King Uthor ought to step down in favor of one of his sons.
“'He's too old,' one man said.
“'He cares more for his palaces than his people,' said another, nodding.
“Everyone echoed those sentiments. Then talk turned to how Dad ought to be killed when he finally got caught. Slowly grinding him to mincemeat, starting with his toes, seemed the most creative solution.
“Finishing my drink, I left, and once more wandered the streets. If anything, the crowds had grown larger, and the mood had grown darker. A new storm seemed to be coming: the air had grown darker, and a strange pressure filled the air, just like it had back home in the Beyond. You could feel the people's tension mounting.
“Finally, the lai she'one appeared. They marched toward the largest groups of people, shouting: 'Clear the streets! By the king's order—clear the streets now! Back to your homes or you will be arrested!'
“No one dared protest, but many men gave them angry looks, and I noticed a few fingering their swords or knives. If any had dared start trouble, I think the crowds would have rioted.
“But everyone began to disperse. In twenty minutes, the streets grew relatively empty—the few people still out moving with purpose on personal errands.
“I turned away from the others and took shelter in the ruins of a once grand home. I found a corner where two corner walls and part of the second floor still stood and took shelter just as the storm struck.
“It wasn't nearly as bad as any of the storms I had seen in the Beyond. The walls and ground shook; colors ran into puddles at my feet, and lights played weird tricks on my eyes—glowing and pulsing, they came in waves that left me disoriented and confused.
“When stones fell from the crumbling walls, I crawled under a table. That kept me safe for the next hour.
“The storm passed quickly. By the time I felt well enough to crawl out from the wreckage of the house, criers wandered the streets, shouting the latest news and proclamations—fifteen thousand dead, the hunt for Dad going on, another son of Dworkin captured. I wondered who it could be.
“In Triffig Square, an angry mob burned Dad in effigy. I had never seen so many people out for blood. Our blood.
“I spent another week in the Courts, carefully keeping up my disguise. I listened to the news and kept to myself. Several times people tried to contact me by Trump, but I ignored them. With so many sets of Trumps now in King Uthor's hands, I could not trust anyone.
“Subtly, I made enquiries of old friends, feeling them out for their loyalties. They had all turned against us. I had no one to fall back on for help. At night, I tried several times to contact family members… you, Blaise, Freda, Conner. I even tried Dad a few times. I knew Dad was still free, from all the rumors circulating about him putting together an army to attack Chaos. But he never answered.
“Unfortunately, the stress of keeping up my disguise proved too great. My control over my new face slipped one day as I was walking through the streets by the palace—I tried to go every day, to see if any more family members had been executed. When my old face returned, someone must have recognized me. The next thing I knew, lai she'one were running toward me, packs of urhounds baying as they picked up my scent, and I had nowhere to hide.
“I fled into the wilder Shadows of Chaos. I used every trick I could think of to hide my trail. I crossed the Beyond, then passed through the Gates of Stygia and into Ellysiom. I rode the back of a wild stone through the Mad Lands, and passed through Lyric's Furnace. The heat seared me half to death, and still they followed.
“If not for the urhounds, I probably would have escaped. But they had my scent and wouldn't let go. No matter how far or how fast I fled, their baying voices came behind me.
“I crossed the Golgul Wastes on foot, doubling back several times through the Lesser Catacombs, but nothing worked. I gained a few hours' lead skirting the Abyss, but no more. Finally they cornered me at Draak-Bal Forge.
“That's when I began trying every Trump I had left. Finally I reached you, Oberon. Lucky for me.
“And that's the whole story,” Aber finished. “Not very impressive, I admit, but thanks to you, I escaped Uthor's grasp, which has to count for something. No thanks to Blaise.” He gave her a dark look.
“It wasn't safe where I was, either,” she said. “If not for Oberon…”
I cleared my throat and motioned for more drinks from Jamas. He refilled our tankards silently. He had been listening to Aber's story with a bewildered expression, but like any good barkeep, he knew when to keep his mouth shut. I nodded to myself in silent approval. Perhaps he and his son could be persuaded to relocate to my future Shadow kingdom once we began recruiting settlers.
I turned to Blaise. “Did anyone try to contact you by Trump while you were with your aunt and uncle?”
“Yes, nearly every day.” She shrugged. “I ignored them. I didn't feel like talking to anyone. Much good that it did—the lai she'one came for me anyway. Why? Is it important?”
I paused thoughtfully. “I think so. Uthor must have been using Trumps to find everyone in our family. Had you answered, he probably would have located you sooner. That must be how they captured everyone else.”
The sound of horses' hooves came from outside. I glanced at Jamas, endlessly polishing the far end of the bar with a rag as he listened to our gossip.
“Your son?” I asked.
“Ayeh,” he said with a smile. “Back with Doc Hand, I'll wager. He'll fix your Da up, right enough.”
A loud crash came from somewhere upstairs. Aber and I exchanged a startled glance.
“Dad!” we both said.
I leaped to my feet and sprinted up the stairs with my brother at my heels.
Chapter 10
Drawing my sword, I came through the bedroom doorway poised for a fight. I found Dad next to the bed, looking around with wild eyes. He had knocked over the washstand—that's what had made the crashing sound. Its blue basin had shattered on the floorboards, scattering broken pottery and dirty water across the floor.
Aber drew up behind me.
“Dad?” I said. “How are you f
eeling?”
I stepped forward cautiously, lowering my sword. He hadn't summoned a weapon through the Logrus, which I took as a good sign.
“Where is he?” Dad said in a hard voice.
“Who?”
“Thellops, my boy! We were just arguing—”
“He's not here,” I said quickly. “You've been sick. Unconscious for hours.”
“Hours? No!” He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, shaking his head. “What did he do to me? How long has it been?”
“I'm not sure.” I hesitated. He seemed a lot better, and yet… subtly different. I couldn't quite put my finger on what had changed. “I found you unconscious at the Pattern a few hours ago, Dad, and brought you here.”
“Where is this place?”
“Just an inn in a Shadow.”
“Time moves differently there… we may still have time.” He stood again, looking around with some confusion. “You must come back with me, of course. And Aber, too…” He frowned, eyes distant. “And Locke. Where is he? I need him.”
“Locke is dead,” I said softly. He had to be very confused, if he'd forgotten his first-born son's death in Juniper.
“Was it Thellops?” He paused. “No… no…”
“That was a long time ago,” I said quickly. Better to steer him back to the subject at hand. “What about Thellops? Has he done something? Is it important?”
“Yes. Thellops.” He looked at me, and I saw a raw anger in his eyes. “The three of us together should be enough.”
“For what?” Aber asked.
Dad stood, then looked down. “What have you done to my boots? The laces are gone. And where is my swordbelt? Thellops is a crafty devil. We must be prepared this time.”
“I have your swordbelt. It's downstairs.” I took his arm and eased him back onto the bed. “Sit down for a minute. Tell me how you're feeling. You took a few blows to the head. Do you remember anything from the Pattern?”
“The Pattern is fine. I drew it, after all.”
“After that…”
He blinked and his eyes grew distant. “Tired. Hungry.” He looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. “Where am I?”
“At an inn,” I said reassuringly. He was repeating himself… and not thinking too clearly. Then I glanced at the door. What was taking Old Doc Hand so long? Maybe he could help.
Dad frowned. “I… already asked that, didn't I?”
“Yes,” Aber said, folding his arms. “Try to focus, Dad. What about Thellops?”
“Thellops?” He looked at me. “Did I kill him, Locke?”
“I'm Oberon, not Locke. I don't know if you killed him. Were you fighting?”
“Yes…”
“Then we'll find out soon enough.”
Dad leaped to his feet. “He got away!” Pulling free from my grasp, he paced like a caged animal.
“Do you know who I am?” I asked.
He glanced at me. “No more games, my boy. We don't have time for nonsense. We have to find Thellops before…” He frowned. “It may be too late now. We will see, we will see…”
I glanced over my shoulder. I couldn't see the stairs, but now I heard a man's heavy footsteps coming slowly up them.
“The Pattern!” he said suddenly. His eyes suddenly widened. “You tried to kill me.”
“No, Dad.” Quickly, I told him what had happened. I wasn't sure how much of it he understood, but he listened, shaking his head now and then. I glossed over our fight—no need to rub his nose in it.
“Sorry, my boy,” he said. “I… was confused.”
“You're better now,” I said reassuringly.
“Yes.”
Just then a short, white-haired man dressed all in black, from a round flat hat to his narrow pointy-toed shoes, came clumping into the room. He carried a small black bag in one hand and a cane in the other.
“Someone sent for me?” He smiled in a kindly way and nodded to each of us.
“Yes. You must be Doc Hand,” I said.
“Ayeh. Are you the patient?” he asked. His watery blue eyes peered up into my face.
“No, our father,” I said, turning to indicate Dad. “Lord Dworkin.”
“Lord?” Doc Hand raised bushy eyebrows. “It's not often the noble-born call on me.”
“Get out,” Dad said brusquely, motioning toward the door. “I need you like I need a hole in the head. Less, in fact.”
Doc Hand chuckled and set his bag on the bed. “Now, now, your Lordship, let me be the judge of that. Seizures, is it?”
“Oberon—” Dad began in a warning tone.
“He seems to be doing a lot better,” I said almost apologetically to the doctor.
“I am fine,” Dad growled.
“Nonsense.” Doc Hand leaned forward and peered at Dad's eyes. “You are certainly not fine,” he said. “You have a concussion, sir. I see it clearly in your eyes. You were beaten severely… twice, I would say, from the looks of that bruising. Once yesterday, once this morning. You got the concussion yesterday. Now, are you going to let me treat you, or do I get these strapping lads to sit on your arms while I do my work?”
Dad glared at all of us. I tried to look firm but menacing. A concussion explained a lot.
“Oh, very well,” Dad finally snapped. He perched on the edge of the bed. “Get on with it!”
I looked at the doctor with new admiration. This was the first time I had ever seen anyone intimidate Dad. Aber seemed equally impressed.
“Hmm,” said the doctor. He skinned back each of Dad's eyelids in turn, peering deep inside. Then he felt Dad's skull for bumps. Finally he stepped back.
“Seizures?” said the doctor. “I see no sign of them. You are quite the brawler, though. I see scars from dozens of swordfights over the years. But who gave you that concussion, eh? There was no fight. Something hit you from behind… a sap, maybe?”
“I… do not remember,” Dad said.
“I'm not surprised.” Doc Hand looked at Aber and me. “Lads? Any idea?”
“We weren't there,” I said.
Before I could stop him, he reached out, grabbed my right hand, and turned it over. I still had two fresh sword-cuts from my fight with Dad, one on the back of my hand, one on my forearm.
The doctor tsk-tsked. “You've been fighting, laddie. Beating up your Da, or defending him—that's the question, ayeh?”
“You have a good eye,” I said, pulling my hand back. I didn't enjoy being under the old man's exacting gaze. “But my father is the one who needs you, not me.”
“Oh, I treat all who need healing.” He chuckled. “You're next, laddie.”
I sighed. What did I expect, when I had deliberately sought a Shadow with a doctor capable of treating Dad?
“Ayeh,” said Doc Hand, grinning. He rummaged around in his black bag, pulling out needle and thread. “You need a few stitches, laddie. Your Da needs a week of bed rest. And maybe a good hot meal and a stiff drink. Not much more I can do today.”
“I told you so,” Dad grumbled.
Doc Hand carefully threaded his needle, then looked at me expectantly. Gritting my teeth, I stuck out my arm and let him stitch my cuts back together.
Once the doctor left, Aber laughed and couldn't seem to stop. I glared. Finally he managed to regain control of himself.
“You should have seen your face,” he told me.
“It's not funny,” I said. “I hate catgut stitches. The damn things always pull at me.”
“Sorry,” he said. “But… I've never seen you look so annoyed! You got it worse than Dad!”
“Feh,” I said.
“Don't pick on poor Oberon,” said Blaise. I hadn't noticed her arrival. She leaned against the doorway, looking radiant. A few drinks had done wonders to restore her self-confidence. “He meant well.”
“Enough,” said our father, climbing out of bed and looking around. “Where is my sword?”
“You heard Doc Hand,” I said. “You're due for a week of bed rest.
Chapter 11
“Your sword is downstairs,” I said. I didn't know much about Thellops, but already I hated him. What could he be doing with my sister?
I turned to my brother. “Aber? Would you mind getting his sword?” Considering how fast time ran in the Courts of Chaos, we needed to move quickly. Hours here might mean days or weeks of torture for Freda. “I had Jamas put it behind the bar for safekeeping.”
He rolled his eyes, but dutifully trotted out of the room and down the stairs. Much as he liked to complain, I knew I could count on him, especially when Freda's safety was at stake.
Turning back to Dad, I said, “Do you have a plan?”
“Yes. Go in fast. Take Freda. Run away before anyone can stop us.”
I snorted. Well… it had a certain elegance to its simplicity. Unfortunately, I didn't think we would be able to simply walk in.
I said as much.
“Nonsense, my boy,” he said, grinning. “You are a fair swordsman. Together, Thellops cannot stop us.”
“He stopped you already,” I pointed out.
He shrugged. “He caught me by surprise. I made the mistake of trying to talk to him as a friend and an equal. We are neither.”
“Don't forget it.”
He grinned suddenly. “I still have one trick left, too. Something he has long forgotten…”
“Got it!” Aber cried, dashing in with Dad's sword. He passed it over, and Dad swiftly buckled the belt around his waist, loosening the sword in the scabbard and adjusting it to a comfortable position.
“Do you want to come?” I asked Aber. He might want to help rescue Freda.
“No!” Dad said firmly.
Aber swallowed. “Uh… not this time. I'm no fighter; I'd only be in the way. Besides, if I stay here, I can be your escape route. Call me when you need to leave and I'll bring you all back.”
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