To Rule in Amber tdoa-3

by John Gregory Betancourt

  “Speak!” I commanded. “This is your last chance! Where is Uthor? Where are his men? I want to know the location of his camp!”

  For a moment I thought it would refuse to answer, but finally it spoke in a low voice.

  “The king is close… He will be here soon… He will kill you all and free me…”

  Aber gasped. “King Uthor left the Courts of Chaos? Is that what you're telling us?”

  “Yes…”

  I glanced at my brother. “Is that important?”

  “Of course it is!” Aber said. “If the ghost is telling the truth—”

  Freda said, “It is the truth. I feel it.”

  “I don't understand.” I looked from one to the other. “Uthor should lead his men into battle. It's what kings do.”

  “You really don't understand,” Aber said, his voice low and urgent. “King Uthor hasn't left the Courts in six hundred years!”

  “What!” I blinked in surprise. “Why not?”

  “It is the custom,” Freda said. “His sons or his generals fight his battles. Only a dire emergency could possibly bring him forth.”

  An emergency… like the now-corrected Pattern casting a new set of Shadows? Like the creator of those Shadows building a new castle and fortifying it against attack?

  Grimly, I smiled. This could easily turn to our advantage.

  I said, “Then he's just made his first mistake.”

  Chapter 24

  “ Let me go…!” the ghost cried.

  “One more question,” I said, turning to face it again. “Where can I find Uthor's camp?”

  “Far from here…”

  “He cannot know, truly,” Freda said in a quiet voice. “He is not born of the Logrus or the Pattern. He can neither walk through Shadows nor visualize Uthor's camp in relation to Amber.”

  “A pity.” It had been worth a try, though.

  “Very well,” I said, giving Freda a nod. I was satisfied; I didn't think we could learn much more from it. “Set the ghost free.”

  “Are you sure?” Aber said softly. “Maybe we should keep it here a little while longer, just in case. You might think of another question or two. If we let it go, we won't have this chance again.”

  The ghost hissed angrily. “Liars…!” it cried. “I knew you would not let me go…!”

  “Be silent!” I snapped. To Aber, I said, “It kept its word. I must keep mine. Freda?”

  “I agree,” she said.

  Reaching out with the toe of her right shoe, she carefully rubbed at the edge of the circle. It took a few seconds, but when the line broke, the ghost rushed past her with a cry of joy.

  Outside the circle, it hesitated and looked back at me. Slowly it turned.

  “You kept your word…” it said.

  “Yes.” I folded my arms. “I always keep my word.”

  “I did not believe you would…”

  “A bargain is a bargain. Be on your way. Do not return, spirit.”

  Still it lingered. “I will answer the one question you failed to ask…”

  Curious, I leaned closer. “What is that?”

  “Your true enemy is not Uthor… He spoke of you with something akin to admiration…”

  “Huh!” Aber said. “Murder is an odd way of showing admiration!”

  I said to the ghost, “Then why did he order you to kill me?”

  “Because he fears what will happen if he does not…”

  Then, with a sigh, it faded away, gone to whatever afterlife remained.

  I puzzled over those parting words. What could possibly happen to Uthor if he failed to order my death? He was the king—his wishes should have been paramount. A real threat must hang over him, something that forced him to take immediate action.

  What might he fear? A rival for the throne, perhaps? Someone powerful enough to lead a revolt against him if he appeared weak or indecisive?

  Lord Zon, perhaps?

  I sighed. If only they saw fit to leave me alone. I had no interest in Chaos or the Logrus. I only wanted to live in peace. Everything I had done so far had been to protect myself… They kept attacking me, after all.

  Was the Pattern really that powerful? Had it truly weakened Chaos so much that Uthor needed to move decisively against me to keep lands safe and his subjects satisfied?

  We already knew Uthor had time on his side… months to prepare versus days for us in Amber. We would have to move quickly or be caught unprepared.

  Freda said, “You understand the threat.”

  I nodded. “Yes. He will attack soon.”

  “You must be ready.”

  She held out her right hand. In it I saw a stack of Trumps, face down.

  “More of your future-telling?” I asked with a laugh.

  “Humor me, Oberon.”

  I shrugged, took the deck, shuffled it twice, and handed it back. Turning, she headed for her room… probably to read them in private. She knew how little I believed in predictions.

  “Let me know if there's any good news!” I called after her. “I could use some about now!”

  Aber said, “You shouldn't make light of her talents. She is a powerful sorceress.”

  “Anyone can foretell the future. The trick is getting it right.”

  “Futures can change, you know. That's why so many predictions don't come true. Oh! I have something for you!”

  “What?”

  He reached into the pouch at his belt and drew out a new Trump. The colors were bright, almost glassy. I accepted it.

  “Nice. New paints?”

  “I spent the morning yesterday hunting up pigments. These are nothing like the ones I used to have, but they will do.”

  It showed the main courtyard of the castle. Quite a nice likeness, too.

  “You may have to get back here in a hurry,” he explained. “This is in case Freda and I aren't around.”

  I grinned. “Thank you!”

  “Oh, it's nothing much.” He made a deprecating gesture, but seemed delighted by the praise. “My small contribution.”

  I added it to the stack of Trumps in my pouch, hesitated, then pulled out Dad's. Aber said nothing, but his eyes begged: Please don't!

  “I have to,” I said. “He must be told what's going on. He might be able to help in some way. Why don't you come along?”

  “You know Dad can't stand me!”

  “Oh, he can stand you. He just doesn't like you!”

  “And that makes it worse.” Sighing, Aber looked away.

  I'd spoken half in jest, but I saw that it had touched a nerve. I hadn't meant to hurt him. I really needed to curb my tongue.

  Quickly I added, “I really didn't mean it quite the way it sounded. I—”

  “I know what you meant, Oberon!” he said. “Don't worry about it. The truth is painful sometimes, but I'll get over it. I always do. Besides, I'll have the last laugh. I plan to outlive him. Longevity is the best revenge.”

  I chuckled. “At least you have a plan.”

  Raising Dad's Trump, I concentrated on the picture. The jester slowly changed, becoming a dwarfish man dressed all in brown. He had been puttering about in the basement, in the large meeting room.

  “What is it?” he demanded.

  “I need to talk to you,” I said. “I killed an assassin in the castle. He had a Trump.”

  “What!” Dworkin cried. “Are you hurt?”

  “I'm fine.”

  He reached out for me, and I took his hand. With a quick step, I was standing in his library. The shelves were a maddening jumble of books and scrolls.

  “Where did you get these?” I asked, staring.

  “The Logrus.”

  I shook my head. Only a few weeks here, and he had already amassed a lifetime's supply of reading matter, true packrat that he was.

  He chuckled. “Do not fear the Logrus, my boy. It's the arms of the thing…”

  I gave him a puzzled look. “Arms?” Had his dementia returned?

  He laughed. “Those who serve
its cause. Uthor's men. Thellops. Others.”

  I opened my mouth, but before I could reply, someone outside began to ring a loud bell. We exchanged quick glances, then ran for the door. What now?

  Conner burst in on us, grinning from ear to ear.

  “What is it?” I demanded.

  “We've found Uthor's camp!”

  Chapter 25

  It took half an hour to mount our scouting expedition. Ten men strong, the party consisted of Conner and me, two of Conner's lieutenants, and six men from Ceyoldar—two of King Aslom's sons, Haetor and Iankos, plus four of Ceyoldar's best cavalry officers. Aslom and his two other sons were busy organizing their camp on the beach below the castle. A hundred thousand warriors needed ample space.

  We headed out as soon as fresh horses could be saddled and supplies could be packed. At my brother's suggestion, we brought heavy wool cloaks, hats, and gloves.

  “I found a place to observe them from the mountains,” he said. “It's cold and a little treacherous, but I don't think they will spot us.”

  “Good.” That sounded like an ideal plan.

  Finally, as late afternoon sunlight slanted down through the treetops, we entered the forest. Connor shifted through Shadows immediately, and the land grew rocky. As the temperature began to drop, the sky turned gray and sullen with the promise of snow. Oaks gave way to pines, then the pines gave way to scraggly, gnarled underbrush.

  I noticed how the men from Ceyoldar stared at everything around them with wonder. They knew this was the way we had entered Amber, but nothing looked the same. Ah, the powers of a god… Smiling to myself, I caught up with my brother.

  Now the road grew rocky and narrow; forced into a single-file line, we climbed a steep path, moving into rugged snow-draped mountains. A cold, crisp wind gusted into my face, stinging with occasional flakes of snow. I blinked hard and squinted into the wind. We would need capes soon. I started to look for a place to stop.

  “How many men would you say Uthor has?” I called ahead.

  “I estimated between forty and fifty thousand—though not all were fighters,” Conner replied. “From the look of things, he brought half the court sycophants with him.”

  That didn't surprise me; King Elnar had sometimes allowed Ilerium's court to watch battles in which victory was certain. If nothing else, it impressed the ladies… and kept intrigue to a minimum. You didn't plot against a monarch with a powerful army at his back.

  “Uthor is too confident,” I said, half to myself. Another mistake.

  “He always is.” Conner chuckled. “You aren't Dad, and this isn't Juniper. He's going to be in for quite a surprise on the battlefield this time.”

  “You sound pretty certain.”

  “Oh, I have a some surprises in mind… I've been talking to a few powerful Shadow-beings, and I can guarantee reinforcements when the battle starts.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “Not just yet. When the time is right…”

  I grinned. “Let's hope we aren't disappointed. We still haven't seen Dad and Freda's troops yet, either.”

  Hard-packed snow rose high to either side of the path, and the air grew thin as we ascended. Still we rode. Two thousand feet up, we came to a small plateau.

  “Cold-weather gear!” I called over my shoulder, breath pluming in the air. I swung down from my saddle and pulled cloak and gloves from my pack. Made of heavy white wool, they shielded me from the cut of the wind as soon as I put them on.

  I noticed the men from Ceyoldar all shivering as they gratefully threw on their cloaks. I motioned Haetor and Iankos to my side. They hurried forward, bowing.

  “I don't feel cold the way you do,” I told them. “You should have said something. We would have stopped sooner.”

  “Yes, Oberon,” Iankos said. “Next time…”

  Conner joined me. “We go on foot from here,” he said.

  “Is it much farther?”

  “A couple hundred yards.”

  “We will make a camp here,” I said to Haetor. “You're in charge. Iankos? Come with us.” I turned to my brother. “Lead on!”

  Conner crossed the plateau to where the trail continued. Hugging the side of the mountain, it curved to the left and out of sight. An outcropping of stone shielded it from the ice and snow above.

  Without hesitation, Conner strode forward. I came next, letting one hand touch the mountainside for balance, and Iankos brought up the rear. The wind picked up, giving a low moan of sound, and the air grew colder still. I pulled my hat lower, covering the tops of my ears. This was not the sort of weather I liked.

  At last the trail leveled, then started down. Becoming wider, it ended abruptly at a little shelf.

  Conner dropped to his hands and knees. Creeping forward slowly, he peeked over the edge. I joined him, and Iankos did the same.

  “There they are,” Connor said unnecessarily, pointing.

  Far below, in a lush green valley split by a meandering river, Uthor had made his camp. Tents by the score lined the water's edge. Huge pens held horses and lizardlike animals I had never seen before. Smoke from a thousand campfires cast a haze across everything.

  To the north, at the far end of the valley, squads drilled and practiced with swords, axes, pikes, and strange long-bladed weapons. Everywhere I looked, I saw the bustle of movement. The sheer numbers astounded me.

  “So many…” Iankos murmured. I knew how he felt. At my most conservative estimate, there had to be two hundred thousand warriors camped below us—and maybe a lot more.

  “He has brought in reinforcements since yesterday,” Conner said. I glanced over at him. He was frowning faintly. “He must be gathering in everyone that he can. He must plan to attack soon.”

  “How can we hope to stand against that?” Iankos murmured, almost to himself.

  “We will,” I said sharply, “because we must.”

  He bowed his head. “A thousand pardons, Oberon. I did not mean to doubt you. Of course, with you leading us, victory is certain!”

  “It is not certain… but I think it likely!”

  “It's like Juniper all over again,” Conner said, voice low. “They will use magic and try to block our access to the Logrus.”

  “You're forgetting one important detail,” I said.

  He glanced over at me. “What?”

  “We aren't in Chaos anymore,” I said slowly. “Here, we're the masters. We control the Pattern and the Shadows. He's at our mercy.”

  I crawled back and stood. When I let my vision slip into that magical sight I had found in Lord Zon's keep, everything around me took on a strange bluish glow… lines of force connecting everyone and everything around us.

  There had to be a way to use the Pattern to keep Uthor at bay. I just had to find it. We needed something big to take care of Uthor's army… a tidal wave… an earthquake… something of that size and power.

  Or… maybe an avalanche? I smiled. Tons of falling rock, ice, and snow could bury most of their camp, if it hit the valley. But how?

  I had called on the Pattern several times while in Chaos to strike at Lord Zon, so I knew it could be used to manipulate elements of the physical world. But could it affect a whole mountain? Could it cause an avalanche of sufficient power to bury a whole valley?

  Unfortunately, we didn't have time to experiment. It might take weeks or months to learn to use the Pattern like that.

  Another idea struck me. Why shouldn't we use the Logrus, too? Everyone else in my family could call on its power at will. If the Pattern couldn't cause an avalanche, maybe the Logrus could… I'd have to talk to Dad. He might be able to make it happen.

  “I've seen enough,” I said to Conner.

  He rose. “Back to Amber?”

  “Yes. We'll use a Trump this time. Speed is going to be important.”

  We headed back to rejoin the others, maneuvering along the mountain's curving ledge as quickly as possible. When we got there, we found them gathered around their horses.

 
; “Let's go!” I called. “Everyone together now! Lead your horses, hands on the flank of the animal in front of you so we don't get separated!”

  I pulled out my deck of Trumps and found the new card Aber had given me lying on top. I picked it up, concentrated on the castle's central courtyard, and the scene leaped to life.

  Without a backward glance, I led my horse through. Mentally, I held the passage open for the others to follow, though they shouldn't have needed it, since they maintained physical contact the whole time.

  When we were all safely returned, I passed my horse's reins to one of the half-dozen stableboys who came running. I threw off my cloak and gloves.

  Then I heard running footsteps and a frantic wheezing. What now? I turned, curious.

  “Your Highness!” An elderly steward came running up, breathless, hands fluttering frantically. “Your Highness! A word, Sire!”

  “What is it?” I asked wearily. Couldn't the routine matters of state wait until morning?

  He dropped to one knee. “Visitors are here from Chaos—waiting in the main hall—”

  “What!” I cried. Conner and I exchanged a startled glance “Who is attending them?”

  “Lord Dworkin. He said—to bring you—at once!”

  I frowned. “Who are they? Relatives?”

  “I do not think so—Sire! They are—soldiers—come under a flag—of truce—”

  “When did they arrive?” I demanded.

  “Right after you left! They asked for Lord Dworkin. They have been behind closed doors ever since!”

  “Where are Freda and Aber?” I asked.

  He wrung his hands. “Gone! Fled!”

  “What! Why?”

  “Your father told them to, Sire!”

  I didn't know what to think. Should I be alarmed? Afraid? If Aber and Freda fled…

  “Any ideas?” I asked Conner, who was staring thoughtfully off into space.

  “None.” He looked as puzzled as I felt.

  “All right,” I said to the steward. “Take us to them. Quickly!”

  “This way, Sire!”

  Turning, he hurried inside, down several corridors, to the closed double-doors to one of a private meeting room. He fretted there until, with a sigh, I stepped past, threw open the doors, and entered. Conner followed me in.