“Whose? Freda's?”
“Yes.”
I pulled my Trumps out, found my sister's, and handed it to him. Holding it up, he gazed at it, concentrating.
Suddenly the card turned black. I had never seen anything like that before. As I leaned closer to see, it burst into flames. I had to leap back, slapping at my singed beard and eyebrows.
Dad dropped the Trump with a yelp. By the time it reached the ground—if ground existed beneath the grayness—nothing but ashes remained.
“Damn him!” Dad said, nursing blistered fingers. “I should have known!”
“So… you can't contact her from here?”
“No. The Logrus is preventing it.”
“Give me your charcoal,” I said suddenly. An idea had occurred to me—why not use the Pattern? No one in Chaos had a defense against it yet, so maybe a Pattern-based Trump would work here.
Dad fumbled out his pouch and passed it to me, leaving bloodstains all over it. I fished out his piece of charcoal. Then I summoned a mental image of the Pattern. It seemed to hang in the air before me—brighter than ever, lit with a bright blue glow.
Unfortunately, I had nothing to draw on. Frantically I looked around. What could I use?
“Blaise—” My gaze settled on her. “Would you mind showing your back? I need your skin for a minute.”
“You're not thinking of using me as your chalkboard—” she began, clearly horrified by the idea.
“Charcoalboard, actually. Unless you have a better idea?”
“Will this work?” she asked Dad.
“I cannot be sure,” he admitted. “In theory, it should. But if Thellops has a counter to the Pattern, you might burst into flames like her Trump just did.”
“It better work.” She sighed, turned around, and pulled up her blouse in the back, revealing smooth white skin. “Do it quickly. And if you kill me, I'll never forgive you, Oberon.”
I kept the Pattern in my mind, visualizing it as I sketched a large rectangle, then a line drawing of Freda. I was no artist—far worse than Dad—but it came out reasonably well. I recognized Freda's face, from her hair and upturned chin to the slight dimples in her cheeks.
The power of my Trump hit me in a wave. It glowed. I could see lines of blue energy radiating from it.
“It's burning!” Blaise whispered.
I gulped in panic. But she neither turned black nor burst into flames.
“Get Freda,” Dad told me urgently. “Hurry—”
I leaned forward, concentrating on the picture I had drawn. Slowly it came to life, becoming a window through Blaise's back. There, surrounded by more gray, I saw Freda huddled with her head in her hands, sobbing softly. Her cries matching the snuffling noises we still heard echoing around us.
“Freda!” I called. Was she injured? Could she hear me? “Freda! Over here!”
I reached farther into Blaise's back and chest. My wrist and elbow went through. Blaise moaned. I reached up to my bicep, then to my shoulder. Distantly, I noted Dad gripping my sister's arms, holding her upright and steady.
“Freda!”
Finally she looked up. “Oberon? Is that you?”
“Take my hand. Quickly!”
She reached for me. As our fingers touched, a spark leaped between us. Blaise gave another plaintive cry and started to sag. Despite the burning in my fingertips, I seized Freda's wrist and pulled hard.
She came out through Blaise's back smoothly, straight into my arms. I went over backward with her elbows and knees digging into my soft parts. But I didn't care—we had done it! She was free!
Then lights flared around us. I pressed my eyes shut. Another trap? Or—
My stomach knotted in sudden fear. Blaise! Had she just burned up, like the Trump?
I opened my eyes, blinking frantically at the colored spots swimming before my eyes. Slowly my vision returned to normal.
The fog had disappeared. We were in an unfurnished room—bare panel walls, plank flooring, a high beamed ceiling.
And Blaise—still there, still alive, with her blouse down over her back. The magic had ended. We were all safe.
Dad helped Blaise up; I helped Freda. She hugged me desperately, tears streaming down her cheeks, and then she hugged Dad and Blaise. She smiled at us through her tears.
“I knew you would come!” she said. She clung to my arm. Her whole body shook uncontrollably.
“Of course we came,” I said. “How could we not?”
“I never gave up hope.”
I smiled and brushed a stray lock of hair off her face. “Let's go. Aber is waiting for us at an inn.”
When I pulled out Aber's Trump, Dad thrust his hand over the card, blocking it.
“No,” he said. “Thellops will destroy it. Save it for use in Shadow.”
“Then how do we get out?” I asked. “Should I draw another Pattern-Trump? Or will you?”
“Too late, too late!” he cried, looking toward the door, an expression of sudden horror on his face. “Listen! Thellops is coming!”
Chapter 13
An uncontrollable shiver went through me. From somewhere outside, I heard a low thump… thump… thump sound. Its force vibrated through the floor and into the soles of my boots. Something was coming. Something big. And it seemed to be getting close.
I swallowed hard and glanced at Dad. “What do we do?” I asked.
He smiled almost philosophically. “We die.”
“You made it out alive last time.”
Thump… thump… thump…
“We met at the Edge, where shadows of Chaos and the Pattern meet.”
“Neutral territory,” I said.
He nodded. “Terrible things are happening in Chaos. He has finally taken sides. When I told him I wanted Freda back, he… tried to destroy me. I barely escaped. Here, in his home, with the Logrus close at hand…” He swallowed. “His powers will be ten times greater.”
“A cornered rat is the most dangerous,” I said. “He would be wise to let us go.”
Thump… thump… thump…
“Oberon the door!” Dad called.
The face appeared on the inside of the door. “Yes, master?”
“Do not open for Thellops!”
It frowned, but said, “I will obey, though it costs me my life…”
Thump… thump… thump!
And abruptly the noise stopped. Thellops had reached the door. The door moaned and shook as terrible blows rained down on its other side. The wood began to splinter.
Blaise had dropped her sword. I snatched it up and ran straight toward the door.
“No!” Dad called. “You must not!”
They expected me to fling the door open and face Thellops in some last heroic gesture. But that was the last thing I had in mind. I knew I would lose any fight with Thellops. Tired, still disoriented and off-balance—how could I possibly face a master-sorcerer of Chaos?
I summoned an image of the Pattern to my mind. I wrapped myself in it. I coiled it around Blaise's sword. The air around me sang with power.
The door began to scream as its wood splintered. Throwing all my weight behind the blow, I drove Blaise's sword into the wooden face, through its gaping mouth. The Pattern hummed with power. The face screamed. Three feet of tempered steel penetrated the wood—and kept going through it and out the other side.
I felt a rough jolt as my Pattern-wrapped blade hit something on the other side. Thellops? I hoped so. The blade kept going another foot. Not even a Lord of Chaos could live through a foot of steel in his heart.
Releasing the hilt, I stepped back. Slowly I let the Pattern fade away.
The door was dead now, its wooden face frozen in a scream of pain and horror. A dreadful silence came from the other side. Time seemed to stand still. When I glanced back at Dad, Freda, and Blaise, I found all three staring with horrorstruck expressions.
Then I turned, grasped the sword, and pulled. The steel almost sang as it slid free. Its hilt tingled in my hand, and I re
alized it had somehow been changed—though whether the Pattern, the door, or Thellops had done it remained a mystery.
As I raised the sword, I heard the soft thud of a body falling on the other side. A gush of dark blood suddenly flooded under the door. I danced back, just managing to keep my boots dry.
I wiped the blade clean on my shirt's tail, then handed it back to Blaise. Dad was staring at me with an unbelieving expression on his face.
“How…” he whispered.
“I'm not as weak as you think, Dad.” I left it at that.
Pulling out my Trumps, I found Aber's, raised it, and concentrated. A moment later, he answered. He was sitting in a huge round bathtub, surrounded by mountains of bubbles and three of the most beautiful women I had ever seen before. Clearly, he had wasted no time in abandoning the inn where we'd left him.
“That didn't take long!” he said cheerfully. He stepped out of the tub and put on a robe. “I assume, since I see Freda behind you, that you met with success?”
I grinned. “Bring us back,” I said. “And prepare for the celebration of a lifetime!”
An hour later, after a long hot bath of my own (Aber seemed to have made off with all the available women, unfortunately), I shaved, brushed my hair, and put on the odd-looking clothes that my brother provided: a high-collared white shirt, loose black pants with what looked like a snakeskin belt, and low-cut black leather shoes—surprisingly comfortable. After a lifetime of military boots, my feet felt strangely light.
Suitably cleaned up, I left my weapons on the table by the bed, then went downstairs to join my family. I found them seated at a large round table in the inn's cavernous dining hall. The room must have had two hundred tables of various sizes, with a large dance floor at the center. Half the diners were out on the floor, swaying to the odd atonal sounds coming from a band composed of what looked like variations on flutes, guitars, violas, and drums.
“You cleaned up nicely,” Aber said, smiling. “Though you forgot your necktie.”
I stared at the intricately tied piece of black cloth at his collar and frowned. “Is that what the scrap of cloth was for? I didn't know. I polished my shoes with it.”
“Here.” Freda reached under the table for a second, then pulled one out—surreptitiously using the Logrus, I assumed. Leaning across to me, she looped it around the back of my neck, then quickly knotted an intricate bow in front. “Much better.”
“Thanks.” It felt too tight and binding, though, and I couldn't help but pull at it with one finger.
Freda slapped my hand. “None of that.”
“Yes, Mom.”
She shook her head. “If you hadn't just rescued me…”
I chuckled. “I guess that buys me a lot of good will.”
“A lifetime of it.”
“Have some wine!” Aber said. He filled my glass from a tall-necked green bottle. “It's a little sweet, but quite good. Locally made, too.” He leaned back and squinted at the label. “It says so right here—Product of Selonika. Royal Charter of Prince Marib.”
Dad cleared his throat and raised his glass. “To Oberon! Our man of the hour!”
I raised my glass. “To all of us! Everyone here contributed to Freda's rescue. Dad got us safely in… Blaise provided a ready sword!” I gave her a wink. “And of course Aber got us safely out. We're not just a family, we're a crack squad of commandos!”
“Hear, hear!” everyone agreed. We drank.
After that came huge slabs of steak, baked potatoes, strange bulbous green and red vegetables, and more wine than I knew what to do with… and as the evening wore on and the music grew loud and wild, dancing spread between the tables, and everywhere laughing men and women danced, drank, and celebrated. Dinner became a pleasant, warm blur. I couldn't remember having such a grand time in months, if not years.
Late that night, very late, I left the dining hall in search of an outhouse. I found it, relieved myself, and headed back to rejoin the others. As I strolled along a white pebble path toward the dining room, I listened to cicadas brr and crickets chirp. A cool, pleasant breeze blew steadily, keeping away pesky insects, while high overhead a moon grown golden and huge limned the trees and bushes around me with silver highlights. I had a pleasant buzz from all the alcohol, and I felt really good. All told, a perfect evening.
When footsteps suddenly crunched on the pebbles behind me, I felt a jolt of alarm. Enough had gone wrong in the last few months that I expected to be attacked at any given moment.
Without hesitation, I threw myself to the side, tucked into a roll, and came up with a knife in each hand. I never should have left my sword in my bedroom.
A ball of light flared over the path, illuminating it like noon on a cloudless summer day. Magic! I blinked and shaded my eyes. This was no mere holdup. A manlike creature dressed in red robes and carrying a tall wooden staff stood before me. A pair of short horns curled back over a slightly pointed skull. I guessed his age somewhere between forty-five and fifty—though considering how long-lived the denizens of Chaos were, I could have been off by a hundred years—or a thousand.
“You won't take me without a fight!” I snarled.
“Ah! You must be Oberon, then.” He nodded pleasantly, leaning on his staff. I glanced around, but he seemed to be alone. “Your talent for survival is becoming legend in certain circles.”
“Who are you?” I watched him warily, but he made no move toward weapons. “I don't believe we've met.”
“The name is Suhuy.” He said it like it meant something, but it didn't—at least, not to me.
“Lord Suhuy?” I guessed. “Of Chaos?”
“If you wish.” He shrugged. “Such titles are meaningless. It is a man's deeds that matter. Those speak for him long after he is dust.”
“True.” I lowered my knives. Clearly Suhuy wasn't scared of me. “I assume you're here to kill me,” I said.
“Whatever gave you that idea?” He continued to lean heavily on his staff, as though he needed it to walk. “An old man like me doesn't go around attacking people. It would be… unseemly.”
“Then what do you want?”
“Merely to look upon the face of the man who killed Lord Thellops. I thought you would be taller.”
“Why seek me out if not revenge?”
“I have no need for revenge.” He smiled again. “Thellops was neither well liked nor well understood in Chaos. Many are secretly relieved that he is gone.”
I folded my arms. “All right, then. You've looked upon my face. Return to the Courts of Chaos and seek me no more.”
“So quickly to the point.” He tsk-tsked, shaking his head. “All the niceties of conversation are lost on the young…”
“Too many people from Chaos have tried to kill me over the last year. I find my patience at an end.”
“Is it my appearance that disturbs you?” He took a step forward. His body seemed to melt and reflow, and a moment later he stood there as a young human boy in a white tunic, with olive skin and wide innocent eyes. “I will change, if it makes you more comfortable.”
I shook my head. “Go home, Suhuy.”
He took another step, becoming a beautiful woman in a sweeping green gown, with long black hair, an ample bosom, and the delicate face of an angel. Against my will, I let out a horrified gasp. I knew her; this was Helda, my poor dead love from Ilerium. Hell-creatures had killed her before trying to kill me.
“See?” Suhuy said in Helda's voice, soft and sensuous. “Those born of Chaos need not appear threatening to you…”
“Enough games!” I threw a knife at his head.
Helda/Suhuy caught the blade between thumb and forefinger, an inch from her left eye. She flowed, becoming a horned old man again. He leaned heavily on his staff. The knife was gone.
“Very well,” he said. “I will speak plainly, since that is what you want.”
I tensed. Here it came—the attack I had been expecting.
But Suhuy merely said, “There is an elaborate game
being played out in Chaos and in Shadow. You must know this by now. We are all pawns to larger powers. In killing Master Thellops, you upset the gameboard… and elevated me to a new rank.”
“Not intentionally,” I said.
“Nevertheless, I find myself in your debt.” He inclined his head slightly. “All in Chaos are not your enemies, Oberon. Remember that in years to come.”
“What do you really want?” I asked. If he had a point, I wished he would get to it. This whole conversation made me distinctly uneasy.
“Right now… I want nothing. In fact, I have a gift for you. Lo!”
He pointed with his staff. The air between us crackled with lightning. It formed a sphere, which bulged like a pregnant calf. With a sound like thunder and a blast of hot wind, it broke open. From inside tumbled a gaunt, half-naked man. He struggled to rise from the pebble path, then fell back. I stared at his long matted hair and his torn and filthy pants. He stank like an open sewer.
“What sort of trick is this?” I cried, half gagging from the odor.
Suhuy covered his mouth with a delicate lace handkerchief. “Thank me another time,” he said. When he raised his staff, the ball of light over his head winked out. He was gone.
“Oberon?” a weak voice called.
I hurried forward and knelt beside the man.
“I'm here,” I said softly. “Who are you?”
“It's me,” he said in a weak voice. “Conner…”
Chapter 14
“Conner!” I rolled him over, but couldn't see his features clearly in the darkness. And that stench!
“Help me…” he whispered. “Water…”
I hesitated, knowing I couldn't carry him inside in this condition. Too many people would ask too many questions. Where could I get him cleaned up the fastest? Another Shadow?
No—even better. This inn had a series of fountains in the middle of the flower gardens. I had noticed a series of interlocking pools from my suite earlier. If I could clean Conner up there, he wouldn't smell so bad when I brought him back up to my room.
I threw his arm over my shoulder, but he was too weak to stand and walk, even with help. Finally I picked him up and carried him. He couldn't have weighed more than ninety pounds—he had been reduced to little more than skin and bones. King Uthor or Thellops or Lord Zon had been starving him for months.
To Rule in Amber tdoa-3 Page 10