“I feel better,” I lied.
“That’s just the brandy. You look terrible.”
“Could be.” I took a deep breath and turned toward the door, swaying slightly. Time to visit our father, I thought. I couldn’t put it off any longer. I said as much.
“Do you want me to go with you?” Aber asked suddenly, steadying my arm.
“No need,” I said. “He’ll want to see me alone. We have a lot to discuss.”
“You’re right, he never wants to see me. But still . . .” He hesitated.
“I know the way,” I said with more confidence than I felt.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll just wish you luck, then.” He glanced at Horace. “Go with him,” he said, “just in case.”
“Yes, Lord,” Horace said. He stepped forward, and I leaned a bit on his shoulder.
“Thanks,” I said to Aber, “for everything.”
“You don’t know how lucky you are!”
“Sure I do.” I grinned at him.
“Go on, get out of here. Dad’s waiting.”
Horace helped me into the corridor, where I took a deep breath and forced myself to stand on my own two feet. I thought I could make it successfully downstairs on my own. I didn’t want the other servants to see me limping and leaning on Horace—rumors of some personal catastrophe would be all over Juniper before daybreak.
With Horace trailing, I made my way unerringly downstairs and through the maze of corridors, past two sleepy looking guards, and straight to Dworkin’s workshop.
I didn’t bother knocking, but pushed the door open and went in. Dworkin had been seated at one of his tables tinkering with a four-armed skeleton.
“What happened? Where have you been?” he demanded, leaping forward. “You just—vanished!”
I swayed a little, and Horace leaped forward to steady me. I leaned on his shoulder as he helped me to a chair.
“That will be all,” I told him.
“Yes, Lord,” he said, and he bowed and hurried out.
Slowly I told my father everything that had happened to me: my sudden unexpected appearance at the battle-field north of Kingstown, the heads of King Elnar and his lieutenants and how they had betrayed me, my flight from the hell-creatures, and how I discovered the town had been burned.
“Aber saved me,” I said. “He made a trump to check on me, then used it to bring me back here.”
“Then it worked,” he said, awed. “The jewel really does carry a true image of your pattern. You are now attuned to it, and it to you.”
“I don’t understand.”
He smiled kindly. “You traveled to Ilerium on your own, drawing on the pattern within you. You can master Shadows now.”
I felt stunned. “It worked? Really?”
“Yes!”
“Like the Logrus?”
“Yes!”
I sighed with relief. “Good. . . .”
“The very nature of Chaos lies in the Logrus,” he said. “It is a primal force, alive and vibrant. It is incorporated into the very essence of the Lords of Chaos, from King Uthor on down to the smallest child who shares his blood.”
“Including you,” I said. “And everyone of your blood . . . except me.”
“That’s right.”
“But why not in me?”
“Oh, I know the answer to that now,” he said with a laugh, “but we must save it for another day. Come, I have a bed in one of the back rooms for when I work too long here. Lie down, sleep. You will be the better for it tomorrow.”
I still had a thousand questions—how had I transported myself to Ilerium without a Trump? Did I need the ruby to work magic? Would it take me to any Shadow world I could envision, even ones I’ve never been to before?—but I didn’t have the strength to argue. Rising, I followed him through several different rooms than the ones I’d seen before, all equally cluttered with magical and scientific devices, until we came to one with a small bed pushed up against the wall. A pair of mummified lions sat on top of the covers, but he tossed them into the corner and pulled back the blankets for me.
“In you go, my boy.”
Without bothering to undress, I threw myself down.
Dreams came quickly, full of weird images of burning patterns encased in ruby light, talking heads, and Dworkin cackling as he loomed over me, pulling strings like a mad puppeteer.
FOURTEEN
don’t know how long I slept, but when I finally awoke the next day, I felt groggy and out of sorts with the world. Dworkin had vanished. Slowly I sat up, stretched, rubbed my eyes, and climbed unsteadily to my feet. My muscles ached and my head pounded.
I wandered out of the workshop, past two new guards on duty in the corridor, and into the banquet hall. Perhaps food would help, I thought.
Blaise and a couple of women I’d never seen before were eating what looked like a cold lunch at one end of the table. I nodded politely to them, but took my own meal at the other end. They barely seemed to notice me, going on about various people I’d never heard of.
“How may I serve you, Lord?” a servant asked, appearing at my side.
“A bloody steak, half a dozen fried eggs, and beer.”
“Yes, Lord.”
He returned five minutes later with plates filled with the food I’d ordered, plus a basket of fresh bread, a cake of butter, a salt cellar, and a large bowl piled high with fruit. I recognized apples and pears, but most of the others—strange knobbed balls of green and yellow, mottled reddish-orange blades, and puffy white globes the size of my fist—I had never before seen.
I ate in silence, thinking back to events of the previous day. It all seemed distant and unreal, as though someone else had voyaged to Ilerium. And yet I could still hear King Elnar and his lieutenants’ voices—
Traitor!
Murderer!
Assassin!
It sent a cold knife through my heart.
After eating, I felt much like my old self. I had slept well past noon, I realized. I couldn’t spend the whole day lounging around the castle, so I went in search of Anari. He had set up a whole day of appointments for me with tailors and the like, but unfortunately, between Dad and everything else, I hadn’t kept a single one. Perhaps, I thought, he could reschedule them for later.
I finally found him in a small room off the audience chamber, looking over reports and making staff assignments. He greeted me warmly when I walked in.
“I trust you are satisfied with young Horace, Lord?” he said.
“Quite satisfied,” I said. “He seems able and enthusiastic. I have no complaints.”
“I am happy to hear it.” He smiled, and I thought the news genuinely pleased him.
“Do you know where my father is?”
“Prince Dworkin has gone to inspect troops with Lord Locke and Lord Davin. They should return before dinner.”
“Ah.” I couldn’t expect Dworkin to neglect his duties and wait for me, I supposed. Still, I’d hoped he would still be here.
“What of the tailors?” I said. “I’m afraid I missed all the appointments.”
He consulted a set of papers on the desk before him. “I believe . . . yes, they are with Lady Blaise now,” he said. “She is selecting fabrics for new officers’ uniforms. That should take most of the afternoon. Will tomorrow morning be soon enough for you to see them?”
“Yes.” I could always borrow more of Mattus’s wardrobe, as needed.
“Very good, my Lord.” He dipped a quill pen in ink and made a note of it. His handwriting, I noticed, was thin and ornate.
I continued, “Is there a workout yard in the castle?”
“Of course, Lord Oberon. Master Berushk will be at your service.” He motioned to a page of perhaps nine or ten years, who wore castle livery and stood attentively by the door. “Show Lord Oberon to the workout yard,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” the page said.
* * *
The boy led me outside to the front cour
tyard, with its broad flagstones, and then we passed through a small rose garden. The gate on the far side opened onto an enclosed courtyard perhaps fifty feet square. This had to be the place, I thought, looking at the practice dummies, racks of swords and other weapons. It even had a pivoting drill machine with wooden arms and swords.
Two men, stripped to the waist, now fought there with swords and knives, pivoting and thrusting, parrying and riposting. A third man, older and much scarred on his hands and face, looked on critically.
“This is it, Lord,” the page said to me.
“Thanks. You may go.”
“Yes, Lord.” Bowing, her an back the way we had come.
I turned my attention to the fighters, whom I now recognized as my half brothers Titus and Conner. They were workmanlike at best in their swordsmanship, I decided.
“Hold!” the third man said. Titus and Conner drew up short, panting and sweating.
“You’re letting your guards down again,” he said to both of them. I silently agreed with his assessment. “You cannot count on your opponent being as tired as you are. In a real battle, such mistakes would cost you your lives.”
I pushed open the gate and went in. They all paused to look at me.
“Who is this?” Berushk asked.
“Oberon, our brother,” Titus—or was it Conner?—said to him.
“Another soft and useless child?” said the weapons-master with a sneer, giving me a dismissive look from head to heel. “Well, young Oberon, I haven’t seen you here before. Are you lost on your stroll through the roses? Off with you, and leave swordplay to real men.”
I had to laugh. King Elnar’s weapons-master had used almost exactly the same insults the first time we’d met. My temper had been hotter in those days, and as a fresh young officer, I’d had a lot to prove. Of course, I’d taken offense, drawn my blade, and demanded a fight on the spot. He’d obliged . . . and I’d very nearly killed him, the first student ever to do so. I would have killed him, had several others not dragged me away from the fight.
Only later had I found out that that weapons-masters often goaded new pupils into fights to get a fair assessment of their abilities.
I just grinned at Berushk and said, “I’m happy to show you how it’s done, old man. Do you have a spare sword?”
“Wood or steel?” he asked, grinning back.
“I’ll borrow Conner’s,” I said. “With his permission.”
“Of course.” The twin on the right stepped forward, offering me the hilt of his sword. As he grew close, he turned his back to Berushk and whispered, “Watch yourself, he changes hands in the middle of a fight, and he likes to give dueling scars.”
I gave him a wink.
“Now, let’s see if I remember how this works,” I said aloud. “I believe I hold it so, and the object is to poke you with the pointy end?”
Berushk smiled. “Enough games, boy.” He made little circles with the tip of Titus’s blade. “Show me your best.”
I gave his a quick salute with the blade, then assumed a classical attack stance, right foot forward, left hand on my hip, blade up and ready.
He attacked fast and high, and I parried with little apparent grace or skill, making it seem—once—twice—again!—as though luck more than skill protected me. As sword rang on sword, I yielded ground steadily before him.
When he deliberately left an opening, I didn’t take it. Instead, I hesitated, trying to appear indecisive. Let him think he had me confused and on the run, I thought. I was the master of this fight, not him. I would determine when and how it ended.
Sighing a bit, wanting to get our fight over and done so he could get on with lessons, he attacked with renewed vigor, this time using a quick double-feint designed to get around my guard.
My parry came a beat too slow. He twisted, lunged, backslashed with what should have struck a stinging blow to my right thigh.
Only his blow didn’t land.
This was the chance I’d been waiting for. With the speed of a striking panther, I closed instead of retreating, moving inside his reach. His eyes grew wide. He realized—too late!—what had just happened when his blade whistled through empty air.
I flipped my sword over to my left hand, grabbed his wrist with my right hand, and gave twist and a jerk. He staggered, off balance and over-extended. Without hesitation, I pivoted and kicked his left leg out from under him, and he sprawled onto his back with a whoosh of expelled air.
Stepping close, I pointed my sword at his throat.
“Yield?” I asked quietly.
He chuckled. “Well done, Oberon. Worthy of a Lord of Chaos. I yield.”
Conner and Titus were staring at me like I’d just grown a second head.
“You won?” Titus said. “You actually won?”
I offered Berushk my hand, and he pulled himself up and dusted off his clothes somewhat ruefully.
“That,” he said to Conner and Titus, “is the way to fight a battle. Never reveal your strengths. Let your opponent misjudge and make the first mistake.” He turned to me. “Who trained you, Lord Oberon? I have never seen the clave-à-main used in such an energetic manner before!”
“My father,” I said evenly. I tossed Conner his sword.
“That would explain it,” Berushk said, smiling. “I have never seen him fight, though tales of his wild youth are still legend in the Courts of Chaos. He must have been quite accomplished.”
“He still is,” I said, thinking back to our battle with the hell-creatures in Kingstown. His swordsmanship had been nothing short of amazing. I went on, “I take it I’ve passed your test?”
“Lord Oberon,” he said, “I fear there is little you can learn from me.”
“I just came for a workout.”
“That,” he said, “we can do.” He looked at Conner and Titus and winked at them a little too happily. “Can’t we, boys?”
Berushk proved true to his word. I spent the next two hours in one of the most grueling exercise sessions of my life, fighting the three of them singly, paired, or all three at once.
I didn’t lose a single contest, not even when Berushk tied back my left arm and put weights on my feet. It left me soaked in sweat and shaking, but I managed to tag them all with a wooden sword before my strength gave out.
“That’s it for me today!” I said, panting.
“Well fought, Lord,” Berushk said. He bowed to me.
I noticed our audience had grown to include a good dozen army officers and castle guardsmen. They began to clap and cheer, so I gave them a quick salute with my sword before returning it to the practice weapons rack. I had a feeling they’d be talking about my workout for sometime.
Then I toweled off, thanked Berushk for his time and trouble, and headed inside. The watchers parted silently as I passed through their ranks.
Conner and Titus hurried to join me.
“I think you’re as good as Locke,” Conner told me.
“Maybe better,” said Titus. “Berushk still beats him now and again.”
I laughed. “That’s just because they work out together. They know each other’s tricks.”
“Even so . . .”
And we spent the walk up to our rooms chatting like old friends. I had found them dour and distant at dinner, but once they relaxed, I found I actually enjoyed their company.
We reached our floor and went our separate ways. That’s when I noticed the door to my rooms stood open. So much for my plans for a quiet rest before dinner.
I peeked around the door frame, expecting the worst.
Instead of lurking assassins, however, I found Freda and Aber waiting inside for me. Freda, at the writing table, had her set of cards out and was turning them over one by one, studying the emerging pattern. She did not look happy.
“Problems?” I asked Aber quietly as I entered. “Doesn’t she like what she sees?”
“The problem is, she’s not seeing anything.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Is that bad?”
“I don’t know.” He folded his arms and frowned. “She won’t tell me.”
That made me smile. “You should join me in the workout yard tomorrow,” I said, heading for my bedroom and the washbasin. I’d need to get cleaned up for dinner. “It’s a good way to get your exercise and bond with your brothers.”
“The problem with that,” he said, “is that I don’t like my brothers all that much. Present company excepted, of course.”
“Of course,” I said.
“And as for bonding with them?” He gave a mock shudder. “No thank you! Who did you work out with?”
“Conner and Titus. And an interesting weapons-master named Berushk.”
“I met him once. All he did was insult me!”
“What did you do?”
“I told him to grow up and went back inside.”
I had to laugh. “Everyone says a battle is coming. Don’t you want to be ready?”
“Oh, don’t worry about me. I have a plan. If we’re attacked, I’m going to stand well out of the way while you and Locke and Dad kill everyone.”
I snorted. “That’s not much of a plan.”
“It will do for now.”
“Have you seen Horace?”
“Who?”
“My valet.”
“Oh, him. No. Want me to send someone to find him?”
“No . . . just show me the way to Mattus’s closet, will you? I need some clean clothes.”
“Sure. Come on.” He started for the door, and I trailed him.
Before we made it out, though, Freda said, “Oberon, please come here first. I want you to shuffle these Trumps.”
“All right,” I said. “If you think it will help.”
As I reached for them, a loud bell began to toll close by, its peals loud and incessant, coming every few seconds. I paused, listening, counting. Five then eight then ten strikes, and then it stopped.
Freda had an anxious expression on her face. Rising, she began to pack up her cards.
“What does that bell mean?” I demanded.
“An emergency!” Aber said. “We have five minutes to report to the main hall!”
FIFTEEN
Roger Zelazny's The Dawn of Amber Page 16