I felt a rush of excitement. “Can you hold him there until I get back?”
“I think so. He can do no harm where he is.”
“Good. I have a hundred thousand warriors with me, give or take a few thousand. Tell Aber to start laying in supplies. Since Uthor knows where we are anyway, he might as well use the Logrus to save time.”
“Excellent. I will let him know.”
It took me two days to lead King Aslom's forces back to Amber. It was neither terribly far nor a hard march; but the sheer logistics of getting so many people up and moving at the same time took far longer than I would have expected. My own experiences in Ilerium, as one of King Elnar's lieutenants, proved less than adequate to the task. Elnar's army had numbered in the low thousands, and I had commanded scarcely a hundred and fifty men. Here I commanded nearly a thousand times as many.
Finally, though, the horses and wagons and war-chariots and miles-long lines of infantrymen all came within sight of the forest. A road had been cut straight through to the castle—visible from here only as a faint smudge on a distant mountainside—and we were quickly challenged by a squad of armed men.
I rode forward to greet them.
“It's the king!” one, then another, began to mutter. Quickly they knelt, heads bowed.
“Rise,” I said, reigning in my stallion. “You must be vigilant. We caught an imposter at the castle pretending to be my father, Lord Dworkin, two days ago. Challenge everyone who passes, whether you know them or not.”
“Yes, Your Highness!”
“You—” I pointed at a sergeant. “What's your name?”
“M-Mevill, Sire!”
“I must go ahead. You will take my horse and escort King Aslom and his men to Castle Amber.”
“Y-yes, Sire!”
I rode back to King Aslom and his sons, who had drawn to a halt in their golden war-chariots, and apprised them of my plans. They nodded agreeably. After all, who were they to question the great Oberon?
Dismounting, I turned my horse over to Sergeant Mevill, pulled out a Trump of the caste's courtyard, and stepped through. It must have been quite a sight for Aslom and his sons—more proof, if any were needed, that I was a god.
I found Freda and Dad in the main hall. They hurried over to greet me.
“Is that imposter still here?” I asked.
“Yes,” Dad said. “He is trapped in my room. We have been waiting for you before questioning him.”
“Good. Let's have a look at him.”
They led me upstairs, back to the room whose door I had kicked open three days before. The door hadn't been repaired yet and still hung open.
Inside, someone who looked just like my father sat on the edge of the canopied bed. He had bitten his thumb and was dribbling a thin line of blood slowly onto the floorboards… trying to draw a Trump, by the looks of things. Only it wasn't working. I felt no power coming from the spattered red lines.
He looked up, saw me, and said: “By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.”
“Very funny,” I said. I turned to Freda. “Do you recognize that picture?”
She stared at it, tilting her head slightly. “Yes. It is the Third Tower. It lies well beyond the Courts of Chaos.”
“What is it?”
“A place of ancient power and prophecy.”
“Prophecy?” That sounded interesting.
She nodded. “Visions sometimes come to those who meditate there. There are thousands of them recorded in the Great Record. Perhaps he knows of a prophecy concerning us, or Amber, and wishes to return and consult it.”
The fake Dworkin rose and crossed to the doorway, gazing out at us. Raising one hand, he touched the space where the door would have been, but seemed to run into an invisible barrier.
“He cannot get out,” Dad said. “Spells have sealed the room.”
“Release me,” the imposter said.
“Why? So you can report back to King Uthor?”
“I do not serve Uthor.”
“Who, then? Lord Zon?”
“No.”
“Or… Suhuy?”
He did not reply this time. I raised my eyebrows.
“So it's Suhuy, then.”
“Release me, brother.”
“And it's 'brother' now?”
Freda gasped then and clutched my arm. “No… Oberon! They have done something to him—this is Fenn!”
I stared at him. Stared hard. “Fenn?”
“Yes, brother. You must let me go. Please.”
Swallowing, I looked at Dad, who shook his head faintly. I motioned with my head to one side, and we retreated up the hall to where he couldn't hear us.
“Fenn…” Freda whispered. “How horrible.”
“I think he looks rather handsome,” Dad said with a hint of a smile. “Never better, in fact.”
She glared. “This is not a time for jests!”
“At least we know how he managed to fool you and Aber,” I said to her. “Fenn would know what to say and exactly how to say it convincingly. Now comes the big question… what do we do with him?”
“He must have his old appearance restored, of course,” I said. “Dad… is that something you can do?”
“I am not sure.”
“Why is Suhuy sending spies?” Freda asked. “As Keeper of the Logrus, he should not be involving himself in politics.”
“Tell him that,” I said. “If returning Conner to us doesn't count as playing politics, what does? Unless he wants to play on both sides… by secretly helping us and King Uthor, wouldn't he keep everyone's favor?”
“Possibly,” Dad said.
“What matters with Fenn is his motivation,” I said. “If he came unwillingly, forced by Suhuy to do his bidding, perhaps he can be freed of whatever compulsion is upon him. If he's a willing spy, though…”
They both nodded. Having decided, we returned to Fenn and peered in at him. He had returned to his seat on the bed.
“Well?” he demanded.
“We don't know what to do with you,” I said.
“Let me go. I must return to my master.”
“Or…?”
“Or I will die.” He said it in such a matter-of-fact voice that I knew he believed it.
I swallowed. “How?”
“He gave me a slow poison. I must return each week to make my report and take a dose of the antidote. If I miss one week, I become weak. If I miss two weeks, I become violently ill. If I miss three weeks…” He shrugged. “So, you can see I have no choice.”
“How long has it been?” I asked.
“Four days.”
Grimly, I turned to our father. If anyone could help Fenn, he could.
I said, “You have two weeks to find a cure. Don't let him out until he's well or dead.”
He nodded gravely. “Yes, Oberon.”
Without another word to Fenn, I went to find Aber. We still had to prepare for a hundred thousand visitors.
Chapter 23
Late that night, as I lay in bed unable to sleep, I held the spikard and stared at it. The ruby glinted in the dimness. Somehow it reminded me of the jewel around the unicorn's neck.
Dad didn't seem to think it was dangerous. And yet… somehow, it made me uneasy.
As sleep stole upon me, I set it on the table beside the bed and shut my eyes. I would try to find out more about it in the morning.
I slept.
Sometime later, I felt a sharp pain on my finger and came awake. It was the ring, I realized. It had tightened painfully for a second, then released me. How had it gotten on my finger?
It tightened again. A warning—
I kept my breathing low and even, but strained every sense. A rustle near the door made the hair on the back of my neck bristle. Someone had entered my room.
Slowly I eased my hand under my pillow, careful to make no sound, and curled my fingers around the hilt of a long-bladed knife. Then, in one quick movement, I sat up and threw it.
&nb
sp; A satisfyingly loud thunk reached my ears as it struck something meaty near the door, then came a louder thump as a body hit the floor.
Folding my hands together, I concentrated on light, shaping a ball with my thoughts while holding the Pattern in my mind. When I opened them, a brightly glowing sphere drifted toward the ceiling.
A creature dressed all in black lay on the floor by my door, the hilt of my knife jutting from one eye. I rose, dressed calmly, and pulled on my boots. Then I went over to investigate.
Clearly it was a creature of Chaos. Horns, scaled skin, pointed yellow teeth, red eyes, and thick gray-green blood… akin to the hell-creatures that had plagued my life for so long.
The blades of its knives had been painted with a greenish substance. Poison? Undoubtedly. Someone wanted me dead. Someone in my very own house. No creature like this one could have gotten past the sentries at the castle doors or on patrol atop the walls. Which meant someone with the ability to use the Pattern or the Logrus had brought it here.
I searched its clothes, felt something hard and cold, and drew out a pair of Trumps. The first showed the Courts of Chaos as seen from an open square. Buildings leaned at odd angles and strange colors filled the sky. I didn't look at it long; I didn't want the scene to come alive. The second Trump showed the hallway outside my door.
So… he had come prepared. Trumps would have provided his way into Castle Amber and then his escape back home once he killed me.
It confirmed my worst suspicions.
Someone in my own family had sent him.
I studied the Trump of the hallway with greater attention. The details had been crudely done, and the brush strokes showed signs of haste, but I still sensed the raw power it contained. Whose work, though? I had seen Trumps drawn by both Aber and our father, but those had been polished works of art in comparison. Could either of them deliberately disguised his work? Or did another family member have the talents needed to make Trumps?
Fenn? It seemed possible. He had been trying to draw a Trump from his own blood. And yet… why would he want me dead? His master, Suhuy, seemed to want me alive and well.
Blaise? I'd never heard of her drawing Trumps. Conner? Freda? Aber? I frowned.
I had drawn a Trump myself, I remembered. Crudely drawn on a wall, it had nevertheless worked. Maybe anyone born of Chaos or the Pattern could make one, given sufficient time and motivation. I would have to ask Aber about it.
Maybe a spy from Chaos had infiltrated Amber by posing as a workman? That seemed the possible answer. He had looked around, worked on the hallway outside my room, and made the Trump at his leisure.
After dragging the body into the hallway, I shouted for the new valet Aber had gotten me. Denis came running, barefoot and dressed in his night clothes.
“Sire?” he said, staring down with horror at the body.
“Take care of this,” I said, nudging it with my foot. “Be careful with the knives. They're poisoned.”
“Of course. Um, Sire… Lady Freda asked to be informed of anything odd that happens. Should I let her know?”
“Why not? Assassins are fairly common around here.” I smiled with grim amusement. Of course Freda had already begun setting up a network of spies and informants. With all the plotting in our midst, I couldn't blame her.
Without another word, I went back to bed. I didn't bother to undress or extinguish the floating ball of light; I just flopped down on top of the covers. Somehow, I had the feeling this night's events weren't quite over.
Idly, I rubbed my ring. The spikard had saved my life. How had it gotten onto my finger?
Five minutes later, a light tap sounded at my door.
“Enter!” I called, sitting up. Freda didn't waste much time.
It was Aber, though, who opened the door and stuck in his head. “You'd better come with me,” he said grimly. “Freda has something to show you.”
“All right.” I joined him in the hall. He'd thrown on a dressing gown and from his tousled hair it looked like he'd been roused prematurely from his sleep.
“Freda, you said? Where is she?”
“Working downstairs.”
He led the way to the grand hall. Torches burned in their sconces in the hallways; guards on duty by the doors to the courtyard snapped to attention, raising their pikes. I gave them a brief wave and they relaxed a bit.
Aber headed for the left wing—empty, as far as I knew. Like most of Castle Amber, the corridors here still had rough stone walls and floors made of broad wooden planks. It would be months yet before everything could be properly finished. The outside walls and fortifications took priority. Niceties like polished floorboards and paneling could wait for now.
“In here.” Aber opened a small door to the right and lead the way inside.
It was a small, square room. A small lantern sat in the corner. By its flickering, uncertain light, I saw the assassin's body lying in the exact center of a large circle.
Freda, on her knees, completed the circle with a black paintbrush as I watched. Then she began writing a series of runes around the outside of the circle.
“What are you doing?” I asked with interest. I had never seen anything like this before. I studied the runes, but could not puzzle out their meaning. Something magical, I assumed.
“We must trap his spirit,” she said matter-of-factly, “if we are to question him.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Do you mean a ghost? The last thing I want is an assassin haunting the castle!”
“You are a silly boy. Stand over there until I'm ready for you. Don't smudge the circle; the line is still wet.”
“Is this safe?” I asked Aber.
“Got me,” he said, looking uneasily at Freda's work. “I've never seen anything like it before.”
Our sister said, “We only have a few minutes left. These things must be done quickly, before the spirit departs. Pay attention and follow my instructions exactly. Everything will go as planned.”
“Best listen,” said Aber, hooking my arm and pulling me back.
“All right, all right.”
Together we retreated to the corner with the lantern. I couldn't take offense at Freda's brusqueness; I knew she meant well. And if we really could question the assassin, so much the better.
She worked quickly. I felt a mounting suspense. If the ghost revealed who had betrayed us, it might go a long way toward turning the events in our favor.
Freda finished the last of the runes and stood. Taking a deep breath, she raised both arms toward the middle circle and the assassin's body.
“Come forth!” she cried. She clapped her hands three times. “Come forth!” she cried again. “You are bound to this place! Show yourself, spirit!”
I leaned forward expectantly. A strange glowing mist rose slowly from the assassin's body. It took shape… head… torso… limbs. It rushed from side to side, trying to flee, but the runes and circle formed a barrier it could not pass.
“Speak!” Freda intoned. She clapped her hands three times again. It drifted around to face her. “You are bound here! Obey me!”
The ghost bared its spectral teeth in a snarl. “Let me go…” it cried in a hollow voice that sent chills through me. “The darkness calls…”
Aber gave me a nudge. “Go on. Question it.”
Freda looked pointedly in my direction. I swallowed hard and stepped forward.
“Who sent you here?” I demanded in a voice stronger than I felt.
“Abomination…” it wailed. Then it hurled itself in my direction, but came up short at the edge of the circle.
I stood unflinching. Freda's magic better hold; if this ghost got free, it clearly meant to do me whatever harm it still could.
“Who sent you?” I demanded again.
Hissing, it drew back.
“How do I know it will speak the truth?” I asked Freda.
“The circle holds it trapped,” she said. “It cannot leave until released… whether that takes five minutes or five hundred year
s. Be persuasive.”
Quite a bargaining chip. I took a deep breath and stepped closer to the edge of the circle. The ghost threw itself toward me again, and when it failed to reach me, drew back once more.
“Who sent you?” I demanded.
“Fiend!” it shouted. “Abomination!” then it began to curse me and my family for a thousand generations. Once more it flew at the boundaries of the circle, trying to escape. But Freda's magic held; it could not get away.
“Answer me!” I said.
“Let me go…” it wailed. “Let me go…”
“Tell me what I want to know, and I will consider it.”
“No… I cannot…”
“Do you want to spend eternity here, trapped in this circle?”
It gnashed ghostly teeth but made no reply.
“Come,” I said to Freda and Aber. “It won't cooperate. We'll have the room walled up in the morning.” I turned toward the door.
“No!” it called. “Wait…”
I glanced over my shoulder. “Will you answer my questions?”
“Yes…”
“Very well.” I folded my arms. “Who sent you?”
“Uthor… King of Chaos…”
I nodded slowly. I had known it would be either King Uthor or Lord Zon.
Now to find out who had betrayed us.
I said, “Who drew the Trump that brought you here?”
“I do not know…”
“Where did you get it?”
“From the king's own hand…”
Unfortunate, if true. Maybe it didn't know who had betrayed us.
I frowned. What other information might prove useful?
“Where is Uthor's army now?” I asked.
It hissed and dashed at the far edge of the circle, trying to escape. Clearly it did not want to say any more; it still held that much loyalty to its old liege.
I said sharply: “Speak! If you ever want to leave this place, tell me what I want to know!”
“I cannot…”
“You will! You must!”
It gnashed spectral teeth. Again it hurled itself against the walls of its prison, all to no avail.
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