“Perhaps Freda will know,” I suggested. If my spikard could help defeat King Uthor, I would do whatever was necessary to master its powers.
“What do you know about spikards? What can they do?”
“Oh, I know a little of them. They have many uses. And many forms. I have handled two spikards over the years, one in the shape of a sword, one in the shape of a woman's necklace. They are centers of power… an older power than those born of Chaos know and use. I have heard they can keep you young, make you stronger, and help make spells more powerful. Their owners may draw on them for strength when they need it most.”
“Then it's a good thing.”
“Generally, yes.”
“Is it like the Logrus? Or the Pattern?”
“Not really.” He pulled out a Trump of his own. It showed the mountain where Amber Castle was being built. “Come, we must get back. The castle will not build itself.”
“Don't change the subject. Is it intelligent?” I had to know more. “Can it control me? It seemed to be trying to communicate with me—”
“Did you put it on?”
“Yes. But only for a minute.”
“Hmm. Sometimes it's safer not to know.”
He raised his Trump again, but I caught his arm.
“That's not an answer. Stop hiding things from me! This is my world, Dad. My universe. My Pattern. It's all part of me, and I'm part of it. You may have drawn the Pattern, but you don't have the same connection to it. If I'm going to protect it, I need to know what's going on. I want the truth… about everything. Let's start with spikards.”
“The truth…” He chuckled. “You would not believe me if I told you.”
“Try it!”
“Suhuy was right. All this—” A sweep of the arm took in the Pattern and all the Shadows it created. “This is but a game, and we are all pawns. Sometimes players make moves that we cannot see and cannot comprehend. Giving you a spikard…” He shrugged. “It changes the powers on the board. Just a slight shift of power toward us… toward you. Now it is another's turn to play.”
I snorted. “Let me guess—you're one of the Kindred, like Suhuy.”
He threw back his head and laughed. “No. I recognize truth when I see it, though, as should you. If I choose not to play, if I choose to leave the board and escape my destiny, it is my decision—for good or ill!”
“You make the game sound inevitable.”
He spread his hands. '“A pawn may still aspire to greatness.”
I shook my head. I felt like a pawn, all right—but his pawn, not some greater power's. He had lied to me so often now, I couldn't separate facts from his flights of fantasy. For all I knew, Ish and his kind might be cousins on my mother's side. Maybe they were unicorns, too. How would I know?
After a moment's thought, I said, “I don't mind playing. I want to win. I will win. But it helps to know what the rules are, Dad. Help me understand.”
“Well said.”
“Go on, then.” I folded my arms stubbornly.
Smiling, he shook his head. “No one tells us the rules. We must discover them as we go.”
Of course, another evasion. Why wasn't I surprised?
I decided to try another tack. I said, “So… if we are the pawns… who are the players? The Feynim?”
“If we are pawns, they are knights.”
“And Chaos?”
He chuckled. “The gameboard, perhaps. Or perhaps one small square…”
“You know I'm not happy with that answer.”
“It is the only one I have.”
Chapter 20
When we returned to camp, I just stood and stared in amazement. The changes were nothing short of miraculous. An army of stonemasons, carpenters, and other workmen must have descended on Amber during our brief absence—scaffolding had been built along the outer walls, and derricks had already begun moving huge blocks of stone into place. Inside the walls, one wing of the castle had gone up. Dozens of workers on the roof installed red slate shingles.
“The king! The king!” a voice cried.
Work halted as hundreds of workmen turned and craned to see me. They cheered. I gave an uneasy wave.
A moment later, Aber and Freda came running through the opening where the front gates would go. They raced down the winding dirt road to us. Freda gave me a huge hug. She had begun to cry. Grinning, Aber pounded me on the back.
“About time!” he cried. “Where have you been?”
“All this—” I waved at the castle. “How did you do it?”
“Hard work.” He shook his head. “More of it than I've ever done before.”
Freda let go of me and stood back. “Welcome back,” she said. “Where did you find him, Father?”
I looked at the two of them. “Why are you making such a fuss? I've only been gone an hour!”
“An hour!” Aber laughed. “Oberon—you've been gone for four months!”
“Impossible!”
“The Feynim,” Dad murmured. “I had no idea…”
Freda shuddered. “You did not make a bargain with those creatures—” she began.
“No. They refused to help us,” I said.
“Good. We want nothing to do with them.”
“Tell me—what has happened here?” I stared again at the castle. “All of this, and so fast!”
“Believe it or not,” Aber said proudly, “we are actually three days ahead of schedule. Now that you are back, things should go more smoothly.”
I didn't like the sound of that. “What do you mean?”
“There have been some problems,” he admitted. “Come inside. I'll show you around and tell you all about it.”
Freda nodded. “Go on, Oberon. I have a few matters to discuss with Father.”
“Very well.” I looked at Aber. “Lead on. I want to see and hear about everything I've missed.”
As soon as we were out of earshot, my brother's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Blaise is gone.”
“What! Where?”
“I don't know. She disappeared one night. Just up and vanished. She took all of her possessions with her… I'm not sure if she went back to Chaos or is hiding in one of the Shadows.”
I sighed. “I can't believe it.”
“And,” he went on gravely, “Uthor knows where we are. There have been problems… sabotage in the construction. All our mules and horses were poisoned one night. And dozens of workmen have been killed. It hasn't been pleasant.”
“Where is Conner?”
“In the forest with the army. There have been a few skirmishes with Uthor's forces. Scouts, he thinks. Uthor is spying on us.” He swallowed. “Dad and Conner have been trying to keep on top of things, but—”
“What do you mean about Dad?” I asked, puzzled. “He's been with me.”
“You're crazy. I had breakfast with him twenty minutes ago!”
“What!” I stopped dead in my tracks.
“He went to his room to work, and a few minutes later he showed up outside with you. Didn't he go get you, then return with a Trump?”
“No. He was with the Feynim. I went and got him.”
Aber swallowed. “One of them is an imposter.”
I drew my sword. “Show me his room. Maybe he's still there.”
“This way!”
Turning, he raced between stacks of lumber, piles of stone, and stacks of red roofing tiles. I followed him through a doorless entryway where carpenters were busily laying a plank floor, then up a partly finished staircase. He turned right at the top and entered a wide corridor. Plasterers on ladders were at work on the walls and ceiling. They gave us curious glances as we dashed past.
“Here,” Aber said, stopping in front of a high closed door.
I tried the handle, but it had been locked from the inside. Taking a step back, I gave it a savage kick. It flew open with a loud crash, and I sprang in with my sword held high.
With a single glance, I took in the canopied bed, the long table
littered with scrolls, blueprints, and other papers, and the wardrobe in the corner. The imposter was nowhere in sight. I stalked over to the wardrobe and threw its doors open, but aside from a few neatly folded shirts, pants, and undergarments, it lay empty.
Where could he have gone? I crossed to the window, in case he had jumped out, but saw no one below except workmen carrying stacks of lumber.
“Any idea where else he might be?” I asked.
“No. He did have a stack of Trumps, though… I saw him carrying them.”
I nodded. “He must have heard the watchman shouting when Dad and I arrived. Probably grabbed whatever he needed, used his Trump, and fled back to Chaos.”
“I can't believe he fooled Freda and me!” Aber muttered, shaking his head. Then he gave a snort. “I don't suppose mine was the real one and yours is the imposter?”
“No. Mine is the real Dworkin. I know it.”
We regarded each other soberly for a moment. Then I remembered the Feynim, my spikard-ring, and all the questions Dad hadn't been willing or able to answer. Maybe my brother could help.
“Can you tell me anything about the Feynim?” I asked him.
“Not much.” He frowned. “Nobody has heard from them in generations, not since they mopped the floor with King Ythoc. They're mostly legends now… bogeymen to scare little children. How did Dad get in touch with them, anyway?”
“I don't know. They seemed interested in the Pattern.”
He nodded slowly. “That makes sense. They would be interested in a new primal power.”
“Do you mean the Pattern?”
“Yes. They were interested in the Logrus… that's what led to the fight with King Ythoc. They wanted to see it. He refused and invaded their lands. Ten years of fighting followed.”
“Dad let them see the Pattern.”
“Probably a wise move.” He frowned. “I wonder if they ever did see the Logrus…”
“Why would they be interested?”
“Who knows. It's not like they need it—they have their Keye, of course.”
“Keye?”
“You know—like the old nursery rhyme. 'What turns no lock but opens all doors? The Feynim Keye of course…' “ His voice trailed off.
“I've never heard that before,” I said.
“It's just nonsense for kids.” He shrugged. “A grain of truth wrapped in sugar and rhyme.”
We spent an hour searching the castle and its surrounding lands, but found no trace of the fake Dworkin. I wasn't surprised; he must have returned to Chaos and made his report to King Uthor by now. Every plan and word and deed made in the castle over the last four months would now be known in Chaos.
Angry and sick at heart, I called Conner through his Trump and brought him back immediately. Four months had changed him enormously. No longer thin and weak from starvation, he had filled out with new muscle and sported a short brown beard, shoulder-length hair, and a sun-bronzed face. He had assumed command of the army and begun setting up our defenses—which included hourly patrols along all the natural borders surrounding Amber, a line of guardposts, and cutting several roads for supplying troops. All in all, a good start.
“It's nice to have you back,” he said, sipping the wine I poured for him. “I don't want to be king.”
“King?”
“Dad—the imposter, I mean—kept telling me that you weren't coming back. That I had to take the crown for myself.”
I chuckled. “I'm glad you didn't! It's only been a few hours for me since I left. The changes everywhere…” I shook my head. “I'm impressed. Everyone seems to have pitched in.”
“Except Blaise. She never liked it here.” He made a face. “We're better off without her.”
“Am I the only one who likes her?” I said with a laugh.
“I think so!”
I shook my head, remembering the trouble she had in getting used to this Shadow. Wherever she was, I wished her well.
After a few more pleasantries had been exchanged, Conner continued telling Dad and me about our new army. It numbered just over ten thousand so far, with most of them stationed along the forest.
“I don't think we will have much longer to wait before Uthor acts,” Conner said. “My men have run across his scouts half a dozen times so far.”
“Did you question them?” I asked.
“They fought to the death.”
“I am surprised Uthor has waited this long,” Dad said. “It is not like him.”
“There must be a reason.” I chewed my lower lip thoughtfully. “Will it be an open attack? Like the one in Juniper?”
“A thousand time worse,” Dad said. “That one was designed to look like a minor personal vendetta, carried out against me personally by a single Lord of Chaos. This time we will face an attack from the throne, with the full force of Chaos behind it.”
“Then we will need fighters,” I said.
“A lot more of them,” Conner agreed. “A hundred thousand couldn't hold Juniper. Must we have a million? Ten million?”
“We will raise as many as we need,” I said grimly. “In that, we have an advantage over Chaos. We can recruit from all the Shadows we want, and quickly.”
Dad said, “True…”
I turned to Conner. “Is there someone you can leave in charge of the army for a few days? I need you off in Shadow recruiting more soldiers, too.”
He nodded. “I have several lieutenants I trust.”
“Good. Assign one to the castle and one to the borders.”
“I will go, too,” Dad said. “And I will take Freda with me.”
“Freda?”
“She can be quite persuasive.”
“All right. We need all the help we can get.”
“What about Aber?” Conner asked.
I frowned. “Someone must stay here to supervise the workers. Fighting isn't to his taste or talents, anyway. He wouldn't know what to look for in an army.”
Half an hour later, I walked alone toward the forest, away from the castle, letting my imagination soar. A hint of mauve in the leaves, a twist of the trail, and the world began to flow and change around me. Taller trees. Oaks giving way to pines. A rocky ground. And people… most especially people.
Each new element I introduced to the landscape brought me closer to my goal. I kept my destination firmly in mind… a land of beautiful fields, clear skies, and matchless warrior-priests, who worshipped me as a god. If such a place existed in Shadow, I would find it.
The forest trail opened onto a road made of jet-black stone. As I walked over a hill, fields of wheat and rye spread out before me as far as I could see, worked by thousands of slaves from conquered nations. Overhead, an eagle soared, its voice raucous.
A pair of golden chariots pulled by high-stepping black horses sped toward me. Two men stood inside each chariot, their long moustaches and golden hair whipping behind them.
I paused in the middle of the road, hands on my hips, waiting patiently. The large yellow sun warmed my back. Scents of thyme and wild lavender rode the breeze. This was a pleasant Shadow; I wouldn't have minded living here.
The two carriages skidded to a halt ten paces from where I stood. Four men—one old, three young, all dressed in beautiful golden armor—leaped to the ground and knelt before me.
They had to be King Olam and his three sons. I knew all their names, just as I knew the history of their world. It had come into my mind, and I had sought it out, following a path through Shadows until everything matched my vision.
Thus had I come to the Kingdom of Ceyoldar… where millions worshipped a warrior-god named Oberon who happened to look just like me.
“Rise, Aslom,” I said, trying to sound godlike. My voice hung in the air, low and powerful. “I am Oberon, returned to lead my chosen people to glory!”
Aslom stood slowly, scarcely daring to gaze upon my face. He looked every day of his fifty-five years. Although decades spent outdoors on military campaign had creased and weathered his face, his eyes
spoke of a pleasant temper and a keen intellect. The broken nose and long white scars on his hands and along his left cheek and jawline spoke of battles fought through the years. He was the greatest king and warrior his people had ever known.
“Most exalted Oberon, Lord of Light, Shaper of Dreams!” King Aslom cried, trembling slightly with awe and fear. “Our lives are yours! Command us, I beg you! We live to serve you!”
I gazed beyond him to the three younger men still kneeling in the road with their eyes respectfully downcast. Only the youngest dared to cast wondering glances at me when he thought my attention lay elsewhere. They shared his sharp-hewn features, but few of his battle-scars. Give them time…
“You brought your sons,” I said, smiling.
“All is as the prophecy said, Lord Oberon!”
“All?” I asked. This would be the test. “Where is your fourth son, King Aslom?”
“You must tell me, Lord!”
The sharp twang of a bowstring sounded behind me. I had known it was coming, but it still surprised me. All gods needed to be tested now and again to prove their divinity. An arrow in the back would be my test.
I whirled, arms a blur, turning faster than any mere man could ever move. Time seemed to be slowing down as I focused on the arrow heading straight for me. It whistled faintly as it flew, a black shaft with black fletching, its barbed arrowhead tipped in gold. How fitting for a god.
I snatched it from the air before it could strike me and continued my pirouette. I wound up facing King Aslom again. He gaped, eyes wide, hardly able to believe what he had just seen. A miracle to them… a trick of speed and coordination for me, as easy as catching a ball.
Then fear began to replace joy in his expression. I was the god, and on his order, his son had just tried to kill me. What would I do? What punishment fit this crime?
“A fair shot, but it will take far more than an arrow to kill me,” I said easily, letting a note of amusement creep into my voice. Better to treat it as a joke and let him off the hook. Tightening my fist, I snapped the arrow in half, then tossed it casually at his feet. “Bring forth your first-born son,” I continued. “I want to look upon him.”
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