My brother's wound, I saw, extended across the forehead, just above the hairline. It would leave an impressive scar after it healed.
Unfortunately, he would have to go bald or shave his head to show it off.
I glanced over at the open door. The sky, a dusky gray color that boiled like a soup cauldron, flickered constantly with lightning. I had never seen a such a fierce display of nature's fury. Tongues of light reaching halfway across the sky. Others leaped down and hit the ground, sometimes close and sometimes distant.
The doctor tied off the thread and motioned to the soldiers, who released Aber.
"Anything else hurt?" the doctor asked him.
"Everything!" my brother groaned.
The doctor snorted. "Rest for ten minutes. If you can't walk, these men will carry you to your bed."
"Thanks for caring." Slowly and carefully, Aber sat up and felt his head. "Ow!"
"If it hurts, don't touch it," the doctor said without sympathy. "Let the salve do its work."
"How many stitches?" I asked.
"Thirty-two."
Aber groaned again.
"Don't complain," I told him. " You didn't get struck by lightning!"
"I wasn't the target," he said.
"Then you think… ?"
"It might have been an attack. On you."
"I was afraid of that," I said. I had a feeling the serpent-creature in the tower of bones might be to blame. After all, I'd killed four of his men and ruined his assassination attempt. That had to bother him.
What better way to retaliate than with a lightning storm?
"Or it might not have been," Aber said, sighing. "How will we ever know?"
"Quiet, my lord," the doctor said briskly to me before I could answer.
Like all army doctors, he had the bedside manner of a half-wild goat. "Let me look you over."
I lay unflinching as he poked and prodded me from skull to shinbones. Nothing seemed to be broken, though my skin felt raw. He commented on the number of heat blisters on my hands and face.
"I was lucky," I said.
"Damned bad sort of luck, if you ask me," he said. The words sounded clear and close by. My sense of hearing had almost returned to normal. "A lucky man would not have been hit. You do have your father's constitution, though. Any lesser man would be dead now."
I raised my hands and studied them. Tiny white blisters covered the palms and backs. Not good, but it could have been a lot worse. From the pain I'd felt, I had half expected my hands to be burnt to ash and bone.
"See?" the doctor went on, standing and dusting himself off. "You're barely hurt. A little salve, a few days' rest, and you'll be all right."
"Thanks."
"Can you get up by yourself?"
"I think so."
A little unsteadily, I climbed to my feet. Neole helped steady my arm. I twisted left and right, testing my muscles. My whole body tingled with pins and needles as though circulation had been cut off and was only now returning.
"Good," he said. He took my right hand and began applying a soothing yellow salve to it. Almost instantly the stinging, burning sensation went away. "This will do wonders for those blisters."
Aber grinned feebly up at me. "And with your pretty face messed up for a few days, I'll have a better chance with the ladies," he said.
"It's nice to see you haven't lost your sense of humor," I said.
He gave me a puzzled look. "Oh?"
I concentrated for a moment, willing my face and hands to change, and from the gasps of the doctor and the soldiers, I knew it had worked. My own meager shape-shifting ability had successfully hidden the blisters. I still felt them, though.
"Damned fast healers," the doctor muttered to himself. "Don't know why they bother to call me if-"
"I'll keep that salve, if you don't mind," I said. I plucked the little jar from his hand. "I'll put more on later, when I'm in my room."
"Don't bother," he said. "The blisters are gone now."
"Just in case," I insisted. "I'm sure they'll be back."
"As you wish, my lord." He shrugged, then peered intently at Aber as if expecting my brother to heal instantly, too. When Aber didn't, he just shook his head.
Taking a deep breath, Aber sat up.
"I'll be fine," he told the doctor.
"As you say, Lord Aber." Motioning to his assistant, they headed down the hallway.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped over to the open door and stood gazing out into the darkness.
Occasional flickers of lightning crossed the sky, then thunder rolled noisily. Gods, I hated this place.
And something else bothered me. I had a feeling we were being watched… that whoever had directed the lightning blast at me was now spying on us through magical means. It might have been the serpent-creature, or it could have been someone else entirely. It might even have been the king's guards.
The only sure thing I knew was that I wasn't happy about it.
Well, let them all look. I wanted them to see me. I wanted them to know we had survived unscathed. Let them do their worse! They were powerless against a son of Dworkin.
With a mocking grin, I gave a casual wave into the darkness, then closed the door and bolted it.
Aber's spells would have to keep us safe indoors.
"Do you need anything else?" Neole asked.
I shook my head. "Don't go back outside until the lightning has stopped for an hour," I told him.
"Yes, sir." He saluted, then led his men down the hall.
I offered Aber my hand, and pulled him to his feet.
"Check those tripwires," I told him. "Is the house still clear? Are we being watched?"
"Do you hear any screaming?" he asked.
I listened intently, but heard nothing.
"No."
"You'd hear a scream if someone got in who's not of our blood. A loud, piercing scream that doesn't stop."
"Good." I chuckled. "That should discourage visitors."
Keeping up my shape-shifted appearance began to wear on me, so I let my body slide back to its injured form.
"You said the lightning struck me," I said. "How did you get hurt?"
"I tried to grab you and pull you free. When I got close, it knocked me flying. It felt like a horse kicked me."
"You were lucky," I said.
"We both were. Despite the doctor's opinion."
He went to the door and opened it a crack, peeking out. Over his shoulder, I saw that still more clouds, pierced by the blue lightning, filled the heavens with a crackling, roaring light show like nothing I had ever seen. Bolts continued to strike the ground, and not just inside the wall but outside it as well. The attack appeared to be continuing. If anything, the storm seemed to be gaining strength.
"Is there any way to tell who caused the storm?" I asked. "Or who's controlling it?"
"Dad might be able to… or someone as powerful. If someone did cause it. We still don't know for sure."
"What do you mean?" I demanded. "Of course someone caused it!"
"I don't know… stranger things have come out of Shadow over the last forty years. We have all seen storms that can travel between worlds. Some of them looked like this, with dangerous blue lightning."
"Maybe you were being attacked, only nobody realized it at the time."
He hesitated. "I suppose that's possible. Though the first such storm came up years ago, before I was born. It killed seventy-six people."
"This one has to be an attack," I said, shaking my head. "If the first three bolts hadn't come so close to me, I might have doubts. But that lightning was aimed at me. Considering everything that's happened, it can't be a coincidence."
He thought about it, nodded, turned back to watch the storm. If anything, the lightning grew more intense, sheets of it flashing across the sky and lighting up the wall and courtyard before us as though it were noon.
"I wish they would hurry up," I murmured to myself.
"Who?" he asked.
&
nbsp; "Everyone. Dad if he's still at court. The hell-creatures if they're coming back. King Uthor if he's sending word of Dad's arrest-"
For our father still hadn't returned from his audience with King Uthor.
FIFTEEN
The storm raged on throughout the day. Every time I went to the door and looked outside, the dark sky roiled more violently than before. With a high wind that whistled over the wall and whipped through the house, this clearly wasn't the weather for travel. I pushed back my half-formed plan of visiting King Uthor's court and trying to find out what had happened to our father.
Clearly, I wasn't the only one who found this sudden storm unnerving. A strange hush had descended over the servants. I could not help but notice how they watched Aber and me from the corners of their eyes, how they silenced their voices when we entered a room, then swiftly found duties elsewhere.
They, too, must be remembering our last days in Juniper, when a strange storm had descended on us and lightning bolts began to blast the highest towers to rubble. Fortunately, the lightning here now seemed to be staying high among the clouds. But the similarities still disturbed me. I did not like it that our enemies could control the weather.
I stayed close to Aber as we wandered through the house, checking on the servants and guards, poking into unused corners to see what damage the hell-creatures had done. Although I still became confused by the odd turnings and switchbacks in the halls, I began to sense an order in the seeming randomness. Too, there were landmarks to learn-statues in alcoves, faces of doors, lots of other points from which I could get my bearings.
Aber stayed with me, and I found myself drawing strength and reassurance from his presence.
We both needed to plan for the future… to find out what had happened to our father. Somehow, I thought I wouldn't feel so helpless if I had a goal to work toward.
We had talked about trying to contact my father and Taine via Trumps. After a hasty lunch of cold meat pies and ale, I broached the subject with Aber once more.
"I'm not contacting Dad," he said. "I don't mind bringing out any Trumps you want, but more than that-no. I've learned better."
"Fine," I said. "I don't mind doing the work. Get me Trumps for Dad and Taine. I'll see what I can do."
"Let's move into the library," he said, glancing pointedly around the dining room. No servants were in evidence, but they could easily walk in on us at any moment. "It's more private there."
"All right. I know where it is. I'll meet you there."
He gave me a puzzled look, but didn't ask how I knew. Pushing back from the table, he hurried from the room.
I drained my ale, then strolled out to the front hall. Extra lamps had been lit, reducing the gloom somewhat, and I went into the library. With its thousands of ancient scrolls and old, leather-bound volumes along the walls, it seemed the perfect place to try my first magical experiments.
Aber returned perhaps fifteen minutes later. He had taken the time to wash up and change into fresh clothes. He carried not just the two Trumps I'd asked for, but a deck of perhaps thirty cards.
"Why so many?" I asked.
"In case you want to talk to anyone else." He set them facedown on the table. "This is a family deck, no places just faces."
I picked up the top card. About the size and shape of the tarot cards used by fortune-tellers in Ilerium, it felt cool to the touch, like ancient ivory. A rampant lion had been painted on the back in gold.
"I recognize your work," I told him. "You painted this one."
"Years ago. Turn it over."
I did so, revealing the portrait of a dark-haired man of perhaps twenty-two, with a thin moustache and our father's piercing eyes. He had an almost mocking half-smile on his face. He dressed entirely in dark reds, from his shoes to his hose to his shirt with the puffed velvet sleeves, and he leaned casually on a long wooden staff. A thin white dueling scar showed on his left cheek.
"From the scar, this must be Taine," I said.
"That's right."
"He doesn't look much like this anymore."
"It will still work, if he's reachable. Try him first."
I chuckled. "Don't think you can fool me. You're avoiding Dad."
"Damn right."
Raising the card, I stared at Taine's picture. The few times I'd used Trumps previously, simply picking them up and concentrating on the picture had been enough to bring the person or scene to life before me. First would come a sense of contact and motion, then the figure would seem to become three-dimensional and lifelike, and we would be able to talk.
This time, however, I sensed nothing from the card. I might have been staring at a blank piece of paper, for all the good it did.
"Well?" Aber finally asked.
"Nothing," I said. "He's not there."
Aber nodded. "It happens. He's either dead, unconscious, or in a place where Trumps don't work."
Of course, we had no way of telling which.
"The next card is Dad's," he said, "if you still want to talk to him."
"I do. What's the worst that can happen?"
"Plague, pestilence, death…" He shrugged. "Dad can be pretty creative."
"So can I."
"Yes, but you haven't promised to throttle me if I bother you with a Trump again."
"Not yet, anyway." I had to laugh at his sour expression. "But I am thinking about it, the way you keep popping into my bedroom unannounced."
"Go on, then. Call him."
I drew the next Trump from the stack and turned it over. It showed our father, all right, but dressed rather comically in a jester's outfit-complete with bells on his pointy-toed purple slippers. His image gazed up with an idiotic grin frozen on its face.
"If this is how you paint him, no wonder he's annoyed."
Aber chuckled. "You know it's the subject that matters, not how he's dressed. I made this one when I was mad at him."
"It shows."
"Well, he deserved it as the time. He has never been fair with me."
"You complain too much about it."
He sighed. "You don't understand."
I raised my eyebrows, but he didn't elaborate. Probably ashamed of whatever incident brought on this bout of petty annoyance. He certainly had a problem with our father… but wasn't that something all sons worked through? Perhaps in some ways I'd been the lucky one, growing up believing myself an orphan.
"Go on, call him."
"In good time," I said. "One bit of advice first. Don't let him see this Trump."
"Oh, he's already seen it. He found it amusing."
I just shook my head. Sometimes I thought I'd never understand my new-found family. If someone drew me that way, I'd have his head on a silver platter… not that it mattered now. We had more important work.
Taking a deep breath, I raised Dad's Trump and stared into the jester's intense blue eyes. Almost immediately I sensed a consciousness, and the image stirred slightly, but no direct contact followed. I stared harder, willing a connection between us. I knew he was out there.
Finally I heard a distant, almost petulant voice say: " Not now, my boy."
"But-" I started. He had to know what had happened for his own safety.
"Not now!"
Contact broke off. My instructions were clear, but I had no intention of following them. This was more important. Holding up the Trump, I tried several times to reach him again, but could not. Something prevented me from reaching him.
Tossing the card onto the table, I leaned back in my chair and steepled my fingers, thinking. What could be so important he couldn't spare two minutes?
"Well?" Aber demanded.
I glanced over at my brother. For once, he seemed genuinely concerned, so I told him what Dad had said.
"Not now," I went on, warming to the subject, "has to be the most frustrating phrase ever invented. I hated it as a child, and I hate it more today. ' Not now!'"
He chuckled and gave me an I-told-you-so look.
"'Not now,'" he rep
eated. "Is more helpful than you realize. At least we know he's alive."
"True," I said.
"Did you hear any screaming while you talked to him?"
"No. Why?"
"The dungeons under the palace are filled with prisoners. If he were locked up inside, I'm sure you'd hear screaming."
I chuckled. "You don't have to sound so hopeful. No, he isn't being tortured, nor is anyone around him. It's like you said-he's in the middle of something and doesn't want to be disturbed, no matter how important it might be. Arrogant, conceited little-"
He held up a hand for silence, so I ended my tirade before it had really begun.
"What if," he said, "he's being watched too closely to talk to us right now?"
"What do you mean?"
"Think about it. If someone is holding a knife to his throat, he won't be in any position to communicate."
"True," I said, conceding his point. "But does he have to be so rude, arrogant, and conceited about it?"
"You're getting a taste of what I went through. And he likes you!"
"I'll count myself lucky to have learned anything," I said. "Dad's still alive. That's more than we knew before."
"I suppose," he said.
Actually, it created more questions than in answered. What had he been doing? Why couldn't he talk? And why hadn't he come back here after his audience with King Uthor?
Sighing, I picked up the deck of Trumps and flipped through them quickly, not letting my attention rest on any single card longer than necessary. Freda… Blaise… Davin… Pella… all my half-brothers and half-sisters were there, plus several other people I didn't recognize. For a second I toyed with the idea of contacting Freda to tell her what had happened and get her advice, but then I decided against it. She had orders not to talk to anyone via Trump to protect her location. I didn't want to endanger her. Considering how many relatives we had already lost, and how determined our enemies seemed to be, leaving her alone seemed like the safest plan for now. For all I knew, that serpent-creature might be spying on us again.
"Is this an extra set of Trumps?" I asked.
"Yes. Why?"
"I'd like to keep it for a few days, if that's all right."
He shrugged. "Fine."
We stayed in the library for a few hours longer, talking more like two old friends catching up with each other than brothers. It felt good to sit and take a moment to catch my thoughts.
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