I don't know if I hit him or not, but I'd like to think so. The arrows certainly broke his concentration. Even as I loosed my last shot, I heard Conner suck in a quick breath.
“Oberon!” he said in a warning voice.
I glanced toward the shadow. Twenty yards away, it had stopped moving toward us. Suddenly it began to swell rapidly outward, twenty feet across, then thirty—
“Can you stop it?” I said, backing up. “Freda?”
Whatever the shadow touched turned black and crumbled to dust. The ground—our tents—stacks of weapons—
My sister remained silent, but her face had grown hard. Her lips moved; she raised both her hands, one pointed directly toward the cloud, the other angling a Trump toward her face.
That Trump showed the Courts of Chaos. Somehow, she had opened the image on the card. Like the cloud, it seethed with dark movements. The stars in its sky moved. The buildings shimmered and swayed. Lightning flickered across the landscape, occasionally striking out through the card with little flickering tongues of light.
“Like drawn to like!” she commanded. She extended the card toward the still-expanding cloud, and as its forward edge touched her palm, her whole body seemed to flicker in and out of existence. For an instant I saw blue threads stretching from her hand toward the shadowy Primal Chaos, touching it, wrapping around it, pulling it toward her. But instead of turning her to dust, the cloud flowed along her arm, to the Trump, through it, and out of sight—back to the Courts, if that's where it had come from. I really didn't care, as long as it went away.
When the last of it had disappeared, Freda sagged. I leaped forward and caught her before she hit the ground.
“Well done!” I said.
“Did it work?” she murmured, eyes half closed.
“Yes,” I said. “It's gone. Thanks.”
She smiled then passed out.
“Take her back to Amber!” Conner said grimly. “I'll get our men home.”
“Are you sure?” I asked,
“Yes. Hurry, before anything else happens!”
Without waiting for an answer, he sprinted toward our troops, bawling orders. Everyone shouldered packs and reformed into lines four abreast for a quick march. The cavalry lined up next to them.
I shifted Freda to my left arm and rumbled out my deck of Trumps one-handed. Finding the courtyard Trump, I used it to get us back to Amber.
Servants rushed to greet me, calling welcomes. Some held basins of water and towels to clean the dust of travel from our hands and faces; others bore trays with cups and flagons of wine, and still others carried platters laden with succulent-looking sweetmeats, pastries, and other delicacies.
“Shall I get a physician?” one of the stewards asked in a quiet voice. He motioned for two others to take Freda from my arms. They carried her toward the finished wing of the castle.
“Yes,” I said. “Hurry!”
“Very good, Sire.” He turned and ran.
A small army of architects, stonemasons, and several army officers appeared as if on cue—apparently it didn't take long for word of my return to Amber to spread. They all clamored for answers to pressing questions.
“Later!” I promised. Pushing past them, I followed after Freda. I had to see to her first.
They carried her into the great hall. Work continued apace, I saw as I glanced around hurriedly: stonemasons were carefully laying out an intricately-patterned slate floor, full of red and blue interlocking circles.
Without a word, they carried Freda swiftly past and up the corridor toward the wing that housed our quarters. We passed a dozen rooms before coming to one with furniture: a divan, several low tables, and three comfortable-looking armchairs.
They set my sister on the divan and raised her feet, placing pillows behind her head and spreading a light blanket across her lap.
Suddenly her eyelids fluttered and opened. She glanced around, apparently confused.
“Feeling better?” I asked, kneeling beside her.
“A little.” She tried to sit up. I helped, fluffing more pillows and placing them behind her back. She seemed more physically exhausted than injured—working that spell had taken a lot out of her.
More servants, trailing after us, brought in silver trays laden with silver cups and pitchers, teapots, and still more pastries and intricately arranged fruits.
“Put everything down and go.” I motioned toward the tables. To the steward, I said: “Ask our father to join us. He is still in the castle, isn't he?”
“I am not sure, Sire,” he said.
“Find out.” If he wasn't here, I'd have to contact him by Trump.
“Yes, Sire.” Bowing, he scurried off.
I investigated the trays. One pitcher held cool water. The rest held an assortment of wines. I wanted something stronger, but wine would do in a pinch. First, though, I poured Freda a cup of hot, sweet-smelling tea. She looked like she needed it.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“Sugar and cream?” I asked.
“Please.”
I added both to her cup and passed her a spoon. She stirred, eyes distant.
“Aber betrayed us,” I said heavily.
“What!” she focused on me, clearly alarmed. “What did he do now?”
I told her about King Uthor's death and how my brother had vanished after relaying the message from Lord Zon. She looked distinctly unsettled.
“It must be a mistake, somehow,” she said. She sipped her tea gently, brow furrowing. “Use your Trump and call him. He must explain himself.”
“I'm sure he will,” I said. Doubts crept into my mind. “I will have to talk to him… yes. It can't have been him.”
“There may yet be another explanation.”
“Such as?”
“Someone from the Courts may have impersonated him. Chaos is full of shapeshifters, remember. You have that talent yourself.”
“The possibility occurred to me,” I admitted. I poured myself a glass of the red wine and drained it in a single long gulp. Aber's parting comment still echoed in my mind. “Our brother has a certain… style, let us say, all his own. He betrayed me. I have no doubt about it. I know him.”
“Then he must have had a good cause.”
“Something secret, but heroic?”
“That must be it,” I said.
Freda looked at me oddly. “Do you feel well?”
“Never better. Why?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Has… has Aber given you anything lately? A ring or a pendant, perhaps? Something you carry with you always?”
“Just my Trumps. Why?”
“Let me see them.”
I pulled out my deck. Before I could flip through them and pull out the newest ones, she took them from my hands and set them on one of the small tables. She raised her hands over them, closed her eyes, and murmured softly for a second.
“What is it?” I asked.
“A few spells,” she said. “Simple charms to make you like him.”
I snorted. “He doesn't need charms for that. I've always liked him.”
She made a small gesture with her left hand, then picked through the Trumps, setting five of them aside. Aber had given two of them to me in Juniper, one in the Beyond, and two in Amber.
“These are the ones,” she said, “that have charms laid upon them. Two make you like him. One makes you trust him. One makes you forgive him. I am unsure what the fifth does… perhaps it gives him the benefit of the doubt whenever his actions are questioned.”
“I don't understand… why would he need to charm me?”
“Because,” Freda said, looking me in the eye, “he betrayed you and tried to kill you.”
“I'm sure he had good reasons for what he did,” I said stubbornly. “Aber wouldn't do that to me. Lord Zon must have forced him to do it.”
She shook her head. Then she reached out and touched my forehead with the thumb of her right hand.
“See clearly,” she told me. “Be well.
”
The room swam dizzily. I blinked and steadied myself on the arm of the chair.
Like a veil being lifted, I saw Aber clearly for the first time… the petty manipulations… the betrayals… the lies. He betrayed King Uthor, then left me there to die. The truth hit me like a blow.
“Oberon?” Freda asked.
“The next time I see him, I'm going to kill him,” I said grimly. “I can't believe he cast spells on me. What a fool I've been!”
“Not a fool…” she murmured. “You must understand Aber. He grew up in the Courts of Chaos, where betrayal is a way of life. He is very good at what he does.”
I shook my head. “I can never forgive him.”
“Nor should you,” she said. She paused. “And yet… are you sure it was him?”
“What do you mean?”
“We know of at least two doubles… one of you and one of Father. Perhaps there is a double of Aber as well. One who is working for Lord Zon.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I know my brother. It was Aber, all right.”
She shook her head sadly, bit her lip, looked away. She knew he had betrayed us.
“I'll leave you to discover his reasoning,” I said. “If I ever see him again, I'll have to kill him. And it's not something I want to do, damn it!”
Her gaze met mine. I recognized an icy resolve in her eyes.
“I will find out,” she promised. “Believe me, if he has done this thing, he will come to regret it.”
Hearing loud footsteps in the hall outside, I glanced over at the door. Our father? Sure enough, he burst in, face flushed, breath ragged. He must have run all the way here. I had never seen him so upset.
“Freda!” he cried. He rushed to her side and took her hands, rubbing them. “They said you were injured!”
“Not injured, just exhausted.” She patted the divan next to her. “Come, sit with me, Father. Oberon has a story to tell you. It is very important.”
I poured Dad a glass of red wine as he seated himself, and once more I told what had happened after our arrival in Uthor's camp. Aber's betrayal stung every time I thought about it.
Dad frowned. “I never trusted that boy,” he muttered. “Trouble from the day of his birth. Should have put him down years ago.”
“It's too late for that now,” I said dryly. “The question is—what now? King Uthor is dead. Zon has tightened his grip on the throne.
“Get drunk,” Dad said. “We must celebrate.”
“Celebrate! Things are in ruins.”
“Nonsense, it could be far worse,” Dad said.
“How?” I demanded.
“Swayvil could be attacking us right now. Instead, he will spend months—if not years—consolidating his power in Chaos.”
Freda added, “Every day our defenses grow stronger, Oberon. Time is our ally now.”
I shook my head. “With the time difference between Amber and Chaos, Zon has more time that we do… a year for him to consolidate his victory might only be a month to us. I don't want to wait for his attack. It's a mistake.”
“Freda is right, my boy,” Dad said. “There is balance to the universe now. The longer it lasts, the harder it is to upset. King Uthor felt it. That's why he wanted to make a deal with us. Zon will feel it too, if you give him enough time.” He chuckled. “They are both, after all, mere pawns in a larger game. Entropy will keep the Pattern safe.”
Balance in the universe? Entropy? Pawns? Sighing, I shook my head. More craziness. He could prattle on as long as he liked, but I knew the truth.
We were out of luck.
Dad said, “Carry on with the game, my boy.” He stood and clasped my shoulder. Then, chuckling to himself, still carrying his goblet of wine, he teetered out into the hall and headed back for his workshop.
“He's crazy,” I said to Freda. “Completely crazy!”
“Perhaps he is the only sane one,” she said, arching her thin eyebrows. She held out her cup. “Pour me some more tea, like a good boy. It's going to be a long night.”
Chapter 30
Two days had passed since our disastrous expedition to join King Uthor's forces. Conner managed to return with most of the troops, though he fought a running battle for several miles. We had only lost four hundred of the men from Ceyoldar. In the meantime, we had heard nothing from Aber. Freda had tried to reach him a number of times through his Trump. As long as he believed me still to be charmed, we might be able to persuade him to return.
“Is there anyone you can contact in Chaos who might have news for us?” I asked Freda over breakfast. “I'd like to know more of what's happening there. I think it might prove valuable.”
“Someone in Chaos…” She thought for a minute. “Perhaps…”
Raising her hands, she drew a small white chest from somewhere else using the Logrus. I had never seen it before. It had been carved from a single piece of bone or perhaps ivory, and delicate scrimshaw showing strange horned beasts covered the top and sides. Flipping back the hinged top, she drew out the contents—a stack of perhaps thirty Trumps.
I leaned forward, watching with mingled interest and revulsion as she slowly flipped through the cards. I had never seen this deck before. The portraits showed people—and things that might once have been people—in various poses. Women with fangs and yellow-green scales instead of skin… men with horns or wolf-heads or an insect's antennae… even a puke-green blob of jelly with dozens of floating eyes… and so many others with such strange and horrible appearances that I could only shudder helplessly. It seemed more a freak-show than a family album. And yet she smiled down at each one fondly.
“Did you make these Trumps yourself?” I asked. The figures and brushstrokes seemed cruder than those on the cards which Aber and Dad had painted. And yet I could still feel power radiating from them: crudely done though they were, they worked.
“No,” she said. “I have no talent for making them. Aber painted these many years ago. I have little call to use them, so I never asked him to make nicer ones.”
I nodded. These Trumps definitely looked like apprentice-level work.
“Is it safe to contact these… people?”
She nodded slightly. “They are relatives. More than that, they are… were… friends. Most are so far removed from Dad and court politics that they should be safe from Swayvil's wrath.”
“You're sure they won't turn you in?” I asked.
She smiled. “How can they, if we only talk? I have no intention of visiting the Courts again. The rest of my days will be spent in Amber… I am resigned to a life in exile.”
“Not exile,” I said quickly. That sounded too depressing. “We are colonists.”
“I suppose,” she said wistfully.
She did have a point, though. If her relatives feared contact with anyone in Amber, they could always refuse to talk to us. And if they willingly chose to talk, they could hardly betray our confidence without incriminating themselves. We could not lose.
“This is the one I wanted.” Freda pulled out a Trump showing a round, almost-human woman, only she had two mouths, one on each side of her face where a normal person's cheeks would have been.
“Who is she?” I asked. Despite the extra mouth, she had an almost grandmotherly quality. I could easily imagine liking her.
“Great Aunt Eddarg. She hears everything that goes on in the palace. If anyone in our family knows what happened to Aber, it is she.”
“How would she know?”
“She has been head chef at the palace for two hundred years.”
“Ah.” I'd always found that palace servants had all the best gossip. “Perhaps she has news of our other missing siblings as well.”
“I will ask.”
Freda raised the Trump, concentrated, and soon got a flickering, uncertain contact with her great aunt. After making sure they could both talk freely, Freda introduced me, then got down to swapping family news. I listened with interest.
“Have you heard anything about our br
others and sisters?” Freda asked. “The ones King Uthor arrested? We don't know if they're alive or dead.”
“There are but two of them here.”
“Who?”
“Syara, poor thing, and Pella.”
“What of Isadora?” I asked. “Or Leona?”
“I don't know where they are.”
Neither did we. It was a puzzle. What could have become of them? Hiding, somewhere?
“Is Pella well?” Freda said.
“Yes, dearie,” said Eddarg, smiling that horribly toothy smile. “Except for Mattus and Titus, whom the old king executed, all of the prisoners here are well, but thin. I feed them as often as I can. King Swayvil is taking good care of them.”
“Is Swayvil torturing them?” I asked.
“Goodness, no! Why should he? They are no threat to Chaos. Now, if he ever gets his hands on that lunatic father of yours, that would be another story!”
Freda sighed with relief. “And Uthor… he didn't harm them? They are whole?”
“Yes, yes—just thin, the poor dears.” She smiled with one mouth and bobbed her head, saying with the other mouth: “They are strong, yes, like their mothers.”
“Why hasn't Swayvil tortured them?” I wondering aloud.
“Goodness,” said Great Aunt Eddarg, “why should he torture them? It was King Uthor who hated your father, after all. He's the one who banished that idiot Dworkin and the rest of you poor innocent dearies. The new king is much kinder.” Her other mouth echoed: “Kinder, yes, much.”
“They also do not know anything of any real value,” Freda said to me. “Swayvil must know that. Why waste his time on them?”
“True,” I said.
Great Aunt Eddarg cackled a bit. “And the king is more than busy with his own enemies,” said one mouth. The other added: “All of King Uthor's immediate family—wives, children, grandchildren, down through a dozen generations, poor dearies—have been arrested.” And the other mouth continued, “Those who waive all claim to the throne and swear fealty to King Swayvil are allowed to live. Any who hesitate receive summary execution.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “Most are swearing fealty?”
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