We both leaped back at the same time too, swords up, panting hard. He looked as winded as I felt.
Slowly, we circled each other, swords up, feeling each other out. Though I hated to admit it, we seemed equally matched.
“I think the Pattern copied you,” Aber said casually. I let my gaze flicker over to him for a second. He sat down under an oak tree and crossed his legs, relaxing. For all the care he showed, he might have been attending a picnic.
“Explain!” I said.
“I'm not sure I can.” He laced his fingers behind his head. “But, in a way, I think you're both Oberon.”
I leaped forward, a whirlwind of thrusting, lunging, slashing. My double gave way before me. Although I could have countered each such attack easily, he seemed to be having trouble keeping up. An advantage? Did he lack my stamina?
We both drew back, panting, glaring at one another.
“Oberon?” Aber continued, “Do you want to know where I found him?”
“Yes!”
“Then I'll tell you. You will find it amusing.” He cleared his throat. “I went back to the new Pattern after Dad made it. You thought I didn't know where it was, but I did. I saw Dad start to draw it, and I made a Trump to get back there. It worked. Dad was just finishing when I arrived. He attacked me—I don't know why, since I never did anything to him. He did it without warning—just drew his sword and stabbed me!”
I nodded. “He did the same to me. But I defended myself. He was crazy.”
“Yes. I didn't realize it at the time.” Aber paused. “Watch out!”
My double came at me again, sword swinging. I parried, then drove him back with an attack of my own, raining down blow after blow.
Still Aber talked. “I wished myself away—anywhere else—and the Pattern sent me outside the pattern. I crawled into the bushes, thinking I was going to die. Dad collapsed, like it had been too much for him. So I lay there, too weak to move, just watching and waiting. That's when you showed up. You walked the Pattern, woke Dad up, knocked him senseless, and then picked him up and disappeared.”
Panting, my double and I drew apart again, glaring at each other. I had never fought a man so much like me. He knew all my moves, just as I knew his. Neither of us seemed capable of gaining an edge on the other.
“Go on,” I told Aber.
He smiled. “A few seconds after you left with Dad, the whole Pattern kind of flickered. Then he appeared. Another you. Only he was out of his head, too, like Dad had been. He didn't remember anything—how you betrayed King Uthor, tricked Dad into making a new Pattern for you, how you planned to set yourself up as ruler of all the Shadows.”
“That's a rather twisted way of looking at things,” I told him.
He shrugged. “The truth is in the eye of the beholder. Anyway, I took him back to Chaos with me, kept him hidden, nursed him back to health. But he wasn't quite like you. He's found it's more rewarding to follow King Swayvil. And he isn't trying to kill me. So, dear brother, I've backed my other dear brother.”
“You want him to kill me,” I said, “and take my place.”
“That's right.”
“And the two of you will rule the Shadows… with Swayvil's kind permission?”
He chuckled. “Something like that. Yes. You're smarter than you look.”
I gave a double feint—one of our father's tricks with the sword—and my blade slipped under my double's guard. I put all my weight on my forefoot and lunged, gashing his right arm to the bone.
He punched me in the face with his left fist. I reeled back, stunned for a heartbeat, but he didn't follow up with an attack of his own.
I stared into his eyes. He made no sound, but I could tell he was in pain. He was losing a lot of blood fast. I must have hit an artery. His face went white.
“Yield,” I said.
“I cannot,” he replied.
“Why? Because of him?” I jerked my head at Aber.
“No. Because there can only be one of us.”
He switched the sword to his left hand. As I watched, the wound on his arm closed up. It seemed we shared another talent—he could change shape as well as I could. And he'd done it to cover up his wound and stop the bleeding.
I would have done the same thing.
Unfortunately, he would have to use part of his strength and concentration to hold his new form. With all other things between us being equal, that gave me an edge.
My ring pulsed in warning. I dove to the side a moment before I heard the familiar snick of a crossbow being fired.
Of course it had to be Aber. And of course he had just fired it at my back.
Faster than I had ever moved before, I whirled and threw my sword at Aber. It struck his right shoulder and pinned him to the tree. He screamed in agony.
Unfortunately, that left me unarmed.
Grinning through his pain, my double stalked forward, sword ready. Quickly I drew a knife. Then I began to back up.
“Kneel,” he said to me. “Raise your head. I'll make it quick—a single blow. You fought well. You deserve that much.”
“Look behind you,” I said, focusing my attention over his shoulder. “You haven't won yet.”
He hesitated. There wasn't anything behind him, of course—but he had been behind me when Aber uttered those same words. Could he take the chance?
He knew he had me outmatched. It only took a second to check. When he glanced over his shoulder, I threw my knife at his head. He batted the knife away with his sword, but in that instant, with his arm up and out of position, I closed with him. So close, a sword would do him no good.
I drove him back with my fists. He fell, helmet flying off, and I landed on top. Then I hit him in the face as hard as I could, again and again. He did not scream, and he only flailed for a minute as I pounded. I stopped when the shattered bits of his skull began to shred my knuckles.
Panting, I rose unsteadily to my feet. I felt exhausted suddenly, like I'd been fighting for hours. Slowly, I turned.
Aber had managed to get the sword out of the tree and his shoulder. He couldn't hold it, though, much as he tried. It fell as his fingers spasmed open.
Standing there sullenly, dripping blood, a gaping wound in his shoulder, it struck me how pathetic he truly was. He had never matched our father's expectations. He had murdered King Uthor. And I knew now, without a doubt, that he had sent assassins after me at least twice.
And, despite all that, I still liked him. It wasn't a spell. I actually liked him—which made killing him all the harder.
He fell to his knees and grinned his slightly lopsided grin. “I suppose it's too late to explain?”
“Yes,” I said. I picked up my double's sword.
“I can still be useful,” he said. “You need me, Oberon.”
“What happened to Fenn?” I asked.
“The other Oberon was… a little rough in his questioning. Didn't believe Fenn's story about a slow poison.”
“He's dead, then.”
“Yes. See? I can be useful. You need me.”
“And Isadora? Leona? Davin?”
“I don't know. I can find out, though. If anyone can, it's me.”
“You're right,” I said slowly. “I do need you.”
He sighed with relief. “Good.”
“Unfortunately,” I went on, “I need to stay alive a lot more.”
With a single quick, clean blow, I parted my brother's head from his shoulders. His body flopped and lay still. The head rolled a few feet before coming to a stop facing me. The eyes blinked several times, then went glassy.
I sagged under the oak tree and wept. Of all my family, I had loved him the most. I would miss him. Not the traitorous Aber, but the Aber who had befriended me in Juniper. The Aber who had made me feel like part of the family. The Aber whom I had trusted and in whom I had believed… even if it had been due to a charm-spell.
Finally, after I finished mourning, I buried him in that unnamed Shadow, in an unmarked grave, alongside m
y double. Hopefully they would both find peace now.
Rising, finding new strength, I went to see what had become of my father, my brother Conner, and all the Shadows I was destined to rule.
THE END
About The Author
JOHN GREGORY BETANCOURT is an editor, publisher, and bestselling author of science fiction and fantasy novels and short stories. He has had 37 books published, including the bestselling Star Trek novel, Infection, and three other Star Trek novels; a trilogy of mythic novels starring Hercules; the critically acclaimed Born of Elven Blood; Rememory; Johnny Zed; The Blind Archer, and many others. His fantasy novel The Dragon Sorcerer was released by ibooks. He is personally responsible for the revival of Weird Tales, the classic magazine of the fantastic, and has authored two critical works in conjunction with the Sci-Fi Channel: The Sci-Fi Channel Trivia Book and The Sci-Fi Channel Encyclopedia of TV Science Fiction.
ROGER ZELAZNY authored many science fiction and fantasy classics, and won three Nebula Awards and six Hugo Awards over the course of his long and distinguished career. While he is best known for his ten-volume Chronicles of Amber series of novels (beginning with 1970's Nine Princes in Amber), Zelazny also wrote many other novels, short stories, and novellas, including Psychoshop (with Alfred Bester), Damnation Alley, the award-winning The Doors of His Face, The Lamps of His Mouth and Lord of Light, and the stories “24 Views of Mount Fuji, by Hokusai,” “Permafrost,” and “Home is the Hangman.” Zelazny died in Santa Fe, New Mexico, in June 1995.
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