The Chronicles of Amber

Prolog

I felt the world around me bend and sway like the branches of a willow in a storm. Strange colors turned, misshapen geometries that couldn’t possibly exist but somehow did, drifting like snowflakes, patterns within patterns within patterns. My vision brightened then dimmed, repeatedly, and in no perceptible rhythm.

Come…

A voice… where? I turned, the world kaleidoscoping.

Come to me…

The voice pulled me on.

Come to me, sons ofChaos…

I followed the sound across a land of ever-changing design and color to a tower made of skulls, some human and some clearly not. I stretched out my hand to touch its walls, but my fingers passed through the bones as though through fog.

Not real.

A vision? A dream?

A nightmare, more like it. The thought came from deep inside.

Come… the voice called to me.

I gave in to the sound and drifted forward, through the wall of skulls and into the heart of the tower.

Shadows flickered within. As my eyes began to adjust to the gloom, I could make out a stairway of arm and leg bones that circled the inside wall, climbing into a deeper darkness, descending into murky, pulsating redness.

I drifted down, and the redness resolved into a circle of torches and five men. Four of them wore finely wrought silvered chain mail of a design I had never seen before. They held down the limbs of the fifth man, who lay spread-eagled on a huge sacrificial altar, a single immense slab of gray marble threaded with intricate patterns of gold. His chest and stomach had been opened and his entrails spread across the altar as though some augur had been reading the future from them. When the victim shuddered suddenly, I realized the men were holding him down because he was still alive.

I reached instinctively for my sword. In any other time or place I would have rushed them, decency and honor commanding me to try to rescue this poor victim. Only he isn’t real, I told myself. This was some sort of vision, some kind of fever dream or premonition.

I forced myself closer, staring at the dying man, trying to see his face. Was it mine? Did this vision predicting fate?

No, I saw with some relief, it wasn’t me on the altar. His eyes were a muddy brown; mine are blue as the sea. His hair was lighter than mine, his skin smoother. He was little more than a boy, I thought, maybe fourteen or fifteen years old.

“Who are you?” I whispered, half to myself.

The suffering victim turned his head in my direction.

“Help me,” he mouthed. He seemed to be staring straight at me, as though he could see me.

I reached out for him, but my hand passed through his body and into the stone of the altar. Had I become some sort of ghost? A powerless creature forced to watch atrocities unfold around me, with no power to act?

I pulled my hand free. A mild tingling, like the return of blood after circulation had been cut off, shot through my fingers, but nothing else. I couldn’t help him.

The young man turned his head away. He shuddered again, but though tears rolled down his cheeks, he did not cry out. Brave and strong, I gave him that.

“Have courage,” I whispered.

He did not reply, but his body began to shake and his eyes rolled back in his head.

Again that wild, uncontrollable rage surged inside me. Why was I here? Why was I having this vision? What could it possibly mean?

I looked at the soldiers, searching their faces for an explanation, and suddenly I realized they were not human. Their slitted eyes glowed a faint red behind their helms. Nasals and cheek guards concealed most of their features, but could not hide the faintly iridescent pattern of scales around their mouths and chins. I had never seen their like before. They must have the blood of serpents in their veins, I thought, to kill one so young in such a horrible manner.

The victim on the slab gave one last convulsive shudder, then lay still. They released him.

“Lord Zon,” one of the soldiers croaked.

Something stirred in the darker shadows by the far wall. Slitted eyes, much larger than the soldiers’ and set a foot apart, opened, then blinked twice. As the creature shifted, torchlight glinted off its metallic-gray scales and the sharp talons of its four spindly limbs.

I felt a sudden chill, a blind panic that made me want to run screaming from this tower. Yet I steeled myself and held firm in my place, facing it, knowing this to be a true enemy—the enemy of all men.

Yes, it said. The creature did not speak, but I heard the rumble of its words clearly in my head.

“He is dead.”

Bring me the other son of Dworkin.

A shock of recognition went through me. Dworkin! I knew that name. But it had been such a very long time since I had seen him…

Calmly, two of the serpent-soldiers turned and left the tower through a doorway set deep in the shadows. The remaining pair pulled the young man off the slab and dragged him to a small hole in the floor. They rolled him into it, and he plunged into darkness. I did not hear him hit the bottom.

A moment later the other two returned, half carrying, half dragging another man between them, this one older than the one who had just died. He wore the tattered remains of a military uniform, but I did not recognize the design, and his face and hands were bruised and dirty. Still he bucked and fought, kicking and biting, struggling frantically to free himself. He almost threw off the serpent-soldiers several times; he was strong and determined not to be taken easily.

Instinctively, my hand sought my sword again. I wished I had the power to help him. But I remembered how my hand had passed through the body of the last victim and knew I could do nothing but watch.

The two soldiers who had disposed of the young man’s body rushed forward, and together the four of them managed to heave the newcomer up onto the altar’s slab. All four leaned on his limbs heavily, holding him down despite his valiant efforts to free himself.

The serpent-beast in the shadows stirred, immense scales sliding across the floor’s stones. I heard a laugh that chilled my heart.

Son of Dworkin. You will help me now.

“Never!” the young man yelled. “You’ll pay for this!” And he followed with a string of obscenities.

Then he raised his head defiantly, staring at the giant serpent, and the flickering torches revealed his features for the first time.

My features. For he had my face.

I could only gape. How was it possible? Was this nightmare some premonition of things to come? Would this Lord Zon capture me, drag me here, too, and read the future from my guts?

Drifting closer, like a phantom, I peered down at the man. I had to get a better look, had to know more about who he was and how he had gotten into this situation. If this really was some future vision of myself—

Fortunately neither the soldiers nor their serpent-master seemed aware of me. I might have been some spectral figure wandering through their nightmare world, unseen and unheard, forced to witness atrocities beyond all human suffering but unable to stop them.

And yet, I reminded myself, before his death, the first victim had seen me. How? What did it all mean?

As I continued to study the man with my face, I began to notice small differences between us. Like the boy before him, he had brown eyes to my blue. But despite our eye colors, there were many uncanny similarities between us. The high rise of our cheekbones, the shape of our noses and our ears… we could have been brothers.

Or father and son.

My father is already dead, I told myself. This cannot possibly be him. Could it?

No, my father would have been much, much older.

This man looked about my own age.

Tell me of Dworkin, the voice in my head commanded. Where is he hiding? Where else has he spread his tainted blood?

I felt my heart leap. Dworkinagain. What did my former teacher have to do with all of this?

The man on the slab spat at the creature, then declared, “I have never heard of Dworkin. Kill me and be done with it!”

Let him go, I thought desperately, dreading what might come next. Whatever you are, you’re looking for me, not him. I’m the one who knowsDworkin!

The serpent-creature didn’t hear me. Talons lashed out from the darkness, seized the man, and ripped his chest and stomach open like cheesecloth. I gasped, stunned. The prisoner screamed and kept screaming. With a quick motion, the creature pulled his entrails across the altar’s slab like an offering to the dark gods.

Blood sprayed in the air and hung there, forming a cloud, a shifting pattern like the snowflakes of color outside the tower. But this pattern was different, somehow—I could see holes where it was incomplete, jagged, and somehow wrong.

Cometo me…

The serpent-creature writhed, body undulating before the pattern in the air, working its foul sorcery. Rings of light burst from the floating droplets of blood, spreading out through the walls of the tower, disappearing into the greater void outside.

Come to me, sons of Dworkin…

The air over the altar filled with a spinning lacework design, with strange turns and angles. The hanging drops of blood flattened, rippled like waves of the sea, then grew clear. Each one offered a tiny window into what must have been hundreds of different worlds. I stared at them, the breath catching in my throat. Some had red skies; some had the familiar blue one. Oceans raged in one; mountains moved like sheep in a pasture in another; fires rained down from the sky in a third. In still others I saw towns of strangely dressed people, or what might have been people. Still more showed virgin forests, others empty expanses of desert, or grassland, or thundering rivers.

Come to me, princes of Chaos…

Like bubbles bursting, the windows began to disappear. The pattern that held them together was breaking apart. I realized the man on the altar slab was nearing death.

Suddenly the last of the tiny windows vanished and beads of red spattered onto the floor, an unholy rain. Coughing, spitting blood, the young man on the altar began to jerk and spasm uncontrollably. Finally, he lay still. It hadn’t taken him more than a minute or two to die.

The serpent-creature hissed in anger and disappointment.

Continue searching.

“Yes, Lord Zon,” said the soldier who had spoken before.

I moved closer, peering into the shadows, trying to see this Lord Zon more clearly. Somehow, I knew the creature was my enemy. It wanted me spread on its slab, my blood sprayed into the air and held up in that strange, flawed pattern that offered glimpses of other worlds.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

Like the first victim, Zon seemed to hear me—or sensed my presence. Eyes glinting like ruby chips, it turned, peering this way and that.

Who isthere? it demanded. Speak!

I remained silent, drifting backward, willing myself invisible. Zon’s slitted eyes suddenly focused on me. It gave a hiss, and a forked tongue flickering from its lipless, scaled mouth.

You. You are the one.

“Who are you?” I demanded, “What do you want of me?”

Death!

Its talons reached for me—

—and suddenly I sat up in my bed, drenched in sweat, heart pounding like a hammer in my chest, shaking all over but unable to recall what had terrified me so. A dream—a nightmare—some sort of horror…

I sucked in a deep breath, held it, listening beyond the canvas walls of my tent to the nighttime sounds of a military camp. Boots on gravel, soft whinnies of horses, the scritch-scritch-scritch of whetstones sharpening steel knives and swords, a distant “All’s well!” call from sentries on patrol.

Home.

Safe.

Everything seemed normal.

And yet… and yet, everything had changed, though I did not know how or why.

Reaching out in the darkness, I wrapped my fingers around the cool, smooth hilt of my sword. Tonight, for no reason I could name, I wanted it close at hand.

Chapter 1

A heavy pounding on the door downstairs roused me from sleep.

“Obere!” came a distant shout. Damnable timing. I squinted into near darkness, frowned. The hour lay somewhere between midnight and dawn, and blades of moonlight slid between the window shutters, cutting an intricate pattern of light and darkness across the checkered quilt. Off in the night I heard plodding hooves and creaks from some passing merchant’s wagon, and from farther off still the distant baying of packs of wild dogs as they scavenged the battlefields a mile to the north of Kingstown.

The pounding on the door resumed. Feigning sleep wouldn’t work; somehow, King Elnar’s agents—probably that all too efficient Captain Iago—had tracked me down.

I tried to sit up and found a soft arm pinning my chest. Helda hadn’t yet heard a thing; her breathing remained deep and regular. I half chuckled to myself. Too much wine, too much love. She would sleep through the sacking of Kingstown, given half a chance.

As gently as I could, I slid out from under her, leaving the warm sweet smells of perfume and sweat and incense that filled her bed. I made a reassuring murmur at her puzzled sound and quickly gathered up pants, shirt, boots, and sword.

Damnable timing indeed. My first night alone with Helda in nearly two months, and King Elnar couldn’t wait till dawn to summon me back. Price of being one of his right-hand men, I supposed. Still, Captain Iago—or whoever the king had sent to find me—might have had the sense to let me stay lost at least a few hours more. It was seldom enough we had time to rest, but since the hell-creatures had been quiet now for nearly a week, King Elnar had granted me a night’s leave. I had tried to make the best of it, drinking my way through Kingstown’s half dozen taverns before joining Helda at her house to continue a more private celebration into the late hours.

Carrying my belongings, I padded quickly down the steps. First things first. I had to halt that racket before the whole town was up in arms. The hell-creatures had driven us back steadily over the last six months, and with the front lines of the war close to Kingstown, King Elnar’s troops now policed the streets—not that they needed much attention, since three-quarters of the inhabitants had fled. No need to rouse the night watch for a mere summons back to camp. I sighed, half in apprehension. What calamity had befallen us this time? Something bad must have happened to drag me back in the middle of the night. Had our scouts spotted new enemy movements? Or perhaps the hell-creatures had mounted another sneak-attack on our supply lines?

The pounding ceased as I rattled back the bar and flung open the heavy wooden door.

“By the six hells—” I began.

My curse died away unfinished. It wasn’t Captain Iago—or any of the other officers under King Elnar’s command. It was a stranger, a thin little man of perhaps forty with long black hair tied behind his head and a sharp gleam in his eye. He raised his lantern and peered up at me.

“Obere?” he demanded.

I towered a good head and a half over him, but that didn’t matter. He had a powerful presence, much like King Elnar—the sort of man you instinctively looked at whenever he entered a room, or listened to whenever he spoke. He was clean-shaven, dressed in red-and-gold silks with a strange rampant-lion crest stitched in gold and silver thread on the blouse, and I caught the scents of dressing-powder and lavender.

“Maybe,” I said cautiously, feeling for my sword’s hilt, wondering who he was and what he wanted. “You are… ?”

“It is you!” he said, grasping my arm. “The years have changed you—but it is good to see you alive!”

“Who are you,” I demanded, shrugging off his hand, “and what in all the hells do you think you’re doing here at this hour?” No matter who he was, I did not appreciate being awakened from my much-needed and much-deserved rest. It was one thing to receive the king’s summons and quite another to be roused by a stranger.

His voice was quiet. “Has it been so long you no longer know me?”

“I have no idea who—” I began. Then I paused and looked at him. Really looked at him.

“Uncle Dworkin?” I whispered. It had been ten years since I’d last set eyes on him. He had worn his hair cropped short in those days, and he had seemed much, much taller.

Dworkin smiled and bowed his head. “The very same.”

“What—how—”

He waved me to silence. “Later. You must come with me, and quickly. I have sent for a carriage. I assure you, this cannot wait. You will come with me. Now.”

It was a command, not a suggestion.

I gave a bark of a laugh. “Go with you? Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t. I’m due back at camp in the morning. I’m no longer a child, Dworkin—I have duties and responsibilities you cannot imagine.”

“It is a matter of life and death.”

“Whose?”

“Yours—and King Elnar’s. I cannot say more than that.”

That made me pause. “What about King Elnar?” I asked slowly. My duty was clear: to protect and serve first the king and second all of Ilerium. If Dworkin knew something of such great importance that it endangered King Elnar’s life, I had to report it at once.

He shook his head, though. “Later. When we are safely away from here.”

I took a deep breath. Dworkin wasn’t really my uncle—he had been a close friend of my parents. When my father died at the hands of pirates from Saliir shortly after my birth, Dworkin had practically adopted my mother and me. Perhaps it was because he had had no children or family of his own, but I had come to view him as almost a father. It had been Dworkin who played soldier with me, brought me treats on high holidays, and took me hunting in the fields beyond our house at Piermont as if I were his own true son. It had been Dworkin who presented me with my first real sword, and Dworkin who began the training in arms that had ultimately become my livelihood. That is, until he disappeared following my mother’s death from the Scarlet Plague. That had been just after my fourteenth birthday. Those had been crazy times, mad times, with death in the air and fear in every heart. After the death-cart took my mother’s body away, she and Dworkin were both simply gone, I had always assumed he’d died in the plague, too.

And now he stood before me, smug as you please, expecting me to drop everything and go off with him for reasons he wouldn’t share beyond claiming it was a matter of life or death to both the king and me. It was impossible.

Instead of filial love and devotion, I felt a sudden towering rage at having been abandoned.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I growled at him, “unless you explain exactly what you mean. See my orderly in the morning, if you like, and I’ll breakfast with you in my tent. We can catch up with each other then. And you’d better have a damned good explanation—for everything!”

I started to shut the door.

“You will not be alive in the morning if you remain here,” he said softly.

I hesitated, looked into his face, searching—for what, I didn’t know. Truth, perhaps. Or maybe some sign that he still cared for me. After all, my mother was gone now. Perhaps he had only befriended me to get to her.

“Explain,” I said.

“There is no time!” He glanced up the street as if expecting to see someone or something, but the street remained deserted. “My carriage will be here soon. Dress yourself, and be quick about it. We must be ready.”

“What does this have to do with the king? You said it involved him.”

“Yes, though he does not yet know it himself. But if you come with me now, I promise that the invasion of your world will be over within the week. I can say no more.”

The invasion of your world. I did not like the sound of that, but I held back a flood of questions demanding to be asked. Somehow, though I didn’t understand why, I found I wanted to trust Dworkin.

And if he really knew something that could end our war with the hell-creatures, I owed it to King Elnar to listen. I had never known Dworkin to lie. For the sake of my oath to the king and Ilerium, for my childhood and all the kindness Dworkin had showered on my mother and me, I decided I would take him at his word… for now.

“Very well.” I handed him my sword and hurriedly began pulling on my pants.

He remained nervous and apprehensive, glancing up the street every few seconds. He had volunteered little information, I realized, but perhaps I could extract more with an indirect line of questioning.

“Where have you been all these years?” I asked. “I thought you were dead.”

“Traveling,” he said absently. “My… business took me far from here.”

“You could have sent messages.”

“You didn’t need them. I would have been a distraction for you. Had you known I was alive, you would have given up your commission and come looking for me.”

I pulled on my shirt and began lacing the front. “You don’t know that!”

“Of course I do. I know you, Obere, better than you know yourself.”

He shifted slightly, glancing again in the direction of the battlefield outside town. I paused, straining to hear, but even the distant scavenging dogs had grown silent. That seemed an ominous sign.

More slowly, Dworkin went on. “Friends have been sending me reports now and again of you and your career. From raw soldier to lieutenant in ten years is quite a remarkable feat. You have done your parents proud.”

“King Elnar rewards deeds more than accidents of birth.” I shrugged and began to link my shirt-cuffs. “Less than half his officers have noble bloodlines.”

“So I have heard.”

“And I owe much to your training.”

He nodded slightly. “You were an apt student. But don’t discount your own talents—you were born to greatness.”

As I buckled on my swordbelt, I found I began to share his apprehension. A strange, almost expectant hush had fallen over the street… over all of Kingstown. Not an insect chirped, not a bat winged overhead, not a single dog howled in the distance. An unpleasant tension hung over everything around us, like the calm before a storm.

“They are near, I think,” Dworkin said softly. “Even the animals sense it…”

“Who?”

“The enemy. Those you call hell-creatures.”

“You say it like they have some other name.”

“They do.” He looked at me and smiled. “But in this place, they are merely soldiers, like you or I.”

“Not like me! And when have you ever been a soldier?”

He chuckled, a strange gleam in his eye. “You have more in common with them than you realize. We both do.”

I gave a derisive snort, not enjoying the idea. That hell-creatures should be here in Kingstown, behind our lines, seemed unlikely. And yet Dworkin certainly appeared to know more about them than King Elnar’s own agents. Nobody on our side knew where they came from originally, or how many they numbered—they had swept down from the north a year ago in a vast horde, destroying villages, murdering men, women, and children alike by the thousands. King Elnar had marched his army against them at once and fought them to a standstill. But slowly, over the months, their numbers swelled and they advanced on us again and again, driving us ever back, until presently they controlled half of Ilerium.

How did Dworkin know so much, when our own agents knew so little? I found it disconcerting to say the least. And it raised more than a few danger flags in my mind.

I tried to take a mental step backward. It was a trick I had taught myself, to try to see more than what was readily apparent. Who was Dworkin, really? What business could possibly have taken him away in the midst of the Scarlet Plague, when every country in the world had shut its ports to our ships?

I suddenly realized then how little I actually knew about my “uncle.” When you are a child, you take adults for granted. Dworkin had been a part of my life for so long, I had never thought to question his origins or his business or even his phenomenal skill with a sword, for he had certainly been on par with any master I had trained with in the last decade.

As I leaned against Helda’s house and pulled on my boots, I studied him. His strange clothing, his long absence, his swordsmanship, and his ability to keep track of me… I could only reach one conclusion: he had to be a spy. But for whom?

At least he seemed to fear the hell-creatures. No man who has looked into their slitted red eyes, or fought against their wickedly barbed swords and fire-breathing horses, can come away unchanged.

I finally decided that he had to be working for one of the neighboring kingdoms. And they had good cause to fear—if the hell-creatures continued their advance, they would control all of Ilerium within the year, and then they would be free to attack Tyre or Alacia or any of the other Fifteen Kingdoms.

“Where is your carriage?” I asked, taking back my sword.

He looked to the right, down the street. “I hear it coming now.”

I loosened my blade in its scabbard and stood straighten. Clearly Dworkin had gone to a lot of trouble to track me down—I had made doubly sure nobody knew where I would be sleeping tonight, from King Elnar to my orderly. And clearly, from his unceremonious pounding on the door, Dworkin truly did fear for my life.

But why should my life be in danger? I frowned. I was but one of a dozen lieutenants under King Elnar… a well decorated hero, true enough, but hardly a pivotal figure in the war. It didn’t make sense.

The clatter of iron-shod wheels on cobblestones slowly grew louder. Dworkin exhaled heavily and seemed to relax as an odd little carriage sped around the corner half a block away.

I gaped at it. It was shaped almost like a pumpkin, with smooth curved sides that might have been made of milky glass, and it glowed with an eerie phosphoric light, illuminating the whole street. Strangest of all, it had neither horses to pull it nor a driver to steer it, though it had an empty bench on top.

Magic.

I’d seen a few itinerant sorcerers visit King Elnar’s court over the years, but such were few and far between in this part of the world, and usually their magics were more flash and fancy: parlor tricks and elegant illusions to delight ladies after dinner. For Dworkin to have a sorcerer of considerable power at his disposal showed how important his mission here must be.

I’d had some little acquaintance with magic myself over the years. As a boy, I’d discovered I had the ability to change the features of my face when I concentrated on it, and I’d practiced secretly until I could make myself look like almost anyone I’d ever met. When they found out, both Dworkin and my mother had strongly discouraged this talent. And since such tricks are little use in combat, I’d barely even thought of it for years.

As the carriage neared, white lace curtains at the side windows fluttered briefly. I thought I glimpsed a woman’s pale face peering out at us, lips blood red and eyes dark. Could she be steering it from inside?

“Hurry,” Dworkin said urgently, taking my elbow and propelling me toward the carriage. I quickened my pace to keep up. “We must—”

At that second, the building behind us exploded. The force of it knocked me flat to the ground, and I scrambled awkwardly to my feet, palms and elbows and knees all stinging from scrapes on cobblestones.

Unbelieving, I stared at what remained of Helda’s house. Emerald flames shot a hundred feet in the air. The whole building, from stoop to attic, blazed with an unholy green fire. I had seen its like before on the battlefield—sometimes hell-creatures hurled fiery missiles at us, and they burned with those same green flames.

The heat was incredible. From somewhere inside I heard a woman screaming. Helda—I had to save her!

I started for the door, but Dworkin caught my arm and yanked me to a halt. His grip had iron in it, and I could not wrench away despite my own great strength.

“Obere, no!” He had a crazed, almost desperate look in his eye.

“I love her!” I screamed. “I love her—”

“She is dead!” He had to shout to be heard over the roar of the flames.

Above the conflagration, the roof suddenly fell in with a grinding crash. Green sparks streamed up toward the night sky. The whole building began to sag, threatening to collapse inward as the support beams burned through.

I staggered back, imagining her soul flying up to the heavens. Ash and embers began a gentle, hot rain on our heads.

Dworkin.

He had known, somehow, that this attack was going to happen. How?

Whirling, I grabbed him by his silk shirt and with one hand raised him a foot off the ground. It’s an impressive trick at any time, and over the years I’d taken the fight out of a dozen barroom brawlers by one-handing them into the air, then tossing them out the nearest door or window as though they weighed nothing. “Do you know who is responsible for this?” I demanded, shaking him. “How did you know the hell-creatures would attack here tonight? Who are you spying for? Is the king in danger?”

He broke my grip with a sudden toe to the stomach that sent me reeling back, gasping for breath. I hadn’t been hit that hard since the time a horse kicked me during the battle at Sadler’s Mill. Dworkin’s blow would have stunned or perhaps even killed most men, but I shook it off and came up growling, ready for a fight. My blade hissed from its scabbard as I drew it and pointed the tip at his face.

“I knew an attack would come against you tonight,” Dworkin said warily, staying beyond my reach. “But I did not know what form it would take.”

“And the king. How is he involved in this?”

“He is not… yet. The hell-creatures are searching for something. King Elnar is just in the way. Now, do not be a fool, my boy. You are alive because of me. Had I wanted you dead, I could have left you in the house to burn.”

I hesitated, looking at the house, unable to deny the truth. She was dead, my Helda, my sweet little Helda—she was dead, and there was nothing I could do about it now, except make an offering to the gods who guard the underworld.

Then Dworkin’s head jerked to the side and he stared, tense all over, like a rabbit about to bolt. In that second, I heard the horses too. There were perhaps a dozen, perhaps more, approaching fast. I pivoted, sword ready.

They rounded the corner and came into sight. The moon lay to their backs, but I could see the riders’ glowing red eyes and the fiery red breaths of their black steeds. They pounded toward us, swords raised, and let loose wild, gibbering war-cries.

Chapter 2

We must get our backs to a wall!” Dworkin cried, “Don’t let them surround us or we won’t last long!”

“Come—over here!” I sprinted to the house opposite Helda’s, a two-story stone building whose owners, like most of the townsfolk, had fled the coming war weeks ago. With the windows shuttered and the doors nailed shut, we couldn’t get inside even if we wanted to. Nor could the hell-creatures circle around behind us by going through the back of the house. It was a good place to make our stand.

I tensed, raising my sword, as the riders slowed. How had a band of hell-creatures gotten so far behind our lines? As soon as I returned to camp, I intended to find out, even if it meant stringing up every sentry by his thumbs for sleeping on duty.

Then, remembering Dworkin’s carriage and the passenger I’d glimpsed, I glanced up the street. His strange little vehicle had not moved, though its glow had, if anything, increased.

“What about your passenger?” I asked in a low voice. “Won’t the hell-creatures attack her, too?”

“No. They won’t bother with anything or anyone else until we’re dead. And if it comes to that… well, Freda can take care of herself. She will be gone before they get the door open.”

Freda. The name meant nothing to me.

I turned my attention back to the coming fight. “Use two blades if you have them,” I said, “and watch their horses. They’ll spit fire in your eyes and blind you if you let them get close.”

A year of battling hell-creatures made you wary or dead. I’d lost too many good men to their tricks.

Dworkin drew his own sword plus a long knife, and I pulled a smaller knife from my belt. Then the riders were upon us in a thunder of hooves on cobblestones, still screaming their savage war cries.

With the house to our backs, they ringed us in, but only a few could get at us at any one time. I found myself facing a tall rider on a true devil of a horse. As the rider’s flexible sword whipped through the air, trying to catch me with the razored barbs on its end, his mount also lunged, snorting sparks and snapping pointed teeth.

I parried, parried, and parried again, waiting for an opening. It was a weird dance by the light of the burning house across from us and the eerily glowing carriage at the end of the street. On the battlefield, I had seen men beheaded while trying to avoid the horse, or killed by the horse while parrying the swordsman’s blows. Fighting with two blades was the best defense for a man on foot. You could keep the horse at bay with the knife while concentrating on the rider.

My hell-creature opponent was a more than able swordsman. He used his height advantage to the full, raining down savage blow after blow, trying to wear me out or beat me down. Such an attack would have worked on a lesser man, but I set my feet and stood my ground. I had little choice—with a house to my back, I could not retreat.

The next few minutes became a blur as I parried, riposted, and parried again. Beside me I heard Dworkin grunt once or twice, and then a horse screamed and fell. In that moment’s distraction my blade slipped beneath my opponent’s guard and pierced his chest.

With a low gurgle, the hell-creature slumped in the saddle. I ripped my blade free. His horse screamed in anger and reared back, kicking with its front hooves.

I ducked to the side, gave it a good prick with the tip of my blade, and watched as it wheeled and raced back the way they had come. Probably returning him to their camp, I thought. Another hell-creature galloped forward to take his place, red eyes glaring.

His horse didn’t wait, but spat a jet of fire at me the second it grew near. I leaned back and batted my knife at its snarling face. Its teeth had been filed to points—a truly hideous creature.

Screaming a warbling war-cry, the rider rained down smashing blows and an intricate slashing attack that only served to strengthen my will. You will not pass. That had become King Elnar’s rallying cry, and I made it mine now, too.

Giving a roar of my own, I seized the initiative and attacked. He matched me ringing blow for blow. Then, with a quick feint and a nimble thrust, I pierced his right hand with my blade. His sword went flying. As he yanked on his horse’s reins with his other hand and tried to wheel away, I closed and struck three quick, sharp blows to the side of his helm.

That tumbled him from his saddle, and his ankle caught in the stirrups. I gave his mount a slap on the rump with the flat of my blade.

“Go!” I screamed at it, waving my sword. “Run!”

Giving an unholy wail, the horse fled. It dragged the hell-creature down the streets, his helm and armor banging and rattling on the cobbles.

I chuckled to myself. If he lived, he certainly wouldn’t be fighting for a long, long time.

I enjoyed a second’s break as the remaining hell-creatures jockeyed for position to get at me. When I glanced over at Dworkin, I saw with some surprise that he had already dispatched no fewer than six of his opponents. He fought two now, his sword and knife a darting blur as he darted between their horses to parry and stab. I had never seen such speed or swordsmanship before, and it made my own more-than-able defense seem clumsy and amateurish.

No sense letting the break go to waste, I thought. Bending, I pulled a small knife from my boot sheath and flipped it underhand. The tip nicked one of Dworkin’s opponents on the chin, just below the helm. I don’t think it did more than scratch him, but that was the distraction Dworkin needed to run him through. Then, whirling and with a magnificent double-feint, Dworkin beheaded the other. The body slowly toppled from the saddle, and then both of the horses raced off.

A horn sounded from the end of the street, and distant voices began crying an alarm. The town watch must have finally noticed something amiss, I realized with a snort of amusement. Hundred-foot-tall sheets of green flame and roving bands of hell-creatures with fire-breathing horses battling in the streets hadn’t escaped them. Undoubtedly they would show up just in time to claim credit for saving us.

As if realizing they hadn’t much time left, the hell-creatures pressed their attack. Dworkin killed another, and I killed two more in quick succession. Six remained. They fell back for a second, steadying their horses and preparing to rush us all at once. This would be the decisive moment in the fight, I realized. Strong as I was, my muscles had begun to tire, and these last six hell-creatures and their mounts were still fresh for battle.

I drifted closer to Dworkin, keeping my sword up.

“Help will be here soon,” I said. Not that he needed it. He wasn’t even panting. “We just have to hold them off for a few more minutes.”

“Wait. I have something here…”

He tucked his long knife under one arm and rummaged around in a pouch with his free hand, muttering softly to himself. Then, just as the six hell-creatures spurred their mounts toward us for their final attack, he pulled out a small crystal that glinted with an inner fire.

“Aha!” he said.

He raised the crystal to eye level, and a beam of dazzling white light shot from the tip, brighter than the sun, brighter than anything I had ever seen before. It sliced through the four closest riders and their mounts like a scythe through wheat. Horses and hell-creatures alike fell, screaming in pain, blood spraying, their various parts flopping on the cobbles like fish out of water. They had been sliced in half, I realized, numbly taking in the horrible scene. Then they lay still, dark blood pooling rapidly.

Cursing, Dworkin dropped the crystal. It had turned black, I saw, and a sharp, unpleasant smoke rose from it. It shattered on the cobblestones, then the bits seemed to turn to dust and disappear like evaporating water. Little remained but a faint black smudge.

“What was that?” I demanded, shocked and horrified. It was the most terrible weapon I had ever seen.

“A parlor trick.”

“Magic!”

“I suppose you could call it that.”

Horns sounded again, much closer now. The two remaining hell-creatures reined in their hissing, spark-spitting horses, hesitated a second, then wheeled, kicked their mounts to a gallop, and fled back the way they had come.

I wasn’t surprised. Between us, Dworkin and I had killed fourteen of their band in a handful of minutes. We could easily have dispatched two more. Better to report failure and live to attack another day, especially with the town watch at hand.

Suddenly exhausted, I lowered my sword and stared at the carnage before us, then I stared at Dworkin. By the light of Helda’s burning house, he had seemed younger and stronger than I remembered. And now, nursing burnt fingers, blowing on them and shaking them in the air, he seemed almost comical.

“Where did you get that crystal?” I asked in a quiet voice. If I could get more like it for King Elnar, I knew without a doubt that it would turn the tide of war in our favor.

“Never ask a magician his secrets.”

“So I’m supposed to believe you’re a magician now?”

“Do you have a better explanation?”

“Actually, I do. You’re a spy for one of the neighboring kingdoms, one with a wizard. The wizard gave you that”—I indicated the remains of the crystal with my chin—“and your horseless carriage. Other spies warned you about the hell-creatures’ coming attack, and you came here to save me either for old times’ sake or for reasons I don’t yet know.”

Throwing back his head, he howled with uncontrollable laughter.

I frowned. Clearly he had no intention of telling me the truth.

“Yes! Yes!” he finally gasped. “Your explanation is much better than mine! Much more believable!”

This wasn’t the solemn, serious Dworkin I remembered of old.

“You’ve gone mad,” I said, half believing it.

That sent him howling again.

With the hell-creatures gone, the few remaining townspeople in this neighborhood began to venture from their houses. They stood in small clusters, talking in low voices and pointing at the carnage, Helda’s burning house, the odd horseless carriage, and Dworkin and me. The green flames in particular seemed to frighten them; they made no move to form a bucket brigade to try to put out the fire.

I didn’t blame them; I wouldn’t have gone anywhere near it, either. Luckily the fire didn’t seem to be spreading, or all of Kingstown might have been in jeopardy.

Ignoring Dworkin, I bent and cleaned both my sword and my knife on a dead hell-creature’s cloak, then sheathed them. A soldier’s first duty after a battle is to take care of his weapons, after all. Next I retrieved my throwing knife, cleaned it, and returned it to my right boot.

My movements felt almost mechanical. The whole night’s adventure had taken on an air of unreality, as though it had happened to someone else. The townspeople, the fire, my long-lost mentor… I found myself just standing there, staring into the green flames, remembering. And most of all I remembered Helda, my Helda, who was gone…

Horns sounded again, very close now, perhaps one street over. The town watch would be here soon.

Dworkin touched my shoulder. “We must go.”

I focused on him. “I’m not going anywhere until I get the truth.”

“Fine. I am a spy. That is as good an explanation as any, for the moment. Come on, we must go before the hell-creatures return in greater numbers. Do not be stubborn about it.”

“You think they’re coming back?” I demanded, startled. I gazed up the street in the direction the two surviving hell-creatures had fled. “Tonight? After the way you cut them in half with that crystal?”

“Of course they are coming back, and I have just about run out of tricks. Now that they have found you, they will not rest until you are dead. They will mount an all-out assault instead of a methodical search.”

I shook my head. “That doesn’t make sense. Why me? I’m nobody special. They should be going after King Elnar if they want to end the war.”

“It is more complicated than that… and this war means nothing to them. They do not want land or slaves. They are searching for you.”

“Me? Why?”

“It is a long story. I will tell you everything when we are safely away, I promise.”

He started for his horseless carriage, then paused and looked back expectantly.

“You had best come, my boy.”

I took a deep breath, glanced one last time at the burning house, at the corpse-littered street, then at him. He seemed strong and sure and confident now. Despite all that had happened—or perhaps because of it—my long-seated anger and hurt and resentment over being abandoned began to melt away. I trusted him, I realized, in some deep way I couldn’t fully understand.

And he had claimed he could help end the war. That alone was worth giving him the benefit of the doubt.

A little stiffly, I nodded and started after him. All right, I told myself, you seem to know what you’re doing, Uncle. I’ll trust you for now.

I didn’t think I had much choice. We could sort out our differences when we were safe. And if he could help save Ilerium from the hell-creatures as he claimed, so much the better. That crystal gave me some idea he hadn’t been making idle promises.

Chapter 3

The pumpkin-shaped carriage looked even more ridiculous now, in the greenish glow of Helda’s still-burning house, at the end of a street littered with dead hell-creatures and half a dozen dead horses. As we neared, a little door in its side slowly swung open and delicate steps glittering like spun crystal folded out. A small oil lamp hung from the ceiling inside, and by its pale illumination, I looked upon white velvet seats and cushions, a small ivory-inlaid table, and a passenger—the woman I had glimpsed earlier.

Without hesitation I unbuckled my swordbelt and slid into the seat across from her, balancing my weapon across my knees. My fellow passenger was strikingly beautiful, I found, with long dark hair and a wide, almost familiar face. Thin nose, full lips, strong chin—

Dworkin, I realized. She looks more than a little like him. Could she be his daughter?

She was dressed in a gold-and-red silk dress, with a round red hat perched atop her head. Heavy gold rings set with large diamonds and larger rubies, if I was any judge, covered her slender fingers. If she had witnessed the battle outside, she showed no sign of concern. She might have been out for a picnic in the country as far as I could tell.

“Hello,” I said.

“Not now, Oberon,” she said.

Ignoring me, she picked up what looked like a deck of Tarot cards and nimbly shuffled them, then began turning them over one by one on the table between us. Leaning forward, she studied intently the pattern made by the first nine.

“Anything?” Dworkin asked from outside the carriage door. I glanced over at him expectantly.

Freda said, “We had best hurry. Time is running out here.”

“Time already ran out,” he told her. Then he shut the door, and from the way the carriage shook and swayed, I knew he was climbing onto its roof. Probably to steer, I thought, thinking of the bench up there, though the carriage hadn’t needed any such guidance before.

“I guess it’s just to be the two of us,” I said. I gave her a smile, but she didn’t look up.

With a slight lurch, the carriage began to move forward. It took me a moment to realize the wheels weren’t clattering over the cobblestones. From the smoothness of the ride, we might have been gliding a foot above them. It had been a night of sufficient wonders that I didn’t even question it.

Instead, my attention focused on the woman opposite me—Freda, as Dworkin had called her—who seemed intent on ignoring my presence. With deft hands she gathered her cards, shuffled them again, and began methodically turning them over once more, this time forming a circle on the table. She didn’t seem the slightest bit interested in me, Kingstown, or the hell-creatures we had just slain.

“I’m Obere,” I told her, “not Oberon.” Maybe we simply needed an introduction to get off on the right foot.

“Oberon is your proper name,” she said, still without looking up. “Things must be done properly. I am Freda.”

“I know,” I said. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Yes, you are, dear boy.”

“You see that in the cards?”

“No, in you, brother Oberon.” She smiled enigmatically, eyes glistening behind long black lashes.

I could play that coy game, too.

Almost teasing, I said, “What man wouldn’t be?”

“Indeed,” she said solemnly.

“Why are you here?”

“Father does not like to travel alone, and I thought I might be able to help, in my own small way.”

“I don’t think he needs help from anyone.”

“He does from me.”

Chuckling to myself, I leaned back. Clearly she thought a little too highly of herself. Dworkin’s daughter? Of that there could be no doubt. Apparently hubris was a family trait. I found it more annoying than endearing, however.

I glanced out the little window to my left. To my surprise, what appeared to be daylight glimmered through the lace curtain. Had dawn already broken? How long had we been riding in the carriage? It should have been at least three or four more hours till first light, by my reckoning.

I swept back the curtain and sure enough, the sun greeted me. Low in the sky, it cast a reddish-gold glow across acres of neatly plowed fields. It shouldn’t have been there yet, my every sense told me. Had I fallen asleep and not realized it?

No, I thought, shaking my head, that didn’t seem possible. I had been awake the whole time. We had just set off from Kingstown a few moments ago… hadn’t we?

I rubbed my eyes and, when I took my hand away, suddenly it was night again. I couldn’t see anything outside the carriage for the blackness. Even the stars and moon were absent, hidden behind clouds.

I let the curtains drop. Just my mind playing tricks on me, I realized. I had been awake too long. Of course it wasn’t daytime yet. We couldn’t be more than a mile or two from Kingstown.

Leaning back, I noticed a faint light outside through the curtain. Dawn? Again? Impossible!

Pushing back the lace curtains a second time, I stuck my head close to the window’s glass,

No, not dawn… the clouds had parted, and the moon shone down, full and bright, set against a glittering diamond field of stars. By their glow, we sped down a coastal highway, rolling faster than the fastest horse could gallop.

Faintly, I could see gentle dunes spotted with clumps of marsh grass. Beyond the dunes lay a pale ribbon of beach where small waves lapped.

Only… we should not have been here. The carriage had taken the south road out of Kingstown, which led to twenty miles of verdant farmlands and then fifty miles of ancient, overgrown forests. This horseless carriage moved quickly, but the nearest beach lay at least four days’ hard ride from Kingstown. Over the years, I had surveyed the entire length of Ilerium’s coast—and in all that time, I had never seen this beach before. I felt certain of it. So where were we? How had we gotten here?

Magic, I thought uneasily. It seemed the only explanation.

I unlatched the window and pushed it open, breathing deeply of the smells of salt and brine. Far off, an owl screeched. The waves shushed against the sand.

It was real, not some dream or vision. We really were on the coast now… a strange coast not anywhere I knew in Ilerium.

The sky began to grow lighter. The highway turned inland, now cutting through dense sun-bleached grasses whose pale heads rose higher than our carriage. Luminous clouds roiled in the sky, and lightning began to strike all around us. I saw flames shooting through the grass and realized they were dry enough to quickly catch fire. Unless the clouds let loose torrents of rain, and fast, those fires would soon be burning out of control. I knew how fast fires could spread, but somehow, riding in this carriage, I felt perfectly safe. Dworkin’s magic would speed us away.

Still the carriage rolled on, faster and faster, leaving the fires behind. The daylight slowly increased, grayish and diffuse now, revealing a drab countryside. Scrub trees replaced the tall grass, dwarf oaks and oddly twisted pines. The carriage turned, climbing sudden hills, then entered a forest of pines, which in turn gave way to more farmlands.

Lightning continued to flash above. The clouds continued to boil and seethe, and the air grew hot and sticky, but no rain fell. I spotted a few small stone houses with thatched roofs among the fields, but no sign of people or animals anywhere… they had probably taken cover to avoid the coming storm.

Peering ahead, I spotted a town of perhaps twenty or thirty low stone buildings just now coming into view. As we rolled through, slowing slightly, men and women dressed in black from head to toe came rushing out from every doorway. All carried swords or knives or axes. Their faces were drawn and pale, and their mouths opened wide to show needlelike teeth and forked tongues.

A thrown axe whizzed by my head, hit the side of the carriage, and bounced off—much too close for comfort. Gulping, I ducked back inside, peering at them from behind the curtain and the relative safety of the coach’s interior. Although they weren’t hell-creatures, from their reception, they might as well have been. Whether they wanted to eat us or sacrifice us to some dark god, I couldn’t begin to guess. I wouldn’t want to pass through here alone and unarmed, I decided with a shiver. And what of Dworkin? If they hit him with an axe—

They gave chase for a few minutes, but Dworkin’s carriage outpaced them, and they, too, fell behind in the distance.

The trees around us had begun to grow taller, darker, and more foreboding by the minute. I found myself leaning closer and closer to the window to see. Streamers of a sickly yellow moss and tangled masses of prickly vines draped every branch. Immense bats hung from every available perch by the thousands, and as we passed, they began to open little red eyes and flex leathery wings.

I liked this place less and less the farther we went. Where could Dworkin possibly be taking us? I hadn’t minded the coast road, but though I considered myself a brave man, the town and now this forest both sent shivers through me.

Suddenly the bats began to make screechy, chittering noises that sounded altogether too much like kill— kill- kill. They all seemed to be staring hungrily at us now, though none made any move to attack.

I wasn’t going to take any chances, though. This time I closed the window and snapped the latch securely. No sense giving them any path inside—though if they decided to attack Dworkin where he rode on top, I didn’t know how I’d be able to help him.

Slowly, I fingered the hilt of the knife in my belt, wondering if I should draw it and trying at the same time not to alarm Freda. No sense in worrying her unnecessarily, I thought.

I gave her what I hoped was an encouraging smile. She just stared through me, apparently bored and uninterested.

My gaze kept drifting back to the window, though, and to the dark ruby-eyed shapes perched out there. If anything, they bothered me more than the townspeople. I could defend myself against human—or almost human—attackers. But against swarms of wild animals…

“Father doesn’t like to be followed,” Freda said suddenly, breaking the uncomfortable silence between us. “He has always been good at laying traps.”

“Traps?” I managed to pull my gaze from the window to regard her questioningly. “What do you mean?”

“Anyone who tries to follow us will be attacked, of course. That is his plan.”

“By the bats,” I said, realizing what she meant. “And the people in that town. And the burning grasslands—”

“Yes.” She smiled a bit and smoothed her dress around her, as though we had gone for a pleasant afternoon’s ride or a picnic in the country. “Father is awfully clever that way. I never could have thought up those bats.”

“But… how—” I frowned, puzzled. Thought them up? She made it sound like he had created them, somehow.

“He is a true master at manipulating Shadows,” she said with a little shrug. “Far better than me. I like to pick a place and stay there.”

“As long as it’s safe.”

“Of course.”

More riddles, I grumbled to myself. Shadows? What was she talking about? She was Dworkin’s daughter, all right, and I was sick of their games. Every time one of them said anything to me, it only made my confusion worse.

My attention drifted to the table between us. Apparently she had finished with her Tarot cards; the whole deck sat neatly stacked before her now. I wondered what she had seen in our future. Briefly I considered asking her, but then I thought better of it. Somehow, I didn’t think the answers would make much sense to me. And I had never put much faith in fortune-telling.

I turned my attention back to the window. Without warning, the carriage burst into a clearing, and dazzling noontime sun caught me full in the face. I had to shield my eyes and squint to see, and even so, bright spots drifted before my eyes.

A desert… we were riding through a desert of red sand and red rocks now. Heat shimmered in waves, and though I could feel a scorching heat on my face, I felt a chill inside.

Magic again. The carriage was ensorcelled, taking us on a nightmare journey where neither day nor night nor landscape held any true form or meaning. Even so, knowing it couldn’t possibly be real, as my eyes grew accustomed to the light I found I could not look away.

We turned, crossed a bridge of stone, and entered another forest, this one filled with redwoods of immense proportion, their trunks so big around that it would have taken a dozen men with arms stretched fingertip to fingertip to surround one. High up among the leaves, I glimpsed creatures the size and shape of men leaping from branch to branch. Male and female alike wore skirts of woven grass and carried short wooden clubs hooked to small belts. When they spotted us, they began to shriek and point.

The sky darkened without warning; hailstones the size of peas began to fall, followed by gusts of wind strong enough to shake the carriage. Behind us, I heard a huge grinding, tearing sound like nothing I had ever heard before, and a jolt of fear went through me.

Opening the window, I stuck my head out and looked back to see what was happening. A cold, gale-strong wind whipped my hair, and I had to squint to see, but the sight filled me with a terrible awe.

Half a dozen tornadoes writhed and danced through the redwood forest behind us. Trees by the hundreds were falling before the winds, huge knots of root tearing loose from the ground, immense trunks slamming down in an impenetrable maze of wood. I saw hundreds of the manlike creatures sucked up into the black swirling funnels where, still screaming, they vanished.

The road would be impossible to follow on horseback. It had to be another trap for our pursuers, if they made it around the fires, through the townspeople, and past the bats. But how had Dworkin known to come here? How had he known the trees would fall? They must have been standing for centuries to have grown so huge. For us to pass just as tornadoes blew them over seemed unlikely, to say the least.

No, I thought, Dworkin hadn’t known the trees would fall, I realized with a growing sense of helplessness. He had made them fall. It was the only possible explanation. With such powers as he now commanded, he could have ruled Ilerium. How, in all our years together, had I never even suspected them?

I felt sorry for the tree creatures in that forest who had died because of us, unwittingly giving their lives and homes to protect our passage.

The winds began to drop when we descended into a small valley. Fog came up suddenly, and a dense, dismal gray cloaked the windows for a time. Though I knew cliffs stood to either side, somewhere just out of sight, I thought once or twice I heard the sound of gently lapping waves.

I pulled my head in and glanced at Freda, who looked as serene as a cat with a bird in its mouth. I couldn’t understand her calm. This journey—and it wasn’t over yet!—already had me feeling battle-worn and weary… yet too ill at ease to relax.

“How much longer?” I asked her.

“It depends on Father. He is not taking the fastest or most direct route to Juniper, after all.”

Juniper? Was that our destination?

I’d never heard of it… and from the name it could have been anything, from castle keep to sprawling kingdom. She expected me to know the name, I thought, from the way she said it, so I simply smiled like I knew what she meant. Perhaps she’d tell me more if she thought I already knew about this Juniper.

Instead of talking to me, though, she settled farther back in her seat and folded her hands in her lap, volunteering nothing.

I did notice that dawn had just broken outside again, burning off the fog with supernatural speed.

After that, everything kept changing, but subtly, never quite while you were looking at it. The sky turned greenish, then yellow-green, then back to blue. Clouds came and vanished. Forests rose and fell to grassland, which gave way to farmland and then back to forests again. Dawn broke half a dozen times.

I had never even heard of magic like this before, which bent time and place to a driver’s will, and my estimation of Dworkin—or the people he worked for—grew steadily greater, if that was possible. Whatever wizards had created his crystal-weapon and this carriage clearly had the power to save Ilerium from hell-creatures.

My job would be winning them over to King Elnar’s cause.

It seemed our only hope.

Finally, after what felt like hours of travel, we entered a land of rolling green hills. The highway we traveled—at times paved with yellow bricks but for the moment deep ruts with grass in between—curved gently ahead. Brightly plumed birds flitted among the scattered bushes and trees, their cheerful songs strangely normal after all we had been through. Overhead, high white clouds streaked the deep, perfect blue of the sky,

“We are close to Juniper now,” I heard Freda say.

I glanced at her. “You recognize the scenery?”

“Yes. A few more hours and we should be there.” Then a dozen horsemen dressed in silvered armor fell in around the carriage.

Chapter 4

Instantly my hand flew to the sword lying across my knees, but I didn’t draw it. These soldiers seemed to be acting as an escort or honor guard, I thought, rather than a band of attackers.

When one turned slightly, I noticed the red-and-gold rampant lion stitched on the front of his blouse. The pattern matched Dworkin’s—these had to be his men.

I allowed myself to relax. We should be safe in their care. So close to this mysterious Juniper, what could go wrong?

The carriage slowed enough for them to keep up with us. Trying to appear uncurious, I opened the window again and pulled back the curtain a bit, studying the rider closest to us. Thick black braids hung down behind his rounded silver helmet, and he had a long, thin black mustache that flapped as he rode. His arms seemed odd, I decided—a little too long. And they seemed to be bending halfway between shoulder and elbow, as if they had an extra joint.

Suddenly he turned and looked straight at me. His slitted yellow eyes caught the light, glinting like a cat’s with an almost opalescent fire.

Swallowing, I let the curtain fall. Thus hidden, I continued to study him. These might be Dworkin’s guards, I thought, but they weren’t human. Nor did they have the unpleasant features of hell-creatures. So who—or what—were they?

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to turn away. I’d seen enough. No sense brooding on questions I couldn’t yet answer.

My attention now focused on Freda, who had begun to shuffle her Tarot cards and lay them out again. Every few minutes she rearranged them into a different pattern, sometimes circular, sometimes diagonal, once square with a cascading pattern in the center.

“Solitaire?” I asked, trying to get her attention. Perhaps I could learn more from her.

“No.”

“I prefer games for two players, myself.”

“Games are for children and old men.”

I leaned forward, tilting my head and looking at her deck more carefully now. Rather than the standard Tarot cards such as any wisewoman or soothsayer might employ, filled with religious and astrological figures, these showed men and women I didn’t recognize and places I had never been—a strange castle, a dark forest glade, even a romantic beach bathed in the warm glow of moonlight… or moonslight, rather, for two moons hung in the sky—the artist’s idea of a joke, or a real place? I could no longer be sure.

Freda gathered the cards, shuffled seven times, and dealt out fifteen, three lines of five cards each. Only portraits of men and women came up. Most had features similar enough to Dworkin’s to be related to him.

“What do you see?” I finally asked after the waiting became impossible to bear.

“Our family.” She pointed to the cards before her. “Nine princes of Chaos, all torn asunder. Six princesses of Chaos, where do they wander.”

“I know fortune-tellers are always vague,” I said, taking a stab at humor. “But at least it rhymes, almost.”

“It is part of an old nursery verse:

I had never heard it before. And yet it did fit.

“A bit grim,” I said.

She shrugged. “I did not write it.”

With a start, I realized we were no longer speaking Tantari, but some other language, a richer one with a lilting rhythm. It spilled from her tongue like water from a glass, and I understood every word as though I had been speaking it all my life. How did I know it? More magic? Had I come under some spell without even realizing it?

Stammering a bit, unable to help myself, I asked her, “W-what language is this?”

“It’s Thari, of course,” she said, giving me the sort of odd, puzzled look you’d give the village idiot when he asked why water was wet.

Thari… It sounded right, somehow, and I knew on some inner level she spoke the truth. But how did I know it? When had I learned it?

My every thought and memory told me I never had.

And yet… and yet, now I spoke it like I’d known it my entire life. And I found it increasingly difficult to recall Tantari, my native tongue, as though it belonged to some distant, hazy dream.

“You have been in Shadow a long time, haven’t you?” she said with a sigh. “Sometimes it is easy to forget what that can do to you…”

In Shadow? What did that mean?

Remembering the look she’d given me when I asked what language we spoke, I bit back my questions. I wouldn’t appear foolish or ignorant again, if I could help it.

Instead, I said, “Yes, I suppose I have been gone too long.” I didn’t know what else to say, and I didn’t want to volunteer too much and reveal my ignorance. “I hadn’t seen Dworkin in many years.”

“You still look confused,” she said, and then she gave a kinder laugh and reached out to pat my hand. Her skin, soft as silk, smelled of lavender and honey. “It does not matter.”

I smiled. Now we were getting somewhere.

“Wouldn’t you be confused, too?” I asked. “Pulled from my bed in the middle of the night to fight hell-creatures, trundled off in this ludicrous carriage, then thrown in here for a frantic midnight ride—all with no questions answered?”

“Probably.” She cleared her throat. “Thari is the primal tongue,” she said matter-of-factly, as though lecturing a small child who hadn’t learned his lessons properly. “It is the source of all languages in all the Shadow worlds. It is a part of you, just as everything around us is part of Chaos. You do remember the Courts of Chaos, don’t you?”

I shook my head, once again feeling foolish and ignorant. “Never been there, I’m afraid.”

“A pity. They are lovely, in their way.” Her eyes grew distant, remembering. I could tell she liked that place… the Courts of Chaos, she’d called it.

Hoping for more answers, I said, “It’s been quite a night. Or day now, I suppose. What do you think of all this?” I made a vague, sweeping gesture that covered the carriage, the riders, her cards. “What does it portend?”

“War is coming. All the signs are there. Everyone says so, especially Locke. He has been playing general long enough, he is bound to be good at it. But we will be safe enough in Juniper, I think. At least for now.”

“And this Juniper?”

“You have never been there, either?”

I shook my head. So much for my plan to keep my ignorance to myself.

“It is nothing like the Courts of Chaos, but for a Shadow, it is really quite lovely. Or used to be.”

That didn’t really help. So many new questions… Juniper… Shadows… the Courts of Chaos—what were they?

I glanced at the window again, thinking about Chaos. At least that name sounded familiar. Reading from the Great Book was part of every religious holiday in Ilerium, and I had heard some of the most famous passages hundreds of times over the years. Our most sacred scriptures told how the Gods of Chaos wrought the Earth from nothingness, then fought over their creation. They were supposed to be great, magical beings who would someday return to smite the wicked and reward the pious.

As a soldier, I had never put much faith in anything I couldn’t see or touch. Deep down, I had always believed the stories set forth in the Great Book were nothing more than parables designed to teach moral lessons to children. But now, after all I had seen and done this night, it began to make a certain amount of sense. If the stories were literally true…

I swallowed. The Gods of Chaos were supposed to return with fire and steel to punish those who didn’t believe. Perhaps the hell-creatures marked the beginning of their return. Perhaps we had been working against the Gods of Chaos all along and hadn’t realized it.

For they shall smite the wicked…

No, I decided, I had to have misunderstood. The scriptures didn’t fit. The hell-creatures killed everyone, from priests to tradesmen, from doddering crones to the youngest of children. No gods could have sent such an army.

What were the Courts of Chaos, and where did Dworkin fit into all of this?

Freda seemed to sense my confusion. Smiling, she reached out and patted my hand again.

“I know it’s a lot for you,” she said. “Father did you no favors in letting you grow up in a distant Shadow. But on the other hand, that may be why you are still alive when so many others are not. I think he means you for something greater.”

I frowned. “You think so? What?”

“We can try to find out.”

In one quick motion, she gathered her deck of Tarot cards into a neat stack and set it in front of me. She tapped the top card once with her index finger.

“This deck has forty-six Trumps. Shuffle them well, then turn the top one. Let’s see what they tell us.”

Chuckling, I shook my head. “I don’t believe in fortune telling.”

“I do not tell fortunes. As Father says, even in Chaos there is a grand pattern emerging, truths and truisms if you will. The Trumps reflect them. Those who are trained—as I am—can sometimes see reflected in the cards not only what is, but what must be. Since the whole family is gathering in Juniper right now, it might be best for us to know where you stand… and who will stand with you.”

Giving a shrug, I said, “Very well.” I didn’t think it could hurt.

I picked up the cards. The backs had been painted a royal blue, with a rampant lion in gold in the middle. They were a little thicker than parchment, but hard and chill to the touch, with a texture almost like polished ivory,

I cut them in half, shuffled them together a couple of times, then set them down in front of Freda. The palms of my hands tingled faintly. A light sweat covered my face. Somehow, touching the cards had made me distinctly uncomfortable.

“Turn the first Trump,” she said.

I did so.

It showed Dworkin, but he was dressed as a fool in red and yellow silks, complete with bells on his cap and long pointed shoes that curled at the toes. It was the last thing I had expected to see, and I had to choke back a laugh.

“That’s ridiculous!” I said.

“Odd…” Freda said, frowning. “The first turned is usually a place, not a person.” She set the card to the side, face up.

“Meaning… ?” I asked.

“Dworkin, the center of our family, who is now or will be the center of your world.”

I said, “Dworkin is no fool.”

“What matters is the person pictured on the card, not his clothing. Aber made these cards for me. Everyone knows he’s a bit of a prankster.”

Suddenly I had a new name to remember: Aber. Aber the prankster. I thought I might like him. And she seemed to assume I knew who he was.

“Turn another card,” she told me.

I did so. It depicted a younger man, fifteen or sixteen years old at most, dressed in yellows and browns. Without a doubt, he had to be another of Dworkin’s children—they shared the same eyes and strong chin. He wore a hat adorned with a set of preposterously large elk antlers and looked slightly bored, like he wanted to be off on adventures instead of having to sit for this miniature portrait. He held up a broadsword with both hands. It looked too long and too heavy for him. Somehow, he struck me as familiar, though I would have sworn we had never met—or had we?

Freda sucked in a surprised breath.

“Who is he?” I asked.

“Alanar,” she whispered.

Again, the name didn’t sound familiar, but I couldn’t rid myself of the feeling he and I had met somewhere before. I could half picture him lying in a pool of blood… but where? When?

“Maybe he’s coming back,” Freda said.

“No,” I said with certainty. “He’s dead.”

“How do you know?” she asked, searching my eyes with her own. “You haven’t met him.”

“I—don’t know.” I frowned, fumbling for the memory, finding it elusive. “Isn’t he dead?”

“He’s been missing for more than a year. Nobody’s heard from him or been able to contact him, even with his Trump. I thought he was dead. Everyone does. But none of us has any proof.”

Contact him… with his Trump? I looked down at the card, puzzling over that odd turn of phrase. Stranger and stranger, I thought.

“If you haven’t seen a body,” I said, trying to sound comforting though I knew it was a lie, knew that he was dead, “there is reason for hope.”

She shook her head. “Our enemies do not often leave bodies. If he is dead, we will never know it.”

I found myself agreeing. After battles, we had seldom been able to recover our dead comrades from lands the hell-creatures controlled. What they actually did with the corpses remained open to conjecture—and the guesses were never very pleasant.

Eyes distant, Freda shook her head sadly. I realized that she had cared deeply for young Alanar. We had something in common, then; I had lost Helda… she had lost her brother.

Swallowing, I reached out and gave her hand a sympathetic squeeze. “Best not to dwell on it,” I said softly. “These have been hard times for everyone.”

“You are right, of course.” Taking a deep breath, Freda placed Alanar’s card on the table, a little below Dworkin’s jester and to the right. Next to each other, their resemblance was even more striking. Clearly they were father and son.

“Pick again,” she said, indicating the Trumps.

Silently, I did so. It was another young man, this one dressed in browns and greens, with a wide pleasant version of Dworkin’s face. A faint dueling scar marked his left cheek, but he had a genial smile. He carried a bow in one hand and what looked like a wine flask in the other. A trickle of wine ran down his lips and beaded underneath his chin.

A young drunkard, the card seemed to suggest.

“Taine,” Freda announced, keeping her expression carefully neutral.

“I don’t know him,” I said.

“I think he is dead, too.”

“I’m sorry.”

We went through four more cards rapidly. Each showed a man between the ages of twenty and forty. Most bore some resemblance to Dworkin—either the eyes, the shapes of the faces, or the way in which they held themselves. His offspring almost certainly, I decided. It seemed he’d kept busy with a number of women over the years. How many children had he sired? And with such a large family, how had he still found so much time to spend with me during my own youth—all the while pretending to be unmarried? The next time I had him alone, I intended to ask.

Each of these cards Freda placed below Dworkin’s, circling the edge of the table. In all, counting Alanar and Taine, she thought four of Dworkin’s sons were dead. I didn’t recognize either of the other two.

Then I turned over a card that showed a man with my face, only his eyes were brown to my blue. He dressed all in dark browns and yellows, and he held a slightly crooked sword almost defiantly. I didn’t know if it was a private joke, but certainly the crooked sword seemed to imply one.

“Who is he?” I asked hesitantly. He looked familiar, too. Where had we met? And when?

“Do you know him?”

“He looks a lot like me…”

I held the card a minute, just staring at it, until she took it out of my hand and placed it below the others.

“Mattus,” she said. “His name is Mattus.”

“He’s dead, too,” I said numbly.

“How do you know?” she demanded, voice rising sharply.

I shrugged helplessly. “I don’t now. It’s like… like an old memory, distant and hazy. Or maybe a dream. I can almost see it, but not quite. I only know he was in it, though, and I saw him die.”

“What happened to him?” she went on. “How did he die?”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I can’t quite remember,” But I felt certain it hadn’t been pleasant, though I couldn’t bring myself to say so to Freda. I didn’t think she’d take the news well. Clearly she had cared for Mattus.

She sighed.

“Maybe it was only a dream,” I told her, trying to sound a little reassuring, a little hopeful, though deep inside I knew it for a lie. “Perhaps they are both still alive, somewhere.”

“Do not dismiss your dreams so easily. They are often powerful portents of the future. Over the years, I have had hundreds of dreams that proved to be true. If you say both Alanar and Mattus are dead, and you saw them die in a dream, it may very well be so.”

“It was only a dream.”

“Perhaps I believe because you saw it in a dream.”

“As you say,” I said with a small shrug. Most of the time, I put as little stock in dreams as in fortune-tellers.

Sitting back, I regarded her and her cards. It seemed she shared Dworkin’s strengths as well as his flaws. He had never been one to shy away from bad news, no matter how terrible. It was one lesson I had learned well from him.

I said, “Tell me about Mattus.”

“Like Alanar, he has been missing for about a year. Nobody has been able to contact him. He always had a quick temper, though, and one night he stormed off after a shouting match with Locke… and that was the last anyone heard of him.”

Locke was a disagreeable-looking, puffed-up man on one of the other Trumps I had drawn. She had mentioned him earlier, I recalled, with a disparaging note in her voice. Clearly they were at odds.

She added, “I had hoped Mattus would get over his sulk and simply show up one day, forgiving Locke and taking up where we had all left off, before…” She smiled wistfully and blinked back tears. “But that is not your concern right now, Oberon. Please, go on. Draw again.”

Quickly, I turned the next card.

“Aber,” she said. She added him to the other eight Tarot cards to form a circle around the top of the table.

I leaned forward for a better look at this prankster who painted cards so well. He was ruggedly handsome—at least as portrayed on the card—and he dressed all in deep reds, from his leggings to his tunic, from his gloves to his long, flowing cape. It was hard to tell, but I thought we looked about the same age. He had short brown hair, a close-cropped brown beard, and steady gray-green eyes. In his portrait he struck a valiant pose, but instead of a sword, he held a long paint brush. I gave a mental chuckle. Truly, he had a sense of humor that appealed to me.

I also saw a bit of Dworkin in him, the oddly whimsical side that only came out on rare occasions, usually at high holidays or festivals when he had drunk too much wine. Then he would delight one and all with small tricks of the hand, making coins appear and disappear, or recite epic tales of ancient heroes and their adventures.

It must have been a trick of the light, but as I studied Aber’s card intently, I would have sworn that it took on an almost lifelike appearance. It seemed to me that the tiny image blinked and started to turn its head—but before anything more could happen, Freda reached out and covered it with her palm.

“Do not!” she said in a warning tone.

I raised my eyes to her face, which had suddenly gone cold and hard. Perhaps, I thought, there was more to her than I first suspected. This was no mere fortune-teller, but a strong woman who had suddenly moved to action and taken charge of the situation. I admired her for that; I had never found much to like in weak-willed females. A woman of fire and steel added extra passion to a love affair.

“Why?” I asked blankly.

“It is already cramped in here. We do not need his company right now. And Father would be quite annoyed with me if I let him drag you away.”

“Very well,” I said, confused. For now, I had to trust her to look out for my best interests. Leaning back, I folded my arms and gave her my most trustworthy look. “I wasn’t trying to cause you trouble.”

She sighed, her manner softening. “No, not… trouble. Aber can be a… a distraction. That’s a good word for it. And a distraction is not what we need right now.”

I tilted my head and studied her cards from what I hoped would prove a safe distance. The more I thought about it, the more certain I became that Aber’s picture had moved. But cards couldn’t come to life, could they?

After all the magic and wonders I had witnessed over the last few hours, suddenly I wasn’t so sure.

Chapter 5

I focused my attention on the pattern of cards around the table, trying to see them as Freda did. Was there a pattern? All the subjects were male, five probably dead, four definitely alive.

Somehow I had recognized two of the dead men—recognized them and knew without a doubt that they were dead. And yet I had never met them. Of the four still living, I knew only Dworkin. As I studied their features, I was fairly certain I had never seen Aber, Locke, or Fenn before.

“You’re the fortune-teller,” I said to Freda. “What do you make of this pattern?”

“I’m not sure.” She bit her lip, gazing from one miniature portrait to the next, not letting her gaze linger long. “It’s only people, thus no clues as to past, present, or future destinations. Clearly the whole family is tied up with you in events to come, but with war on the horizon, that may not be much of a surprise. Father and the others, dead or alive, all play a part in it—but what part?”

“You tell me.” Leaning back, I studied her.

She seemed truly puzzled. Her brow furrowed; she drummed her fingertips on the tabletop. Clearly she took her card reading quite seriously. Finally she leaned back with a sigh.

“I see more questions than answers,” she admitted.

“Do you want me to turn another card over?”

“Just one. That is more than I usually use for a personal reading, but in this case…”

I turned over the next Trump. This one showed a place I’d never been before—a gloomy keep half lost in night and storm, half illuminated by dazzling light. I say half because the sky seemed to be split almost in two, with star-pocked darkness to the left and a dazzling orange-yellow-red sky on the right, like a bottle of differently colored sands that had been shaken so that you could still see individual grains, but no one color ruled.

My palms itched. I could not look at it for more than a second or two without glancing away. I had the sensation that this mad picture was no artist’s whim, but an actual place… a place at once dark and light, night and day, cold and hot, without season, shapeless and changing. I did not like it.

“The Grand Plaza of the Courts of Chaos?” she said. “That is odd. It should not be there. I did not even know I had that particular card with me… I had not meant to bring it!”

There it was again—Chaos.

Wherever the Grand Plaza was, it didn’t look welcoming, I decided with a little shudder. The buildings, the lightning-shapes in the air, the very essence of the place—it all made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end and gooseflesh rise on my arms.

On impulse, I reached out and turned the card face down. The instant I no longer looked upon it, with its unnatural angles and weird geography, I began to feel better. I realized I’d begun to sweat all over just from having the Trump where I could see it.

“Why did you do that?” Freda asked. Luckily, she made no move to turn the card back over.

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “It felt like the right thing to do. Somehow, I didn’t want to look at it.”

I don’t think I could have looked at it any longer. Just thinking about it made my head ache.

“I see.” Again her brow furrowed. “Mattus felt the same way,” she said. “We had to all but drag him there when…”

“When what?”

She hesitated. “When he came of age.”

I gestured toward the face-down card. “Does it mean anything? My finding the Courts of Chaos?”

“Every action has meaning with the Trumps. They reflect the world around them.”

“What is the meaning this time?”

“I… cannot say.”

I swallowed, suddenly uneasy again. Cannot say—or won’t? Her choice of words left me wondering, and her suddenly nervous manner gave me the distinct impression that she hadn’t told me everything she’d seen.

An unsettling thought came to me. I tapped the back of the Chaos card.

“This isn’t where we’re headed, is it?”

“No, Juniper is about as far from the Courts of Chaos as you can get. Hopefully far enough to keep us safe.”

Safe from what? Hell-creatures? Someone or something else?

I bit back my questions, though—call it pride or my own obstinate nature, but I thought it prudent to watch and learn. I would keep my queries to a minimum, and try to make them brief and unassuming.

Freda scooped up her deck of Trumps and sorted through them, finally pulling out a card that showed a sleepy, moss-draped castle atop a distant hill. She passed the card across to me.

“This is Juniper,” she said. “At least, as it used to be. Aber painted it about two years ago.”

In front of the hill sat a small, peaceful looking village, with perhaps seventy or so brick-and-mortar buildings with yellow-thatched roofs. Before and beyond stretched verdant acres of farmland and rich pastures, dotted with houses and barns, small ponds and even a broad blue stream. Juniper looked like any of a dozen small keeps in Ilerium, and unlike the Courts of Chaos, it didn’t make my skin crawl. That alone made me feel a lot better.

“A lot can change in two years,” I said.

“It has.”

As I stared, the tiny cows, sheep, and horses sketched with unerring skill began to move across the fields. I swallowed and forced my attention back to Freda. She took the card when I offered it.

“What’s different now?” I asked.

“An armed camp surrounds it—Father’s troops, of course. Juniper is not under siege, at least not yet, but it has grown loud and dirty. I do not think it will ever be the same again.”

I nodded. Wars did that. A year of battling hell-creatures had forever changed Ilerium, and not for the good.

“Since Juniper has changed so much,” I said slowly, hoping to get another clue as to the nature of these mysterious Tarot cards, “will your Trump still work?”

“Yes… after a fashion. It just takes longer. The essence of the place remains the same even as the landscape changes.”

I handed back her Juniper card. With a sad little sigh, Freda put it with the rest of her cards, shuffled them once, and stashed them away in a small wooden box. It looked like teak, inlaid with an intricate mother-of-pearl pattern of a lion.

“You said Aber made all your cards?” I asked. Might as well try to gather as much information as I could since she seemed to be in a more talkative mood now.

“Yes.” She smiled, eyes far off, and I could tell she liked her brother. “He is good at it, too… almost as good as Father, though Aber tends to make fun of everyone when he draws them.” She focused on me. “I wonder how he will draw you… nicely, I hope. I do think he will like you.”

I snorted. “Why should he bother drawing me?”

“Why not? He draws everyone and every place he thinks might be useful. He must have hundreds or even thousands of Trumps stashed away in his rooms by now. I do not know where he possibly keeps them all.”

I glanced out the window. Still rolling green hills, still a dozen odd horsemen with extra joints in their arms. We had to be nearing our destination, I thought, since the landscape hadn’t changed much. Either that, or Dworkin was now resting up from all his magics.

“Do you know how much longer we’ll be traveling?” I asked.

“Father did not tell you?”

“He was… vague.”

“It is wise to be careful when traveling,” she said with a slight incline of her head. “I am sure it is for our safety.”

“Then tell me more about Juniper.”

“What is there to tell? It is a remote Shadow. I think Father once hoped to retire there to a quiet life of study and reflection, but all these attacks have forced him to be a man of action. It is against his nature, but he can be a man of action… a hero… when he chooses. Or when he is forced to be.” She peeked out the window. “We are close now. I do recognize this land.”

“All things considered,” I said, “this has been one of the worst nights of my life.” Only my mother’s death seemed more terrible. “All told, I’d rather be home. At least I knew where I stood there… or thought I did.”

A look of profound sadness crossed her face as I said that, and I realized I’d unintentionally touched upon a sensitive topic—home.

“I’m sorry,” I said, the truth suddenly dawning on me. “Your home… it’s gone, isn’t it? Was it attacked by hell-creatures, too?”

She nodded. “I called it Ne’erwhon,” she said. “It was… beautiful. And peaceful. And they destroyed it when they tried to take me. Father rescued me just in time.”

Her story sounded disturbingly similar to mine, and I said as much.

“Father has been rounding up a lot of people,” she said. “As soon as he discovered his friends and relatives were being hunted down, he set out to rescue every one of us. That is why there is such a gathering at Juniper now.”

“I had no idea,” I said.

“None of us did.” Freda forced a yawn. “It has been a long trip for me, and I am growing tired. I hope you do not think it rude, but…”

She leaned back and closed her eyes.

“Not at all,” I murmured.

She’d found the perfect way to escape my questions. And just as the answers were getting interesting, too.

I sat back, waiting patiently until her breathing grew steady and I saw her eyes start to dart beneath their lids. Let her dream of better days; work remained.

Making as little noise as possible, I gave the carriage a quick search. No papers, no scrolls or books, no magical crystals that shot lines of fire. A small lever to the side operated some hidden mechanism—probably to open the door.

Then I discovered the seat beneath me moved. I swung it up, revealing a storage compartment. Inside lay a stack of soft white blankets… nothing else.

Sighing, I covered Freda with a blanket. Might as well make her comfortable. She stirred for an instant, murmured a thank-you, then lay still.

A little disappointed at not having found something more worthwhile, I sat back to ponder my situation. Freda, I noticed, had left her box of Trumps on the table between us. It could have been an invitation to look through them… but somehow they seemed foreboding. I had seen enough of them to know they didn’t mean much without an expert to name the portraits and places. And what if they started to move? I wouldn’t know what to do, short of turning them over or covering them with my hand, as Freda had done. Better to leave them alone.

Other than that, the carriage had no furnishings, no clues for me to puzzle over. It had been cleaned so thoroughly that not a smudge remained to tell of any previous passengers.

Turning back to the windows, thinking of all I had seen, all I had done in the last day, I stared out once more as mile after mile of greenery rolled past. Trumps… Shadows… this magical journey… Juniper… The Courts of Chaos… it made a confusing hodge-podge in my mind.

I felt grateful that Uncle Dworkin had come back to rescue me, after so many years of abandonment, but somehow I thought he must have other motives. What? Where did I fit into his plans?

Somehow, I didn’t think I’d like the answers.

Chapter 6

It turned out Freda really was exhausted. A few minutes after I covered her with that blanket, she began to snore. Perhaps magic took more out of her than I realized—though I still didn’t put much trust in her future-telling skills. When she’d read her Trumps, she hadn’t revealed more than crumbs of information… a few names, a few hints of dire things to come, which might or might not involve Dworkin and his various children.

Still, I had seen a picture of Juniper, so I didn’t count it as a waste of time. And I had learned I didn’t want to go to the Courts of Chaos. Something about the place made my skin crawl.

After a few more minutes of staring out the window and finding nothing but more questions, I gave up. Maybe Freda had the right idea, I decided, leaning back in the comfortable padded seat and stretching out my long legs.

It had been an exhausting night, and I’d only had an hour or two of sleep. Might as well try to catch up.

I closed my eyes. Exhaustion flooded over me, but for the longest time I found myself twisting and turning, trying to get comfortable. My thoughts kept racing through the events of the day, turning over all the questions I’d already asked myself, but finding no more answers.

Finally, sleep did come, but it was not the sleep of the dead. It was anything but refreshing. Dreams of Helda and the hell-creatures haunted me, of burning buildings and green fires and horses that spat sparks, and towering over it all, a fairy tale castle grown to nightmare proportions—the legendary Juniper.

Some time later the carriage began to slow. I sensed the change in our pace and came awake instantly, yawning and stretching the kinks from my muscles.

Opposite me, her chin on her chest, Freda snored softly. No sense in waking her yet, I decided. Better to wait till we actually reached our destination.

I pushed back the lace curtain and peered out.

Morning had given way to late afternoon, if the fading light of the sun proved a true indicator of time. The verdant green forests had been replaced by open fields—and a sprawling army camp that stretched as far as the eye could see. Long rows of tents, pens of horses, sheep, and cattle, hundreds of cooking fires, and countless thousands of soldiers—some with the extra joints in the arms, some fully human—filled my view. I couldn’t hear much through the carriage walls, but my imagination filled in the sounds of a camp life, the boasting talk of soldiers at work and leisure, the tramp of boots, the squeak of leather and the jingle of chain mail.

We passed a large open field where dozens of squads marched and drilled, and in the distance I saw more soldiers paired off to practice swordsmanship. It was a familiar enough scene, but on a larger scale than I had ever witnessed before.

King Elnar had raised an army of eight thousand against the hell-creatures, and I had thought he commanded a huge force. This one dwarfed it. There had to be tens of thousands of soldiers here, I thought with awe. Again we rolled past row after row after row of tents.

But whom did they serve? No small keep like Dworkin’s could possibly support this many soldiers. He must have allies—powerful ones. None of the Fifteen Kingdoms could have summoned up and sustained a force like this one.

Opening the window, I leaned far out and craned my neck. At once I spotted what had to be our destination: Juniper, just as Aber had painted it. But he hadn’t done it justice.

An immense moss-and-ivy draped stone castle set high on a hill, its ancient walls had to be eighty feet high. Even at this distance I could clearly see half a dozen men patrolling the battlements.

When the road turned and headed straight toward Juniper, our horsemen-escort peeled off. The castle’s huge stone walls had been built of massive blocks nearly as tall as me—an impressive feat of engineering, I thought. It would be hard to take this place by siege.

Without slowing, the carriage mounted a long ramp overlooked by battlements on our right and entered a massive gatehouse, emerging after a right turn in a courtyard paved in red flagstones. It stopped, then swayed a bit as Dworkin climbed down.

Leaning forward, I touched Freda’s arm.

“Mm?” she said.

“We’re here.”

Yawning, she sat up. “Juniper?”

“I believe so.”

Reaching to her left, she pulled a small lever by the door. Instantly it swung open and those delicate-looking glass steps folded out.

I went down first, staring at the crowd that had begun to assemble. It included army officers as well as servants in white-and-red livery bearing water and other refreshments. I also recognized two of Dworkin’s sons from Freda’s Trumps—Locke and Davin. It seemed everyone wanted or needed to talk to Dworkin urgently, for they surrounded him, a dozen voices speaking at once. Locke paid me no heed; Davin gave me a curious glance, but did not address me. Clearly I wasn’t important enough to warrant their attention.

When Freda appeared in the carriage’s doorway, I offered her my hand and helped her to the ground.

Dworkin seemed to have forgotten us. He was busy giving orders—where to move troops, what supply stocks to draw upon, training and patrol schedules—as though he were the general who commanded this army.

“Come,” Freda said, “he will be busy for hours.”

Linking her arm through mine, she steered me toward a set of large double doors opened wide to the warm afternoon air. A steady stream of servants moved through them.

“But if he wants me—” I began.

“If he wants you, he will find you when he is ready. He always does.”

I didn’t argue. I still didn’t know enough about the situation to make a decision. But I did know enough to realize that Freda was my sole key so far to learning more Dworkin’s surprising double life. I’d have to get her alone and work on charming information out of her, I decided, before my uncle came looking for me. I was more handsome than most men, after all, and I’d always had a winning way with women. Romance might well be the key…

The double doors led to a large audience chamber. Tall, narrow stained-glass windows showing hunting and battle scenes filled the right wall. Similarly themed tapestries lined the other walls. Ahead, on a low dais, stood what could only be a throne, with half a dozen lesser chairs set slightly lower to either side. All sat empty now, but the room was far from deserted—at least a dozen servants scurried about on errands, carrying boxes, bundles of scrolls and parchments, trays of food, and additional items. Other servants had lowered the immense crystal chandelier from its mount on the central roof beam and were busily cleaning it and replacing candles.

“This way,” Freda said, starting for a door to the left of the dais. I hesitated a second, then followed.

Behind us, Dworkin and his entourage swept in, several voices still talking at once. I thought I heard Dworkin called “Prince” by at least one of the officers, which shocked me, but when I glanced back they were heading toward a different door.

As we entered a wide hallway, I noticed how Freda seemed changed here, inside the castle. She smiled constantly, nodding to servants and soldiers who passed us in the hallway. All called her “Lady” and bowed. They all gave me curious looks, but no salutations. And Freda offered them no hint as to my identity.

We turned, turned again, and went up a broad winding staircase to a second floor. I saw fewer servants here, but they seemed older and more polished. They too bowed, and they greeted Freda as “Lady Freda,” as though they were accustomed to dealing with her personally.

At the end of the last hallway we came to a large salon, richly carpeted and filled with comfortable looking chairs and sofas. A stained glass window of yet another hunting scene filled most of the west wall, and the lowering sun gave everything inside a warm, comfortable glow.

“Freda!” cried a woman from one of the sofas.

I studied her. She looked older than Freda, but they might have been sisters. Both had Dworkin’s unmistakable features.

“Pella, you’re back!” Freda said with clear delight, “When did you get in?”

“Last night.”

“Any trouble?”

“Nothing to speak of.”

The two embraced warmly, then Freda pulled me forward.

“This is Oberon.”

Pella raised her delicate eyebrows. “The long-lost Oberon? I though Father—”

“No,” said Freda pointedly. “Oberon, this is my full sister, Pella.”

The long-lost Oberon?

I wasn’t sure quite what she meant by that. It seemed as though she’d heard stories about me. But how could that be—unless Dworkin had told them? But why would he bother?

Putting on my charm, I took Pella’s hand and kissed it. “Call me Obere,” I said with my most winning smile.

“He is cute,” Pella said to Freda. “I can see he’s destined to give Aber a run.”

“Aber?” I said. “Is he here, too?”

“Of course,” Pella said.

Freda added, “I do not think he has ventured outside Juniper’s walls in at least a year.”

“Not at all?” I asked, puzzled. The castle seemed nice enough, but I wouldn’t want to hole up in here. If not training in the field with the soldiers, I’d want to be off hunting, patrolling the forests, or simply exploring new territory.

“He has been busy chasing the kitchen maids.”

“Oh.” I blinked, somewhat surprised.

Freda said to Pella, “He is such an innocent. He was raised in Shadow, you know. He knows next to nothing of Father or our family.”

“Not so innocent!” I protested.

They both laughed, but it was done in such a kindly way that I couldn’t possibly take offense.

A throat cleared behind us, and I turned to find a new woman leaning almost seductively against the doorway. She wore a low-cut gown of shimmering white, showing off ample cleavage. She was younger, a tad shorter, and far more attractive than either Pella or Freda. She wore her dark brown hair up, and makeup accentuated her high cheekbones, pale complexion, and perfect white teeth. She was beautiful and knew it.

When she gave me an almost predatory boots-to-eyes appraisal, I took an instant dislike to her.

“Oberon, this is Blaise,” Freda said. I couldn’t help but notice the chill that had crept into her voice. Apparently she shared my feelings about this woman.

“Introductions?” came a man’s cheerful voice from behind Blaise. “Someone new here?”

The man goosed Blaise, gave a grin at her indignant glare, and ducked around her with a swirl of red.

“Aber?” I said, staring. He dressed as he had in his card: red from head to heel.

“That’s right!” He gave a laugh, stepped forward swiftly, and seized my arm in a firm grip, pumping it. “And you, I gather, must be the long-lost Oberon.”

“That’s right. Call me Obere.”

“Let me save you from these old hens, brother.”

He pulled me toward the back of the wall, where a cart filled with several dozen bottles of liquor sat. “Care for a drink?”

“Gladly!” I glanced back at Freda and Pella, and beyond them to Blaise. “Care to join us?” I asked politely.

A little sulkily, Blaise said, “Aber knows what I like.”

“Apple brandy,” he said with a grin and a wink at me. “Red wine for Freda and Pella. And you, brother Oberon?”

Brother again. Why did he call me that? I wanted to ask, but what I said was, “Whatever you’re having is fine.”

“Whiskey, neat?”

“Perfect. It’s been quite a day.”

He poured quickly and I got to pass out the drinks. The five of us formed a little semicircle around the liquor cart, Pella and Freda chatting about people I had never heard of, Blaise pretending an interest in them, Aber sizing me up behind his drink. I sipped my whiskey and returned his inquiring stare with one of my own.

“Good whiskey,” I said.

“It’s imported from a distant shadow at great risk and effort… my own. Best I’ve ever found.”

“Believe him,” Pella said to me. “He used to roam farther through Shadow than any of us. And he always seemed to turn up something delicious to bring back.”

“All for you, dear sister!” he said with a laugh. Then he raised his glass in a toast. “To king and family,” he said.

The others raised their glasses, too.

“To Dworkin,” I said, “for rescuing me.”

It was only then that I caught a glimpse of the five of us in a long mirror hanging on the far wall. I was the tallest by a head, then Aber and Pella. But what truly caught my eye was the similarity between Aber and me. Our eyes were different colors, the shape of our faces and noses not at all the same—but there was something about us that struck a familiar chord. Our cheekbones, I thought, high and broad—and the similarities had to be more than coincidence.

We looked like brothers.

I had been denying it all along, but suddenly I realized how the women and I also shared many traits. Just as we shared them with Dworkin.

Almost choking, I set my drink down. But my father is dead. He was a naval officer.

So I had been told all my life.

But now, faced with overwhelming evidence, a different truth suddenly made sense.

I was Dworkin’s son.

I had to be.

It all fell neatly into place. Dworkin’s interest in my mother and me. All the lessons he taught me during my childhood. His unexpected return last night to save me from the hell-creatures, just as he had saved Freda and his other children.

I was a part of his family. Just as these strangers were now a part of mine.

Both Freda and Aber already knew. They had both called me “brother.” I assumed Pella and Blaise knew as well. Apparently I was the only one who had been kept in the dark, too blind or stupid or naive to guess my true heritage.

Why hadn’t Dworkin or my mother ever told me? Why had I been forced to think of myself as an orphan all these years? It wasn’t fair! All through my childhood, I had longed for a father and brothers and sisters, longed for the sort of family everyone else had. Now it turned out I’d had brothers, sisters, and a living father all the time—only I’d never known it. I had been robbed of the family I could have had.

Why had my mother hidden the truth from me?

Why had I spent my childhood lonely and alone?

The next time I saw my new-found father, I intended to ask some hard questions. For now, though, I tried to hide my sudden realization. My siblings all acted as if I should have known the truth about my parentage. Well, let them continue to think so. I seemed to get more information when people assumed I knew more than I did, as with Freda in the carriage.

Suddenly I realized I’d missed an important thread of conversation. My attention snapped back to Aber.

My new-found brother was saying, “… and that’s what Locke claimed. I’m not sure he’s right, though.”

“Time will tell,” Blaise said.

Pella laughed. “That’s what you always say, dear. It hasn’t been true yet.”

Blaise, bristling like a cornered wolf, opened her mouth to say something I knew she’d regret, so quickly I jumped in with, “It’s nice to finally meet you all. How many more of us are here in Juniper now? Freda said something about a family gathering.”

“Nicely done, brother,” Aber said with a grin. “To answer your question and ignore the bickering”—he looked pointedly at Blaise and Pella—“there are fourteen family members present, including all of us.”

“Fourteen!” I exclaimed, unable to help myself.

Freda said, “I know it seems like a lot, but I’m sure you’ll have no trouble remembering all the names.”

“When will I see them?”

“Tonight at dinner, I’d imagine,” Aber said. “Fresh blood brings them out of the woodwork.”

“Aber!” Freda gave him a sharp look.

“Out from under the rugs?” he amended.

With a sigh, Freda said, “There is Anari.” She raised her hand and beckoned, jeweled fingers glittering, and an elderly man in red-and-white livery hurried to her side.

“Lady?” he asked.

“Take Lord Oberon upstairs and find him appropriate rooms,” she said. She fixed me with her brilliant smile. “I am sure he wants to rest and freshen up before dinner.”

“Yes, please,” I said. Much as I hated leaving the liquor cart, a nap and a wash basin sounded more appealing right now. It sounded like I’d need to be ready for a long evening tonight, with fourteen new-found relatives waiting to inspect my every word and gesture.

And Freda had called me “Lord Oberon,” I noticed. It was a title I knew I could get used to.

“This way, Lord,” Anari said, heading toward the door.

“Until dinner, then.” Giving my four siblings a polite wave, I turned to follow Anari.

Behind me, I heard Blaise’s tittering laugh and an almost breathless exclamation of, “Isn’t he precious?” that made my cheeks burn. No one had ever called me “precious” before. I wasn’t sure I would have liked it coming from a woman I’d bedded, and I certainly didn’t like it coming from my sister—or half-sister, since we could not possibly have shared the same mother.

Still, precious or not, I had done my best here. I had been raised a soldier, after all, and I wasn’t used to niceties of polite society or court life, whether they were mine by blood-right or not. As always, I’d do the best I could and they could either accept me, rough edges and all, or not. Either way, we would still be a family.

“Please follow me, Lord,” said Anari, turning to the left and starting up a wide set of stairs at a slow, deliberate pace.

“What’s your job here?” I asked.

“I am chief of the domestics, Lord. I manage the house and servants.”

I nodded. “How long have you served my father?”

“All my life, Lord.”

“No, not my family… just my father, Dworkin.”

“It has been my privilege to serve Lord Dworkin all my seventy-six years, as my father and my father’s father served him before me.”

“That would make him…” I frowned, trying to add up the years. “More than a hundred and fifty years old!”

“Yes, Lord.”

I shivered, suddenly and inexplicably unsettled. I must have misheard, I thought. No one lived a hundred and fifty years. But Anari had said it so matter-of-factly he clearly believed and accepted it as a matter of course.

Although Dworkin hadn’t looked more than fifty when he first came to Helda’s door, now that I thought about it, he had looked distinctly younger than that when we had fought the hell-creatures.

More magic, I thought. Would it never end?

Anari led me up two flights of steps to a wing of the building devoted to, as he said, my family’s private quarters. All around me I saw symbols of great wealth and power. Not just paintings and tapestries of the sort I’d seen below, but intricate mosaics set in the floor, beautifully carved statues of nymphs and nude women in alcoves, crystal chandeliers and wall sconces, and gilded woodwork everywhere. Over the decades—or centuries—of his life, Dworkin had accumulated treasures enough for a dozen kingdoms.

“These will be your rooms, Lord,” Anari said, stopping before a large double door. “I trust you will find them acceptable.”

He pushed them open—and I found myself standing before what seemed to me a private palace.

Rich red-and-gold carpets covered the floors in thick, luxurious layers. Beautiful paintings and hanging tapestries covered the walls, showing fairy tale scenes with mythical creatures. Overhead, gilded columns and crown moldings supported a ceiling painted in pastel blues, with high clouds and even a few swooping hawks in one corner. Three elegantly upholstered chairs clustered around a small table to the far right. To the left, on the other wall, sat a small writing table complete with pens, ink, paper, sealing wax and seals, and a blotter.

“Your bed chamber is through here,” Anari said, stepping into the room and opening another set of doors set in an arched doorway. Through it I could see a high canopied bed and a full-length looking glass, plus a wash stand with pitcher and basin. “There are two wardrobes and a changing room as well.”

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Lord. Do you have baggage?”

“Nothing but my sword and the clothes on my back.”

He stepped back and looked me over critically. “I believe I can find you suitable garments for tonight,” he said. “I will make an appointment for one of the castle tailors to measure you tomorrow morning. We cannot have a man of your stature improperly furnished, after all.”

“Indeed,” I said agreeably, as if I had this sort of conversation every day. “I’ll leave the appointment up to you. Schedule it as late in the morning as possible.”

“Thank you, Lord.” He bowed slightly. “I will endeavor to live up to your faith in my abilities. In the meantime, with your permission, I will order a bath drawn and heated.”

“Please.”

“Is there anything else you require at this time?”

I almost laughed. Anything else? I needed everything else, starting with explanations to dozens of questions about my newly discovered family. But I merely smiled and shook my head.

“The bath will do,” I said. “Now, where—?”

“A boy will summon you when the water is ready.”

“All right. That will be all.”

“Very good, Lord.” He shut the doors on his way out, and as he did, I noticed how the heavy old hinges gave a faint squeak. At least nobody would be able to sneak up on me, I thought, the soldier inside taking over for the moment.

Unbuckling my swordbelt, I draped it across the back of the nearest chair, then sat down and pulled off my boots. It felt good to be alone. I tossed my boots into the corner by the door, then wandered through the suite, admiring all the little decorations, the gilding on the moldings and woodwork, the paintings and tapestries on the walls. Finally I flopped onto the bed, spreading my arms and feeling the goosedown yield beneath me. Soft… softer than I had felt in a long time. Not even Helda’s bed had been this comfortable.

I just needed a woman’s warmth beside me, I decided while stifling a yawn, and I could easily call this place home. But a trace of guilt crept into my pleasant thoughts.

King Elnar and Ilerium remained besieged, and I remembered Dworkin’s promise that he could help end the attacks. I would have to press him for an explanation the next time we met. Duty called.

An hour and a half later, after a long hot bath had soaked many of the day’s accumulated aches from my bones, I returned to my rooms for a quick nap.

The castle’s staff had been busy in my absence, I discovered. My boots had been cleaned and polished to a shine that would have made my orderly green with envy. Not even my sword had escaped their attention—the gold and silver inlay on the hilt had been polished to perfection. When I pulled half the blade’s length from its scabbard, I discovered it had been freshly oiled. I couldn’t have done a better job myself.

I could definitely get used to this sort of life, I thought, yawning widely.

The bath attendants had made off with the blood-and-sweat stained clothing I’d been wearing, replacing it with the long black robe I now wore. Anari had not yet produced the clothes he’d promised… not that I found fault—he hadn’t had much notice, after all.

With nothing to wear and nothing to do before dinner, I crawled into bed. Almost immediately I grew dead to the world.

Some time later, when the afternoon light had begun to fade, I came awake with a start.

I’d heard a noise. Something just wrong enough to sound an alarm and wake me.

A light knock sounded again from the other room, so softly I almost missed it. Then the hinges squeaked slightly as the door opened slowly… stealthily.

Someone trying to sneak up on me? No hell-creatures could possibly get in here, I thought.

I sat up, instinctively reaching for my sword. It was gone—I had left it on one of the chairs in the next room, I realized.

“Lord?” I heard an old man’s voice call. It wasn’t Anari. “Lord Oberon?”

“I’m here.” Rising, I found I still wore the robe I’d donned after my bath. I tightened the belt and wandered out into the main room of my suite, stretching the kinks from my muscles. “What is it?”

A man in his late years, dressed in castle livery, stood in the doorway to the hall. He held a large silver tray laden with towels in his age-spotted hands. He had to be at least seventy years old, I guessed. Undoubtedly, he had been serving my father as long as Anari. He had a warm, gentle smile.

“Your pardon, Lord Oberon,” he said. His voice quavered slightly. “I am Ivinius, the barber. Lady Freda said you required a shave and haircut before dinner.”

I ran my fingers over the thick stubble on my chin. “Thoughtful of her.”

“Her ladyship is most kind,” he murmured. “I’ve known her since she was a babe in her mother’s arms, bless her.”

He set his tray down on the table. In addition to the towels, I saw that it held two small blocks of shaving soap, plus several cutthroat razors of varying lengths and a selection of tiny glass bottles: probably lotions and perfumes. Without asking, he began to drag one of the armchairs toward the window.

“I’ll get that,” I said, starting forward to help. He looked too frail to be moving furniture.

“No need, Lord,” he said. He gave the chair one final tug and swung it into the last of the afternoon sunlight, exactly where he wanted it. “Please sit, Lord.”

As I did so, he went into my bedroom, picked up the small table with the wash basin and pitcher of water, and lugged them slowly over to my chair.

“Do you need help?” I asked, half rising.

“No, Lord.” He gave a low chuckle. “It is kind of you to ask, but I have been doing my job since before you were born. Please relax. I will be ready for you in a moment.”

He might look doddering, I thought, settling back in my seat, but he obviously had his pride. And he obviously knew his own strength. With a slight grunt, he set the table down beside the chair. He hadn’t spilled so much as a single drop of water from the pitcher.

I loosened my robe around my neck and took a deep contented breath, stretching out my feet and clenching and unclenching my toes. It would be nice to get a decent shave and haircut, I thought. I’d made do with battlefield barbering for most of the last year, and I’m afraid it showed.

With deft hands, Ivinius poured a small measure of water into the basin, took a block of shaving soap from his tray, and expertly lathered it with a brush. He spread towels across my chest and shoulders, then liberally foamed my chin, cheeks, and neck. While my beard softened, he selected the longest straight-edge razor from his tray—one almost as long as his forearm—and began stropping it across a long piece of leather tied to his belt.

To my surprise, I realized I could easily have gone back to sleep. I half closed my eyes, the clean scent of the shaving soap in my nostrils, the shup-shup-shup of the stropping blade a lullaby to my ears. The joys of civilization… yes, I could easily get used to life in Juniper, I thought with a half smile.

Silently, I gave thanks to Freda’s thoughtfulness for sending Ivinius. The closest thing to a real barber I’d seen in the last year of campaigning against the hell-creatures had been my own orderly, who had more thumbs than fingers. He managed to trim my hair with a minimum of blood loss, but after his first stab—and that was the word—at shaving my face, I told him to get out and reclaimed my razor. My instincts for self-preservation demanded it.

In a near monotone, Ivinius kept up a steady murmur about his years in the service of Lord Dworkin. He mentioned his wife of sixty-two years, a cook in the kitchens; his five boys, who all served as valets in the castle; and his twenty-six grandchildren and great-grandchildren, one of whom would soon be of age to join the army. I made appropriate noises whenever he paused—“uh-huh,” “yes,” “go on”—but really I heard only every second or third sentence.

When I turned my head slightly, I could see us both in the looking glass. At that moment I knew why Freda had sent him: my hair was a wild tangle that not even a dunking in bathwater could tame. Dark circles lined my eyes, and I looked ten years older than my actual age. Everyone had been too polite to tell me I was a mess… certainly unsuitable to bring to dinner without being cleaned up.

Ivinius finished working on his razor and turned to me once more. Gently touching the bridge of my nose with two fingers, he tilted my head to the side. He didn’t realize I could see our reflection, and with sudden alarm I noticed how he shifted his grip on the razor’s handle. Now he held it like a butcher’s knife poised to joint a leg of lamb.

With my right hand I caught his wrist barely an inch from my throat.

“That’s not how you hold a razor,” I said, voice hard, turning to look at him.

“Lord,” he said in the calm tones one uses to gentle a spooked horse, “I am a barber. I know my job. Let me do it.”

“I’d rather shave myself, if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind,” he snarled.

I pushed back the hand holding the razor. Or tried to—for he suddenly bore down on me with all his weight and strength. Much, much more strength than an old man deserved.

Chapter 7

I am a strong man—stronger than any human I’ve ever fought. It should have been an easy thing for me to push an old man’s arm away from my throat.

But it wasn’t.

Ivinius, despite his age, was at least as strong as me—certainly stronger than any seventy-year-old servant ought to be.

It became a struggle of wills and brute force. I felt my bones start to creak; the muscles in my arm stood out like bands of iron. Grunting from the strain, I gave my every effort to throw him off.

It wasn’t enough. Standing, he had the better position. He threw not only his strength but his full weight against me, and steadily the razor drew closer to my throat. I gulped, suddenly realizing I couldn’t win.

Out of desperation, I kicked off against the floor with both feet, throwing my shoulders back as hard as I could and rolling. The chair tipped and went over backwards. Instead of pushing, I tightened my grip on Ivinius’s hand and pulled to the side. The razor’s blade sliced air just beyond the tip of my nose, then went past my right ear. I heard the dry snap of a bone.

Ivinius howled with pain and dropped the razor, clutching his wrist. I released him and continued my backwards roll. Coming up on my feet, legs spread, arms and fists ready, I began to back away, looking for a weapon—anything. Unfortunately, my sword lay on the other side of the room, still draped across the back of the chair where I had left it.

“Get out,” I said to him, stalling for time, “Run. You might make it out alive. I’ll give you fifteen seconds before I raise the alarm.”

Glaring, Ivinius bent and scooped the razor up with his good left hand.

“It would have been an easy death for you,” he said in a low growl. Then he rushed at me.

I bumped into the writing desk. It would have to do, I thought.

Seizing it, muscles straining, I lifted it and threw it at him. Paper, blotter, inkpot, and quills went flying in all directions. Ivinius couldn’t quite duck in time, and one of the legs struck him across the forehead and sent him sprawling. Luckily he lost his grip on the razor, which clattered on the floor.

I threw myself on him, fingers closing around his throat, and noticed that the blood gushing from his forehead wasn’t red. It was a sickly yellow, the color of a squashed bug, the color of vomit. He wasn’t human, despite his appearance. That explained his extraordinary strength.

“Hell-creature!” I snarled.

I saw no human emotion in his eyes, no regret, no wish for mercy. Just a cold hatred.

I felt no desire for mercy, either. His kind had killed Helda. His kind has destroyed Ilerium with a year of war and terror.

“Die!” I said.

I squeezed his throat shut. His eyes began to bulge; he made a desperate gurgle. Still I tightened my grip, pouring a year’s worth of hate and anger toward the hell-creatures against this assassin sent to murder me in my own room.

Then he began to struggle desperately, trying to buck me off, but with a broken wrist he could do nothing to stop me. Finally, with a sudden wrenching motion, I broke his neck.

His body seemed to sag, like a wineskin whose contents had suddenly run out. His skin changed, turning a mottled yellow-gray. In a few heartbeats, he was a man no more, but something else… something hideous and distorted, with solid black eyes that continued to sink deep into sharp, bony cheeks. Talons had replaced those age-spotted fingers, and two rows of narrow, slivered teeth suddenly lined a tiny round mouth at the end of a pointed jaw.

Magic.

Whatever he was, this thing who had looked so much like a man, he had been cleverly disguised. And he had known enough about life in Juniper Castle to get to my rooms and nearly kill me.

Of course, I was a stranger here, but nothing he had said in all that old-man prattle had put me on my guard. If it hadn’t been for the looking glass, I felt certain, I would now be dead. I swallowed and touched my throat.

Still his transformation continued, as whatever sorcery had disguised him unraveled. His prominent nose dwindled to mere nostril slits. His skin shimmered with faint iridescent scales. And then his transformation seemed to be complete.

I beheld a monster like none I had ever seen before. Clearly this wasn’t one of the hell-creatures I had fought in Ilerium… so what was it? And why would it want me dead enough to risk murdering me in my own rooms?

My battle-rage had begun to fade, and I took a deep cleansing breath, muscles suddenly weak. I felt like I’d lost control of my life, and I didn’t like the sensation.

So, yet another mystery faced me. What had this creature been doing here, inside Dworkin’s castle? How had he slipped past all those guards—past an entire army on the lookout? And most of all, how had he known to come to me posing as a barber?

I frowned. Clearly he must have had help. Someone had sent him—and set me up to be killed. Much as I hated the thought, I knew what it meant: Dworkin had a spy in his castle, someone in a fairly high position who knew our family’s comings and goings. Someone who could smuggle a hell-creature into the castle, get him the clothes and tools of a barber, and give him enough information to get him safely into my rooms and make me lower my guard.

Rising, I paced for a second, trying to work through the problem, trying to decide what to do next. Should I call Dworkin’s guards? No, I wouldn’t know whether to trust them. Any of them might be another hell-creature in disguise, and I didn’t want to reveal how much I knew yet. Freda, maybe? She seemed to have her own plots. Aber the prankster? I wasn’t sure what help he could be; I needed solid advice, not Trumps.

That left only Dworkin, and I certainly couldn’t go running to him at the first sign of trouble. It would make me look weak, helpless, unable to protect myself… in short, a perfect target.

Another problem worried me more. If assassins roamed Juniper’s halls disguised as servants, I reasoned, they might just as easily pose as family members. Since I didn’t know anyone in Juniper well enough to tell real from fake, except perhaps Dworkin, I knew how easily I could be fooled by another assassin. Ivinius had come close to succeeding; I didn’t want to give his masters a second chance.

Taking a deep breath, I rose. When in doubt, do nothing you know is wrong. That was one of the lessons Dworkin had always stressed throughout my childhood. I wouldn’t report this attempt on my life just yet, I decided. Perhaps whoever had set me up would reveal himself if I simply showed up alive and well, like nothing had happened.

Surely someone would be curious as to what had happened. I’d have to be doubly watchful.

One problem remained: how to proceed?

Clean up, I decided. I’d have to hide the body somewhere and get rid of it after dark. Perhaps it could be dumped into the moat, or smuggled out into the forest. Though exactly how I might do so, when I knew none of Juniper’s passageways—let alone the safest, least guarded path to the forest—escaped me at the moment.

Details could come later, I decided. For now, it was enough to have a plan.

I dragged the corpse into the little sitting room and positioned it behind a heavy tapestry where it couldn’t be seen from the main room. Hopefully, servants wouldn’t stumble across it before I was ready, and hopefully it wouldn’t begin to stink too much. Then I began tidying up, setting the chair I’d knocked over back where it belonged, picking up Ivinius’s razor and returning it to the tray with the towels, straightening the table with the basin, retrieving the desk and restoring its papers and blotter to their proper order—generally putting everything back the way it had been before the fight. To my surprise, the hardest part came last: mopping up the spilled ink. I cleaned it up as best I could with one of the towels, then covered the spot on the carpet with a smaller rug.

Not a bad job, I finally decided, standing back and studying my work critically. The room looked more or less normal. You couldn’t tell there had been a fight or that I’d hidden a corpse in the next room.

Then I spotted my reflection in the mirror that had saved my life, and I sighed. I still had the residue of a full lather on my face and neck, and it had begun to dry and flake off. Well, I needed to get cleaned up for dinner anyway—no sense in wasting a sharp razor, even if it had been meant to slit my throat.

I returned to the basin and the block of soap, lathered up again with the brush, pulled the mirror over to the window’s light while my beard softened, and began to shave myself with one of the smaller razors, which had a blade about as long as my hand. It gave me something to do while I continued to think things through.

A plan… that’s what I needed right now. Some way to sort friend from foe, hell-creature from servant or relative…

Behind me, a floorboard suddenly squeaked. I whirled, razor up. I should have buckled on my swordbelt, I realized. More assassins, come to finish the job—?

No, it was only Aber, grinning at me like a happy pup who’d found its master. I forced myself to relax. He held what looked like one of Freda’s Trumps in his left hand, I noticed, and he carried a small carved wooden box in his right.

“A present for you, brother,” he said, holding out the box. “Your first set of family Trumps!”

I took them. “For me? I thought Freda was the expert.”

“Oh, everyone needs a set. Besides, she already has all the Trumps she wants.”

“I didn’t hear you come in,” I said, glancing pointedly at the door. The hinges most definitely had not given their telltale squeak. “How did you get in here? Is there another way—a secret passage?”

“You’ve been listening to too many fairy tales,” he said with a little laugh. “Secret passages? I only know of one in the whole castle, and it’s used all the time by servants as a shortcut between floors. Not much of a secret, if you ask me.”

“Then how did you get in here?”

Silently he raised the Trump in his hand, turning it so I could see the picture: my bedroom. He had drawn it perfectly, right down to the tapestries on the wall and the zigzag quilt on the bed.

Suddenly I remembered how the trump with Aber’s picture on it had seemed to move, almost to come alive, when Freda and I were in the carriage. Her cryptic comment about not wanting Aber to join us came back to me, and now it made sense. He had to be a wizard. One who used Trumps to move from place to place. That’s how he had gotten in here without opening my door.

“It’s a good drawing,” I said, taking the card and studying it. He had caught not just the look, but the feel of my bedchamber. As I stared at it, the image seemed to grow lifelike and started to loom before me… I had the distinct impression that I could have stepped forward and been in the next room. Hurriedly I pulled my gaze away and focused on him.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said, chest swelling a bit with pride. “Art is but one of my many talents, if I do say so myself.”

“Are there any more cards like this one?”

“No, that’s the only one I’ve done so far.”

Instead of handing it back, I tossed it atop the pile of dirty towels on the tray.

“You don’t mind if I keep it.” Deliberately, I made it a statement instead of a question. I didn’t need him—or anyone else—popping in on me unannounced.

“Not at all.” He shrugged. “I made it as part of your set, so it’s yours anyway. You should always have a few safe places to fall back on if need arises.”

“Then… thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” He gestured toward the box I still held. “Go ahead, take a look at the others.”

I took a moment to admire the mother-of-pearl dragon inlaid on the top of the box—also his work, it turned out—then unlatched the clasp and swung back the lid. Inside, nestled in a velvet-lined compartment, lay a small stack of Trumps, all face down. Their backs showed a blue-painted field with an intricate gold lion in the middle, exactly like Freda’s.

I pulled all the cards out and fanned them—about twenty-five, I judged. Most showed portraits done much like the ones in Freda’s set. I pulled out Aber’s. He looked even more heroic than in Freda’s set, if possible; here, he held a bloody sword in one hand and the severed head of a lion in the other. Clearly he had no problems with his own self-image.

“They’re terrific,” I said.

“Thanks.”

“You’ll have to show me how they work later, when we have more time.” I put them back in the box, adding the one of my bedroom to the top of the stack.

“You don’t know…” he began. “Sorry! I thought you knew. This morning, someone used my card. Just for a second, I thought I saw you and Freda inside a carriage.”

“That was me,” I admitted. “But it was an accident. I didn’t know what I was doing,”

He shrugged. “It’s not hard. Take out a card and concentrate on it. If it’s a place, it will seem to grow life-sized before you, like a doorway. Just step through and you’re there.”

“And the people?”

“You’ll be able to talk to them,” he said, “but only if they want to talk to you, too. After contact is made, either one can help the other pass across.”

“It works both ways?”

“That’s right.” He nodded. “Just stick out your hand, the person you’re talking to will grasp it, and you step forward. Fast and easy.”

“It almost seems too good to be true!” I said, a trifle skeptical. Why would anyone bother with horses or carriages if a single card could make traveling quick and painless? “Freda said you liked pranks. You’re pulling my leg now, aren’t you?”

“No,” he insisted, “I’m telling the truth. I always tell the truth. It’s just that half the time nobody believes me!”

I gave a snort. “That’s what the best liars say.”

“You don’t know me well enough to say that. Give me the benefit of the doubt, Oberon.”

“Very well—explain to me again how you got in here.”

“I used that Trump of your bedroom,” he said solemnly, indicating the one I’d put in the box. “I left Dad in his study just a minute ago. Which reminds me, I’m here because he wants to see you. So you’d better hurry up. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

I had to smile. “Some things never change.”

Throughout my childhood, Dworkin had hated waiting for anything, from lines at the baker’s to finishing my penmanship lessons so we could get on to more important things, like swordplay and military tactics.

“So,” I went on, “if I concentrated on Dad’s card right now, he’d pull me into his study? Just like that?” I’d never be able to master such a trick, I thought. It sounded impossibly hard, somehow.

“Sure. But I wouldn’t do it with Dad, ever, unless you haven’t any other choice… he doesn’t like to be distracted when he’s working. Sometimes he has delicate experiments going on, and if you accidentally mess one up… well, let’s just say he has quite a temper.”

“Thanks for the warning,” I said. I knew what he meant about our father’s temper, all right. Once in the marketplace, when a soldier twice his size had insulted my mother, Dworkin had beaten the fool senseless with his bare hands. It had taken four of the city watch to drag him away, or he surely would have killed the fellow. I hadn’t seen him that angry very often, but it was a terrible thing to behold.

Some things, it seemed, never changed.

“Let me finish getting ready,” I said, turning back to the mirror and picking up the razor. “Then maybe you can show me the way down.”

“Sure, glad to.”

“Anari was supposed to find me some clothes. Maybe you can hurry him up.”

“What about those?” He pointed through my bedroom door, and to my amazement I saw brown hose, a green shirt, and undergarments laid out on the chair next to the bed where I’d been sleeping.

“I must be going blind,” I said, shaking my head. “I would’ve sworn they weren’t there five minutes ago!”

He chuckled. “Okay, you caught me. I put them there. After I saw Dad, I went to my room first to pick up your set of Trumps. Ivinius was in the hall, and I told him to let you know I’d bring in some clothes for you. I guess he forgot to mention it.”

I laughed with relief. “So I’m not crazy!”

“No… at least, I hope not! Say, why didn’t you let him shave you?”

“The way his hands were shaking? Never!”

“Well, he is getting old.” He gave an apologetic shrug. “Someone ought to tell Anari to find us a new barber.”

“I think that would be a good idea. I wouldn’t want to have my throat cut.”

I finished shaving quickly. All the while I studied my brother. He stood by the window, gazing out across the castle grounds. He didn’t seem at all surprised at finding me alive. If anything, he seemed to like my company; I thought he must be lonely. It was easy to rule him out as a suspect in a conspiracy to have me killed—you didn’t kill friends, especially ones with as little power here as I had.

And that, I thought, made him my first potential ally.

I splashed water on my face, then toweled dry. Not the best job, I thought, studying my reflection and rubbing my chin, but it would do for now. I’d get a haircut tomorrow, if I could find a real barber.

I began to dress quickly. Anari had a good eye for clothes; these fit me almost perfectly. A tiny bit too narrow in the shoulders, a little too wide in the waist, but with a belt, they would do nicely.

“You look a bit like him,” Aber said suddenly as I pulled on my boots.

“Who?”

“Taine. Those are his clothes.”

Taine… another of my missing half-brothers. I studied my reflection more critically… yes, I thought, dressed in his colors, I looked a lot like him in his Trump.

I said, “Freda thinks Taine is dead. Do you?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. He has Dad’s temper, and he left after a fight with Locke. I suppose he could be off somewhere, brooding and planning his revenge.”

“What did they fight about?”

“I don’t know. Locke has never said.”

I finished dressing and reached for my sword, but Aber shook his head. “Leave it,” he said. “Father doesn’t allow swords in his workroom.”

Shrugging, I did so. Ivinius’s impersonator was dead… there probably wouldn’t be another attempt on my life tonight. And walking around without a sword clearly showed my lack of fear… I couldn’t let my enemy or enemies know how much my nerves had been shaken.

“Lead on! “I said.

“Want to try a Trump down?” he asked suddenly.

“I thought you said—”

“Dad doesn’t like to use them. But I’ve made Trumps of every interesting room in the castle… and many of the uninteresting ones, too.” He chuckled. “Those can be even more useful, you know.”

“I can imagine. And I suppose you know an uninteresting one near Dad’s workshop?”

“There’s a cloakroom just off the main hall… and it’s about thirty feet from there to his workshop door.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. Much as I liked the idea of trying out some magic, this wasn’t the right time. “Juniper is huge. I’ll never get a feel for its layout if we jump around like spring hares. Let’s walk. That will give us a chance to get to know each other, and you can tell me about the castle as we go.”

“As you wish.” With a little shrug, he led the way out to the hall. “Those are my rooms,” he said, pointing to the double doors directly across from mine. “Then Davin’s to the left, then Mattus. Locke, Alanar, and Titus have the rooms to the right, and then Fenn and Taine and Conner opposite. Our sisters have the floor above.”

We started down a broad stone stairway, heading back toward the salon in which we’d had drinks earlier that afternoon. As we walked, servants quickly stepped aside to let us pass, bowing their heads. I thought I recognized a few from my last trip through here, and several of them called me “Lord Oberon” as we passed. Clearly news of my arrival was spreading.

I still regarded them with veiled suspicion. Any might be another hell-creature spy or assassin in human guise. And yet I couldn’t allow myself to become too fearful or paranoid. If Juniper had to be my home now, I would accept it, even if it came with a measure of danger. I couldn’t brood on Ivinius and the possibility of assassination attempts or the assassins would have won… they would rule me.

No, I vowed, I would ferret them out in due course. But I wouldn’t let them change how I lived my life—heartily, savoring the pleasures and passions.

Where to start, though? Best to get Aber talking, I decided. He might reveal more information about our family and the military situation here—what I needed most at this point was information. With so many soldiers stationed around Juniper, and hell-creatures infiltrating the castle, the war Freda had mentioned must be imminent.

I decided to start with a comfortable topic before working our way to more sensitive matters, something to loosen his natural reserve. What Freda had said about him in the horseless carriage came back to me: Aber the prankster, Aber the artist, Aber the distraction who could not be trusted to join us. Art seemed one of his main interests.

I said, “So, you make your own Trumps?” Most people enjoyed talking about themselves, and his talent for art seemed a natural place to begin.

“That’s right!” He grinned, and I knew my question pleased him. “Everyone says I inherited Dad’s artistic tendencies, just not his temperament. Apparently he used to make Trumps all the time when he was my age, but I don’t think he has in years. There are more interesting things, he keeps saying. He’s always got dozens of experiments going on in his workshop.”

Experiments? A workshop? I had never seen this side of Dworkin in Ilerium… or perhaps I’d been too young to notice.

“I’ve been impressed by everything he’s made,” I said. “That horseless carriage—”

He snorted derisively.

“You don’t like it?” I asked, bewildered. I’d found it the finest means of transportation I’d ever used, except perhaps horse and saddle.

“Not really,” he said. “It’s too slow, and you can’t see anything if you’re riding inside. I told him it should be open on top so passengers can take in the sights.”

“A good idea… until it rains!” I also thought of those monstrous bats, who could have swooped down on Freda and me had we been riding in the open.

“It never rains in Shadows unless you want it to.”

“I suppose,” I said nonchalantly, unwilling to expose my ignorance of exactly what Shadows were in the context of my new-found family.

We turned down another hallway, heading away from the salon. The topic changed back to Juniper Castle—the fastest way to get to the kitchens, where to find guard stations on this level (which also housed the weapons room, the main dining hall, and even the servants’ quarters)—so many places and directions that my head swam. I didn’t think I would be able to find any of them on my own.

Finally we reached a short windowless corridor. Two guards posted at its mouth held pikes. Down the corridor, small oil lamps set in wall sconces revealed plain stone walls and a red-and-white checkerboard slate floor. They didn’t challenge us, but nodded to Aber as if expecting him.

We went up the corridor in silence and halted at the heavy oak door at its end. The hinges were thick iron bands. It would have taken a battering ram to get through.

“Look,” Aber said softly, giving a quick glance back at the guards. We were clearly out of earshot, and he kept his voice low. “There’s one more thing I should tell you about your family. We’re all on our best behavior now, with war coming. But it won’t last. It never does. You’ll going to have to choose sides, and choose soon. Freda likes you, which counts for a lot as far as I’m concerned. I hope you’ll throw in with us.”

I paused to digest this.

“It’s you and Freda and Pella?” I guessed at one faction.

“Yes.”

“And the others… Davin and Locke, of course.”

He pulled a sour face. “The boors stick together. Yes. Locke and Davin—and also Fenn and Isadora, the warrior-bitch from hell.”

I arched my eyebrows at that description.

“You haven’t met her yet,” he said with an unapologetic laugh. “You’ll see exactly what I mean when you do. Be warned, though—tell one of them anything and they’ll all hear it. But none of them will ever act unless Locke says so.”

“What about Blaise?” I said.

He gave a dismissive wave. “She’s got her own interests. For now, she’s too busy seducing army officers and playing court with Leona and Syara—I don’t think you’ve met them yet, have you?—to be a real concern to anyone but Dad, who generally disapproves but doesn’t know how to tell her to grow up. She wants to wield power inside Juniper, but she doesn’t have any way to support her ambitions. Of all our family, she’s probably the most harmless… or least harmful might be a better way of putting it.”

“I’m sure she’d be hurt if she heard you’d said that!”

Aber clapped me on the shoulder. “Right you are! So keep it between the two of us, okay? If something terrible happens and she does end up running everything, I still want to be on her good side.”

“How… politic of you.”

“I would have said self-serving.”

I had to laugh at that. “Don’t worry, I know when to keep my mouth shut.” I glanced at him sidewise. “I’m a soldier, you know. What makes you think I won’t throw in with Locke? After all, he and I seem to have the most in common.”

“The fact that you’re asking means you’ve already decided not to.”

“It never hurts to know all your options. And Locke would seem to be a good one.”

He hesitated. “I’ll probably regret saying it, but… I like you, Oberon. I know it sounds simple-minded, but it’s the truth. I don’t know why, but I’ve liked you since the moment we met. You’re not like anyone else in our family.”

I knew exactly what he meant. “They’re all stiff and formal, afraid to say or do the wrong thing.” I’d seen it in Ilerium, among the bluebloods in King Elnar’s court.

“From what Dad told us, Freda and I expected you to be another Locke. You know, all soldier, dedicated to war and politics. But you’re not like Locke at all. I wouldn’t trust Locke to clean my paint brushes. You, dear brother, I just might.”

I scratched my head. “I’m not quite sure how to take that,” I admitted. Clean his paint brushes?

He laughed. “As a compliment, of course! Good brushes are a painter’s best friend. More valued than wine or women—and twice as expensive.”

“Surely not more valued than women!”

“Well, the available women in Juniper, anyway.”

“Then thank you for the compliment.”

“You feel like a friend, somehow,” he went on, eyes far away suddenly. “Like I’ve known you all my life and we’ve just been apart for too long and need to catch up with each other. Does that make sense?”

“Sure,” I said. I knew exactly what he meant—I already felt the same way about both him and Freda: comfortable.

I changed the subject. “So Locke’s not a friend?”

“When it’s convenient for him—and that’s usually when he wants something. He took me out drinking a month ago when he wanted me to make him some new Trumps, and I haven’t had two words from him since. Well, that’s not true. He said ‘pass the wine’ last night at dinner, and that’s three words.”

“I see the real problem.”

“Really?” He looked startled. “What?”

“If you have to pass the wine, there aren’t enough bottles on the table!”

That got a snort of amusement.

“See? This is what I meant… and why I like you. Nobody else in our family has a sense of humor. Not even Freda.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“To Locke, we’re all tools to be used toward his own ends. Davin doesn’t mind being a tool. That’s the height of his ambition, to be second in command. The others…” He shrugged. “Nobody really wants to serve under Locke. He’s a bully when he wants his way. If not for Dad pulling us all together here, we’d scatter to the winds again.”

I found myself agreeing with his assessment. Every word he’d said rang true.

Over the years, I’d known quite a few officers like Locke. They were always noble-born, and their only interest lay in yoking those beneath them to their own political and military advancement. Oddly enough, they always found eager followers. Sometimes a lot of them.

And I had invariably ended up at odds with them.

Aber said, “I still remember the first time Locke and Freda met as adults!” He shook his head. “He ordered her to fetch him and his men wine—he treated her like a common servant. Freda!”

“Did she do it?”

“Of course, like any prim and proper hostess. And then she dumped the whole tray in his lap.”

I smiled at that.

Aber said, “She still hasn’t forgiven him… nor has he forgiven her.”

“Well, I can see both of their positions,” I said, picturing the scene with some amusement. “And yet, part of me still thinks I’d be better off throwing in with Locke. After all, as the general in charge of Juniper’s army, and the firstborn son, he seems poised to take over after our father. And I’m a soldier. I’d fit in with Locke. We’d… understand each other.”

“You’re wrong, brother.” He said, voice firm. “Locke sees you as a threat. If you try to make friends with him, you won’t live long enough to stand a chance to replace him.”

“He’d kill me?” I said uneasily. “His own brother?”

“Half brother. And not directly, no… but he grew up in the Courts, where fighting and treachery are a way of life. His rivals never lasted long.”

“Murder?” I wondered aloud, thinking of Ivinius the demon-barber, sent to kill me in my chambers. Locke could easily have told him all he needed to know.

“Let’s call it a series of convenient accidents. Locke is careful, and no one has any proof of his involvement. But over the years, there have been too many hunting accidents, a drowning, two convenient suicides, and half a dozen mysterious disappearances in our family alone. That’s not counting other rivals.”

“Coincidences, I’d say.”

“So many? I think not.” He looked away. “When Dad turned the army over to him, I knew it was a huge mistake. He’ll never surrender command now. And he won’t welcome any rivals in the ranks.”

“I’ve served kings and generals my whole career. I’m used to taking orders, and I’d probably make a good lieutenant for Locke.”

“You don’t have ambitions?”

“Of course. But I’m not going to stroll in and try to wrestle away Locke’s position. That’s a fool’s errand. He has his command, and he’s welcome to it.”

“But—it can’t be that way!” he blurted out.

“Why not?”

“Freda said—”

Aber hesitated; clearly he didn’t like the direction our conversation had taken… and I took some pleasure in shaking apart his all-too-cozy view of our relationship. He had revealed a lot to me already—more than I had dared to hope, in fact—but I wanted more. And I thought I could get it.

“I can imagine what she said.” I lowered my voice to a more conspiratorial whisper. “I was just jerking your chain about Locke. Did Freda tell you… everything?”

He relaxed, his relief obvious.

“She told me enough,” he admitted. “The cards were a surprise. I didn’t think anyone could ever oppose both Dad and Locke.”

So, Freda didleave something out when she read my future, I thought. Oppose Dworkin and Locke? That had an ominous sound. Oppose them in what?

With deliberate mildness, intrigued despite my skepticism about Freda’s talents, I said: “Freda didn’t mention anything to me about opposing Locke and our father.”

He gulped suddenly, eyes wide with alarm. “No?”

“No.”

I folded my arms, waiting patiently as an awkward silence stretched between us. He shifted uneasily from foot to foot, not looking at me, gazing back down the corridor like he wanted to go haring off to his rooms.

I saw it now. Freda had put him up to befriending me, feeling out my loyalties, and trying to win me over to their side. Despite that, I liked Aber, and I had the feeling he genuinely liked me.

Now he desperately wanted to take back his words and start on a different tack. It was something Freda could have done, I thought: just switched subjects and kept going, or announced she was tired, closed her eyes, and gone to sleep. Anything to get out of a cat-and-mouse game of questions-and-answers that couldn’t be won. Poor Aber made an excellent mouse.

“And?” I prompted, when I’d waited long enough. Like most questions, the benefit was in the asking, not the answering. “What did she see?”

He just stared at me wonderingly. “You are good,” he said suddenly. “Honestly, I thought you were just a soldier. But Freda saw truly.”

“I am just a soldier.”

“No. You’re better at these games even than Freda. She was right about you. I thought she was crazy, but I see it now. You are a threat to Locke. And to our father. Maybe to all of us.”

“What did she say?” I asked again.

“I guess it can’t hurt.” He sighed, looked away. “You and Locke are going to be at odds. And you will win.”

“And our father?”

“Him, too.”

“She saw all this in her Trumps?”

“Yes.”

“Rot and nonsense.”

“It’s not!”

“You’re saying exactly what you think I’d like to hear,” I snapped. “I’m supposed to arrive in Juniper and lay waste to all before me? No, it’s impossible. I may have ambitions, but they don’t lie in that direction. Right now, my only goal is to help our father as much as I can.”

“But Freda saw—”

“I don’t care! I don’t believe in fortune-telling. I told Freda as much.”

“Freda’s not some carnival witch, scrabbling for pennies!” He seemed almost hurt at the suggestion. “She’s been trained since childhood to see emerging patterns in Chaos. It’s a great science.”

“And I’m a great skeptic.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be. It’s what got you here.” He shrugged, sighed, looked away again. Clearly I had confused him.

“Go on.”

“I wasn’t supposed to say anything about it, but Locke already hates you.” He hesitated. “Locke didn’t want Dad to bring you to Juniper. If he hadn’t been so vocal about it, Dad would have fetched you here many years ago.”

Years ago… so that’s why Dworkin abandoned me, I thought. New pieces to the puzzle of my life suddenly fit neatly into place. Locke, not Dworkin, had kept me stranded and alone in Ilerium all these years.

Although I didn’t enjoy making quick decisions about people, I found myself disliking Locke. Hating him, even. He had given my enemy a face… a decidedly human face.

Could Locke have sent Ivinius the assassin-barber to my room? It seemed entirely possible. It wouldn’t be the first time brother killed brother to secure a throne.

“What made Dad change his mind about bringing me here?” I asked.

“Freda did. She saw you in her cards. She told Dad we needed you here, and now, or you would die… and with you would die our hopes of winning the war.”

Convenient enough, I thought. She could predict anything she wanted and who would know the difference? Perhaps she felt she needed another ally. Who better than me? A soldier to counter Locke, a strong arm to do her bidding, one forever loyal to her because she had prophesied that I would one day take over.

Still, she had gotten one thing right: if not for Dworkin’s timely rescue, I would be dead in Ilerium right now.

“All right,” I said, “I have to ask. What is this war everyone keeps mentioning? Against whom are we fighting? And how am I supposed to help?”

“I don’t know, exactly. I don’t think anyone knows—it’s been all sneak attacks so far.” He swallowed. “Freda said you held the key to saving our family.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

I threw back my head and laughed. “What rot! And you fell for it?”

“No!” Aber shook his head. “It’s the truth, brother. Freda saw it… and everything she sees comes true. That’s what really has Locke scared.”

My breath caught in my throat. Aber really believed it, I saw… believed in this prophecy of Freda’s. It sounded like some soothsayer’s trick to me, so vague as to be useless for anything—except manipulating me to her ends. And yet… I had seen enough magic and miracles in the last day to make me wonder if I might not be wrong.

“Well,” I finally said, “I do hope it’s true. But I don’t have any way to know—and neither does anyone else. Is that enough to make Locke hate me? The fact that Freda thinks I can help save the whole family?”

“No.” He hesitated again.

“There’s something else,” I said. “Spill it.”

“Dad has always spoken fondly of you—perhaps too fondly—Oberon this, and Oberon that; how great a swordsman you were becoming. Locke has always been jealous. Dad never talked about him that way when he was growing up in the Courts of Chaos, as he’s quick to remind us all.”

I said, “And now that I’m actually here… now that Locke’s greatest rival is flesh and bone instead of tall tales around the fireplace… and now that Freda has predicted that I’ll save the whole family instead of him… Locke’s feeling threatened. Almost desperately so.”

“He is the first-born son, after all,” Aber said, almost apologetically. “But Dad could easily name another heir… one he likes better… you.”

Me! That’s what all this was about, I realized. Freda believed I stood a chance of inheriting the family titles and lands, whatever they were. Perhaps she’d read it in her cards. Perhaps Dworkin had somehow given her the impression he favored me. Or perhaps she hated Locke so much that she’d throw in with any promising rival who happened along.

It didn’t matter. The impossibility of it all struck me then, and I laughed out loud.

Aber stared at me like I’d gone mad.

I said, “It’s unlikely that I will inherit anything.”

“Titles often pass to the strongest, not necessarily the first-born.”

I shook my head. “I’m hardly the strongest. I have no friends or allies. I don’t know anyone here. And I have no interest in titles.”

“Maybe that’s what makes you dangerous. Look at it this way. Locke’s never been Dad’s favorite. He knows it. But as the first-born son, he’s always had advantages over you. For one, he’s always been here, helping Dad. For another, he’s already got a large and incredibly loyal army behind him.”

I raised my eyebrows. “And I’m just supposed to walk in and take both of these advantages away from him? How?”

“Well, you are here.” Aber shrugged almost apologetically. “Late is better than never. And you do have military experience… more than Locke, probably, considering you’ve been a career soldier. Dad’s told us about the battles you’ve fought against those you call hell-creatures. The army here demands a strong leader… an experienced soldier. And since you’re the one apparently destined to win this war for our side, as everyone here already knows, well… why not you?”

Why not indeed, I thought. No wonder Locke hated and feared me. There is nothing quite as powerful as a legend… and apparently my own talents had grown with every telling.

Add to that Freda’s prophecy…

I almost hated to tell Aber I was just a man with no interest or ambitions beyond reclaiming my own name and place in our family. He wouldn’t like it.

But I did so. I denied everything.

“Freda made it all up,” I said. “It’s a joke, a hoax, designed to hurt Locke’s position in the family. I don’t want to rule in Juniper or anywhere else. I’m too young to settle down. And now that I’ve seen the way you can all travel through Shadows… well, I want to do it, too!”

“But you must!” he said. “Everyone wants to rule!”

“Not me.”

“And Freda saw it—”

“No, Freda said she saw it.”

“You’re calling her a liar?”

“No.” I shrugged. “All I’m saying is this: I don’t believe in the power of Freda or her magical future-telling cards. Since I don’t believe, I don’t feel bound to live by their forecasts. I have no intention of taking lands, titles, or armies away from Locke… or anyone else.”

“You really mean that, don’t you?” he asked. I could hear the awe in his voice.

“Yes.”

“Then you are the best of us all.” He bowed slightly. “And you may be the only one of us who actually deserves to rule.”

“Nonsense.” I gave a dismissive wave. “Leave that to those who want to rule.”

He put his hand on my shoulder. “I mean it, brother… I’m happy you’re here. And I hope we can be friends.”

I clasped his shoulder, too. “We already are.”

“Freda was right, you know,” he said, releasing me. “You are the prize of the family. I see it now. Locke has every reason to feel threatened, whether you admit it or not.”

“Then let me ask you this—if Dworkin prizes me so much, why did he abandon me in Ilerium all these years? Locke’s opinion be damned. If he’d wanted to, he could have gone and fetched me at any time.”

“I don’t know. Ask him.” He glanced toward the main corridor. “He’s waiting… we should go.”

“Answer one more question first.”

“All right.”

“Truthfully—what’s all this about? The war, the killings. How did it start? Who’s behind it?”

He frowned, and I could tell it troubled him.

“We have hereditary rivals in the Courts of Chaos. Enemies for generations. Somehow, one of us—Freda thinks it’s Dad, but she isn’t sure—did something to rekindle one of those old feuds…”

“And it can’t be laid to rest? What about the King in Chaos? Couldn’t he stop it?”

“Perhaps. But we have our pride. We’d never have any power again if we ran crying to King Uthor.”

“I see your point,” I shook my head. “Do you have any idea who might be responsible?”

“No… just that it’s someone very powerful. Whoever it is began the war by trying to kill off our whole family… everyone in Shadow has been attacked in one way or another.”

“To what end?”

“Destroying the bloodline, I guess. That’s the ultimate revenge, isn’t it?”

“That’s more than a little pissed off.”

A sudden, horrible realization hit. Dworkin had been right—the hell-creatures in Ilerium had been after me… and me alone. The whole invasion had happened just to find and kill me.

He had said the hell-creatures would leave our country alone after he had rescued me. No wonder—they had no reason to continue the fight if I wasn’t there any more. By simply leaving, I had probably done what King Elnar and all his men had been unable to do in a year of fighting.

“I think Freda’s right about you,” Aber went on. “You won’t take Locke’s orders blindly, the way the others do, and that’s worth a lot. If you’re even half the warrior I think you are, you could end up heir.”

“Even if I wanted it—which I don’t—” I gave a sweep of my arm, taking in all of Juniper. “I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

“Juniper?” He chuckled. “This is just a Shadow, and you could easily find another like it, if you wanted. I meant heir to the family. To us… to our position within the Courts of Chaos. Dad holds a title there, and of course all the rights and privileges that go with—”

He broke off when the heavy oak door before us opened suddenly. From inside, Dworkin squinted up at me. He seemed older and much more tired looking now, as if our adventure over the last twenty-four hours had taken their toll.

“I thought I heard you,” he said, taking my arm and pulling me inside. His grip still felt like iron. “You certainly took your time getting here, Oberon.”

He closed the door in Aber’s face.

Chapter 8

I found myself in a cluttered, windowless, musty-smelling workroom. Long wooden tables lined every wall; they held a confusing jumble of papers, scrolls, wooden boxes, oddly shaped rocks, countless crystals of varying sizes, and many other less readily identified materials. Dusty racks on the walls contained neatly labeled jars; doubtless they contained ingredients for potions and spells, I decided. At one table, he had been wiring a skeleton together from sun-bleached bones. It had at least four arms… and possibly as many as eight. At another table, candles warmed strangely shaped bottles containing liquids of various hues, some of which gave off curiously spiced scents. Ahead and to the left, narrow doorways led to additional workrooms, these just as cluttered from what little I could see.

“Come on, come on,” he said impatiently, turning and leading the way. “I have wasted enough time on your rescue already—we have work to do, and it is best to get on with it.”

“All right,” I said, falling back into the patterns of my youth. All the time an inner voice told me to stand up to him right here, right now… to demand answers to everything that had happened.

But I couldn’t. Not yet. He was still Uncle Dworkin to me, still the mentor I admired and respected… and obeyed. All the years of leading men, all the years without his presence, seemed to have melted away. I could have been ten years old again, following his instructions without question.

We passed into the next room, which was filled with unshelved books and scrolls, more than I had ever seen in any one place before. There had to be thousands of them.

He didn’t stop but led me into yet another room, which held larger machines he had obviously been building. Odd bits and pieces lay half-assembled (or half-disassembled, I couldn’t tell which) on the floor and the worktables. Some had pipes and wires leading from large stones to what looked like corroding copper spheres, the largest of which had to be at least four feet across, the smallest no more than a hand’s width. Others looked like fairy tale castles built from spun glass, and pink and white and yellow lights flared or pulsated briefly within them. Across from us, in a giant fireplace that took up the entire wall, liquids bubbled in three large cauldrons, though no fire heated them that I could see. These potions or brews let off a curious combination of smells—something like the air after a thunderstorm had just passed, but slightly sour. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck start to bristle. Against my will, I shivered.

Dworkin—Dad—noticed and chuckled.

“What are you doing in here?” I asked.

“Distilling.”

“Brandy?” I guessed, but knowing it couldn’t be anything so simple.

“Life forces.”

“Oh.” I didn’t quite know what to make of that.

He pulled over two straight-backed wooden chairs, and we sat facing each other, though he did not look me in the eye. Could he be feeling… guilt? For never letting me know I had a father, a family? For hiding my birthright? For abandoning me these many years?

A long, awkward silence stretched between us, punctuated by faint dripping noises from one of the machines and a steady hiss from one of the cauldrons.

“Dworkin—” I finally said. “Or should I call you Dad, like Aber and the others?”

He shifted uneasily. “Either one is fine. Perhaps Dworkin is best… I have never been much of a father to you. Though ‘Dad’ does have a nice ring to it…”

“So be it—Dad.”

“What else have you found out since you arrived?” he asked softly.

“Not as much as I would have liked.” I swallowed, my mouth dry, and for the first time in my life I suddenly found words difficult. I had a lump in my throat the size of an apple; it was hard to speak to him calmly with all I now knew. “Apparently you have enemies in the Courts of Chaos, at least one of whom is trying to destroy your bloodline. Unfortunately, I seem to be included.”

He nodded. “Two attempts have been made on my own life in the last year. And seven of my children—two daughters and five sons—are now missing, I assume murdered.” He shook his head. “I do not know who to blame, but I have been gathering the rest of you from all your scattered Shadows, bringing you here, protecting you while I investigate… and preparing to defend Juniper if we are attacked.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded, rising and pacing the floor. I simply couldn’t sit still any longer. “I had a right to know you were my father!”

“Your mother wanted it this way,” Dworkin said softly, “to protect you. She knew you would never rest easily if you discovered your true nature. You would want to meet the rest of your family, pass through the Logrus and master Shadows—”

“Damn right!”

“I became a friend of the family,” he said, “so that I could be near you, guide you, watch you grow.”

“You made sure I learned what I needed to learn,” I said, guessing the truth. “You prepared me for a life in the military. And apparently you have been secretly watching and perhaps even guiding my career all these years.”

“It is what any dutiful father would have done.”

“No.” I glared at him. “A dutiful father would have told me the truth!”

“And ignored your mother’s wishes?”

“She was dead, I wasn’t. You abandoned me! Your own flesh and blood!”

“I promised her. I do not give my word lightly, Oberon… I loved her too much for that.”

“Loved her?” My voice raised to a shout. “When you sired how many more sons on other Shadows? How many wives do you have, anyway? Ten? Twenty? No wonder you never had time for me!”

He recoiled as though struck across the face. I’d hurt him more with those words than I could have with any physical blows, I realized. Perhaps I’d meant to do it—I certainly didn’t feel sorry for him now.

“You don’t understand the way of Shadows,” he said. “And I’m older than you realize. Time moves differently on each world—”

I turned away. I didn’t want him to see the tears welling up in my eyes. Soldiers don’t cry. It was all happening too fast. I needed time to think, to sort through the strange unfolding secrets and half-truths that made up my life.

Dworkin—Dad—my father—came up behind me. He put a hand on my shoulder.

“I’m here now,” he said softly. “I cannot change the past, but I can apologize for it. Perhaps I should have told you sooner. Perhaps I should never have made that promise to your mother. But what is done cannot be undone. Make the most of it. You have your heritage now. You have… a family. Embrace us all.”

I faced him. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“You must have questions. Ask them.”

I hesitated, trying to decide where to start. “Tell me about the—what did you call it? The Logrus?” I said, trying to remember his words. “Tell me about Shadows and how to move among them like you and the others do. I want to learn how.”

“It’s… difficult to explain.” He frowned. “Think of a single world, a place at the center of the universe… a primal source of life and power and wisdom.”

“The Courts of Chaos?”

“The Courts are built upon it there, yes. They are a part, but not the whole. Now, imagine time and the universe as a lake so huge you cannot see the shore when you are in the middle. The Courts of Chaos float at the center of this lake, casting reflections into the water. And every reflection is a world unto itself, a shadow of the Courts.”

“All right,” I said, not sure what he was leading up to. “How many of these reflections are there?”

“Nobody knows. Millions. Billions. Perhaps more than can ever be counted. Each is separate and distinct—a world of its own, with its own languages, peoples, customs. The farther you get from the Courts, the more different these worlds become, until you cease to recognize them. We call these worlds Shadows. Anything you can imagine exists in one, somewhere. Any many things you cannot possibly imagine.”

“And Juniper is just a Shadow,” I said, brow furrowing. “And Ilerium… everything I’ve ever known?”

“Yes.”

I felt stunned. With those few words, he had completely undone my view of the universe—and of my place within it. No wonder Ilerium now seemed a distant, fading memory. None of it mattered. None of it had ever mattered.

And yet… every fiber of my body told it had mattered. I had loved Helda. I had given my heart and soul to serving King Elnar and Ilerium. It had been my whole life… my whole reason for existing. It had been real… at least to me.

Now, suddenly, Dworkin reduced all I had ever known to a single mote of dust floating in a great ocean of a universe, a place so vastly, unimaginably huge that I could only just begin to take it in.

“But it felt so real!” I whispered.

“The Shadows are real. People live and breed in them, build cities and empires, work and love and fight and die, all the while never knowing anything of the greater universe that lies beyond.”

“And the Logrus? Is that what controls it?”

“No. The Logrus is—” he hesitated, as if searching for the words to describe the indescribable. “It is a key to finding your way amongst all the Shadow worlds. It is like a maze. By traversing its length, from start to finish, someone born of Chaos may have the Logrus imprinted on his mind forever. It frees your perceptions, allows you to control your movements. You can pass freely through the Shadows and find your path among them.”

Freda’s words on the journey in the carriage came back to me. “That’s what you did on the way here.”

“Yes. We traveled through many Shadows. We took an indirect route.”

“When can I go through this Logrus?”

“Soon. The Logrus is difficult and dangerous. It is not something to undertake lightly, and you must prepare for it. And, afterwards, it leaves you disoriented… sick for a time.” He hesitated. “Besides the ability to travel through Shadows, it confers other powers, too.”

Other powers? That caught my attention.

“Like what?” I asked cautiously.

“This.” Dworkin reached into the air and suddenly plucked a sword from nothingness.

I gaped at him. “How—”

“I had it in my bedchamber. I knew where I left it, and I used the Logrus to reach for it… to bridge the distance between my hand and where it lay. A kind of mental shortcut, if you will, between here and there.”

He set the sword down on the closest table. I stared at it, still hardly able to believe my eyes.

“And I can do that?” I asked skeptically.

“Not now. Not yet. You must first master the Logrus. That, at least, is your birthright… by tradition, no one, not even King Uthor himself, can deny it if you ask. Of course, there is the problem of getting you to the Courts and back safely, without our enemy finding out and killing us. And once in the Courts, you must survive the Logrus. Not all of us do, you know. My brother died on his first attempt. It destroyed him, mind and body. It is not so simple a matter after all.”

“I want to try,” I said firmly. “You cannot show me this gift and then tell me I can’t have it!”

“In due time.”

“You’re playing games with me again!”

“Do I need to remind you of how many children I’ve already lost? It is not safe for any of us to leave here,” Dworkin said firmly. “Not now, not yet. Juniper is well defended for a Shadow, but beyond the lands we control, there are creatures watching us. They are waiting for a mistake… any mistake.”

“Then we’ll kill them!” I felt a yearning inside to be off, to walk the Logrus and gain the powers due me… the powers my father and brothers and sisters already possessed. “That crystal you used against the hell-creatures—you must have more of them.”

“It is not so simple. Some of these watchers are relatives. The Courts of Chaos are… unlike anything you can imagine, with your limited experiences. Struggle and conflict are encouraged there, and only the strongest wield any real power. I have been away too long and have now lost whatever influence I once may have held.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

He folded his arms, looking away. “There are ancient codes of honor that are supposed to prevent death among us, among the Lords of Chaos. But out here in the deepest, farthest Shadows, those rules are often bent… or overlooked entirely. I am not important enough to try to demand observance of the rights and protections due me. But some of our enemies are very, very important, I suspect. And if they were to die—murdered or assassinated, whether by my hand, or yours, or our agents’—it would call the wrath of King Uthor himself upon us all. We could not survive it, not one of us.”

I frowned, not liking the sound of that. “Damned if we do, dead if we don’t. When we kill our enemies, it has to be in self defense.”

“Or it must look like an accident.” He sighed and shook his head slowly, and I realized he did not like the situation any more than I did. “After all,” he continued, “there is no harm in their watching us, or so they would say.”

“Spying on us.”

“Well, yes.”

“Then those hell-creatures in Ilerium—”

“They were soldiers drafted from another Shadow, sent to find and kill you, my boy. They are just the hands of our enemy… cut off the head and the body will die. It’s the only way, if we are to survive.”

“And this head… whose is it?”

“I wish I knew. It could be any of a dozen Lords of Chaos. My family has its share of hereditary rivals and blood-feuds. And I freely admit I have made mistakes over the years… my own list of personal enemies is larger than it should be. It could be any one of them.”

“Is that why you left the Courts?”

“One of the reasons. I thought they would forget me if I lost myself among the Shadows.”

I chewed my lower lip thoughtfully. His story pretty much matched Aber’s, and every word rang true. Sometimes, I’d found, just being alive was enough to make an enemy. I may have found my family… but I’d also gotten more than my share of trouble along with them.

“Before we can proceed,” Dworkin went on, “I must check something. It will only take a moment…”

He crossed to a table cluttered with wires and tubes and beakers, crystals and glass spheres and copper pots—the cast-off paraphernalia of a wizard or alchemist, as far as I could tell. He rummaged among the bits and pieces, tossing first one then another aside, muttering to himself.

“How long have these feuds been going on in the Courts of Chaos?” I asked.

“Longer than anyone can remember. The Courts are ancient.”

“How old is that?” King Elnar’s family had ruled in Ilerium for nearly a thousand years,

“Every family in the Courts can trace their lineage back through the generations,” he said, “to the man who first recognized the Logrus for what it was. His name is lost to us, but it is known that he created if from his own blood and magics that came to him in a vision. He built it, and then he went through it. Once he completed the journey, when he discovered he had the power to move through Shadows, he forged an empire that still stands. Every one of his children went through the Logrus as they came of age, and they in turn gained the ability to walk among Shadows, becoming the first Lords of Chaos and begetting all the noble houses and the great families that still hold power in the Courts. Thus has it come down through the generations to us, to you and me and all the rest of our family.”

“How many generations?” I asked. “How many years?”

“It could be ten thousand. It could be more. Who can say? Time has little meaning for those who travel in Shadows…”

It seemed inconceivably ancient to me. A ten-thousand-year-old blood feud…

“How many of these great families are there, anyway?” I asked. “And how many Lords of Chaos?”

“There are hundreds of houses, though many are minor, like our own. The Lords of Chaos must number in the thousands. King Uthor himself keeps the Book of Peerage, where all the bloodlines are detailed, from the greatest house to least. Should any of us survive the coming war, we should annotate it. I… did not provide anyone in the Courts with the details of my children born in Shadow.”

That piqued my interest. “What of me? Did you tell them of me?”

“No.”

“And yet they found me anyway. How is that possible?”

“Yes, they did find you.” He paused, frowning. “An interesting question. You should have been safe in Ilerium. Nobody in the Courts knew of you.”

According to Aber, Dworkin had spoken often of me to Locke and Freda and the other members of our family. That’s how I’d been found. I knew without a doubt that we had a traitor in our midst—someone who had given away my name and location.

But who? Locke? Freda? Aber? One of the others? I swallowed, picturing them one by one. I couldn’t see Blaise or Pella betraying me, somehow. Davin, perhaps?

Still searching, Dworkin continued, “There is a science behind the Logrus. A reason it works. It creates a kind of mental shortcut, a way to hold its image in your mind without trying. That is the key to moving through Shadows.”

“Are there other ways? I thought the Trumps—”

“Yes, there are other ways through Shadow, and there are… legends, I supposed you would call them… of at least one other device which had similar properties, though it was lost or destroyed generations ago. The Logrus is all we have. I do not yet know why, but it makes some of us better able to manipulate Shadows than others.”

“And you’re one of the best, I suppose.”

“Me?” He chuckled. “Perhaps it seems that way to you, but in truth, compared to some of the great Lords of Chaos, I am still but a clumsy child.”

I shrugged. Clearly he underestimated his own abilities. Our journey in his horseless carriage, in which he had laid a series of traps for anyone following, had impressed Freda greatly, and I didn’t think that was an easy accomplishment.

“You said I’d need to get ready for the Logrus. How? Is there some training I need? A new skill?”

“You need strength and stamina and determination,” Dworkin said. “When I went into the Logrus nearly two hundred years ago, it almost killed me. I lay feverish and near death for two weeks, and weird visions filled my mind. I dreamed of a new kind of Logrus, one with a different kind of pattern, and finding it has become one of the goals of all my work and research.” He gestured grandly, taking in this room and the ones beyond, “In fact, the more I think about our enemies, the more I think this new pattern may be the cause.”

“How? Did you actually create it?”

“No… but I spoke openly of it when I was young, and I know it brought me undue scrutiny. After all, if I had created a new Logrus… a new source of power over Shadows… who knew what abilities it might confer on me!”

“And you think someone is trying to kill you and all your children,” I said, “to prevent it.”

“That is one possibility,” he admitted, “though a dozen others have occurred to me as well. Locke’s mother is from a powerful family. They opposed our marriage… and took insult when I left her and kept our offspring.”

“It was your right,” I said. “Locke is your first-born and heir apparent. Of course he had to stay with you.”

“Valeria did not see it that way.”

“Ah.” I nodded. Never underestimate the power of love. More than a few wars had been fought in Ilerium over less. And mothers are not always rational when their sons are involved.

Now we had two possible causes for the attacks, a disagreement with Locke’s abandoned mother, and Dworkin’s vision of a new pattern. And he had admitted there were more.

I found the idea of a new Logrus intriguing, though. If he made it, and if it worked the way the original worked, it could easily threaten the whole stability of the Courts of Chaos. Dworkin could set himself up as a king. And if his Logrus, too, cast Shadows, created whole new worlds in its image…

I shivered. Yes, I could see how anyone with a high position in the Courts of Chaos would feel threatened by it—perhaps threatened enough to want to kill even me, poor bastard son that I was, ignorant of my heritage and abandoned on a backwater Shadow with no way to escape.

“Tell me more about this new Logrus,” I said.

Dworkin paused for a heartbeat, scratched his head, and crossed to the other worktable, where he began his search anew.

“I have come to believe that the reason I had so much trouble walking the Logrus is because it did not quite match the one within me. They are close as first cousins, but not the same. And this new one has begun to emerge in my children, too. Freda has it. Aber and Conner, too. But not Locke, alas, poor boy… or perhaps he is the fortunate one. Ah!”

He pulled what looked like a silver rod studded with diamonds from the jumble, then turned and motioned toward the far corner of his workroom. A small machine full of glass tubes and wires and tiny interlocking gears stood there. I had barely noted its presence before, in the midst of all the other more impressive looking devices. At its center sat a high-backed chair with armrests.

“This is what we need,” he went on. “Sit there. We will start at once.”

“What is it?” I asked dubiously. “Start what?”

“I must see the pattern contained within you,” he said. “Sit. Make yourself comfortable. It takes but a few minutes, and it will tell me how hard or easy it will be for you to walk the Logrus.”

It seemed sensible enough, and yet some instinct made me hesitate. For an instant I had a vision of an altar with a dying man spread upon it, strange patterns floating in the air above him, and then it was gone. Alanar. I recognized the man from Freda’s Trump. What did this little flash of memory mean? Why had I glimpsed a dead man?

A coldness touched my heart. A panic. I did not want to be here right now.

“Sit,” Dworkin commanded.

“I don’t like it,” I said warily, taking a step back. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Nonsense, my boy.” He took my arm and propelled me forward. Almost by reflex, I sat in the chair. “I have done this to all your brothers and sisters… and to myself. It is necessary.”

He stepped back, raised that rod, and pointed at me. I half flinched, expecting a brilliant flash or a burning beam of light—but nothing happened… or at least, nothing seemed to happen. No sounds, no lights, no growl of thunder. The only sounds came from the bubbling cauldrons in the fireplace.

I discovered I had been unconsciously holding my breath, and I let it out with a sudden gasp. Apparently I’d been concerned over nothing. The metal wand either didn’t work or didn’t hurt. I relaxed.

“Just a minute more,” Dworkin said.

“What is it doing?” I asked.

“Tuning itself to the forces within you,” he said. “Hold still. Do not get up.”

He made a few adjustments to the rod, and suddenly the machine around me came to life with a whirring and a creaking of wooden gears. I must have jumped three feet. Turning my head, I peered up into the intricate machinery. Blue sparks ghosted across its surface as wheels and cogs turned. It began to hum like a kettle about to boil.

Dworkin stepped forward and inserted the silver rod into a hole in the center of the mechanism, and at that moment I felt a strange probing in the back of my head, almost like the start of a headache, but not quite. Without warning, memories sprang forth then vanished, images from the whole of my life, the early times with my mother, later years with Dworkin, and even my service with King Elnar. I glimpsed Helda and a dozen other women I’d loved before her.

The images jumbled together in no particular order. Faster and faster they came, and the humming noise of the machine became a deafening whistle that cut through my soul.

Cities and towns—battles and grueling marches—festivals and high holidays—my seventh birthday, when Dworkin gave me my first sword—fighting the hell-creatures—childhood games in the streets—faces of people I’d long forgotten—

Slowly, in the air before me, a pattern began to form, full of elegant sweeps and curves, loops and switchbacks, a twisting geometry like something I might have seen long ago in a forgotten dream. Blue sparks drifted around me. Through everything I could just make out Dworkin’s form, hands raised as he traced the pattern between us with his fingertips. Where he touched it, it took on a ruby glow.

Still the memories surged, more faces, more battles, more times long gone. Faster and faster they came, all blurred together now, and the whistle in the back of my head became an unimaginable screech of sound that tore through my skull. My eyes burned. My skin crawled. I tried to leap out of that seat, to get away from Dworkin’s machine, but I couldn’t move my arms or legs. When I opened my mouth to beg Dworkin to stop, the only sound was an agonized scream.

The machine was killing me.

I tried to block it from my thoughts, but it only hummed louder. Squeezing my eyes shut, I felt my thoughts shredding, the memories fleeing, all thoughts now impossible, only pain—pain—pain—

I gasped like a fish out of water, tried to breathe. Blackness fell like a stone.

Chapter 9

I dreamed.

Flying… floating… drifting… I saw snake-headed monsters and an ever-shifting tapestry of worlds…

Ilerium, under the thrall of hell-creatures…

The Courts of Chaos, just like on Freda’s card, the air overhead pulsating with those weird lightning-patterns, while all around me the buildings moved like living creatures and corners turned in on themselves with angles that couldn’t possibly exist but somehow did…

Then worlds of vast deserts, endless oceans, and virgin forests where no man had or ever would set foot… Come…

Deserts and swamps…

Cities buzzing with movement like the hives of bees… Wind-scoured rocks with no sign of water or life… Come to me…

I felt a chill, a remembered feeling of hate and loathing surging up inside. That voice—I had heard that voice before!

Come to me, sons of Dworkin…

Against my will, I found myself drawn forward like a moth to its flame. I soared through blackness, through vast cold and dark distances, to a world of strange colors. Patterns turned in the air, odd shapes and geometries that drifted like snowflakes, patterns within patterns within patterns. My vision began to brighten, then dim.

Slowly, I turned and discovered a tower built entirely of skulls. A grim shock of recognition swept through me. I had been here before, I thought, long ago.

Come to me, sons of Dworkin…

I could not resist the voice. Like a phantom, I passed through the tower’s wall. A stairway of arm and leg bones circled the inside wall, ascending into shadows, descending into a murky, pulsating redness.

I drifted down. The redness became the flickering glow of torches. They showed an eerily familiar scene, guards in armor who surrounded an immense stone altar. And on that altar a body lay chained and bleeding…

Taine!

Though his face had become gaunt and gray, and he looked ten years older, I still recognized my new brother from the Trump in Freda’s deck. He had a dueling scar on his left cheek just as Aber had drawn it. And he had Dworkin’s face… more so now than when his portrait had been done.

Naked and blood-smeared, he lay spread-eagle on the stone slab. But he lived. As I stared at him, I saw his chest rising and falling steadily.

His arms and legs had been heavily chained, and dozens of long, shallow knife wounds—some days or weeks old, some clearly fresh—marred the smoothness of his arms and face. His captors had made an effort to keep him alive, I thought. While clearly painful, none of the wounds appeared life-threatening. The real risk would come later from infection.

Blood still seeped from the most recent wounds, but instead of falling toward the floor, drops of scarlet floated up around him, lazily drifting through the air. As I watched, first one then another flattened, spreading out and becoming miniature windows into other worlds.

In many of those windows, I glimpsed Juniper and the army camp that surrounded it.

They’re spying on us, I realized. No wonder someone knew to send Ivinius to kill me. They see everything that happens.

Suddenly everything in the tower grew flat, muted, distant. The colors washed out; the world around me began pulling back like a sudden outrushing tide. The tower of skulls—this world of strange geometries—receding into darkness—

Abruptly I found myself back in my body. It was a shock, like leaping into an icy lake, and I gasped.

“Drink…” a voice commanded.

I sat up, sputtering, liquid fire in my mouth and throat.

“What—” I tried to say. It came out as a muffled “Waaa.”

Opening bleary eyes, I found Dworkin crouched over me. He held a small silver cup, which he pressed to my lips. This time when he poured, I tasted brandy, old and smooth.

What had he done to me?

My whole body ached and refused to obey my commands. My hands shook. When I tried to push him away and sit up, I flailed like a fish out of water.

“Taine…” I gasped.

Dworkin jerked, spilling the brandy all over us both.

“What?” he demanded. “What did you say?”

I took a deep breath and summoned my strength. Raising one hand, I pushed him away. My limbs felt numb and weak, like all the blood had drained from my body and been replaced with lead. Rolling over onto my hands and knees took intense effort, but I managed it.

The room swayed dangerously. Grasping the edge of the closest table, I stood.

“Where… ?” I tried to ask. It came out more or less right.

“Give yourself time to recover, my boy,” he said. “You went through a difficult test.”

I frowned. “Yes… I… remember.”

As I sat on the edge of the table, trying to recover my sense of balance, he pressed the cup into my hands. Gingerly I took another sip.

“I know what I did was… difficult for you. But it had to be done.”

“What… had to be done?” I levered myself up on my elbows, sick and dizzy inside.

“I looked within you, within your essence. Turned you inside out, saw what needed to be seen, then put you back together.”

“My head hurts.” Groaning a little, I pressed my eyes shut and rubbed them. What felt like thousands of little needles piercing my skull resolved itself into the sort of headache I’d only had after a night of cheap rot-gut and too many women.

“Oberon…” He hesitated.

I forced open my eyes and gazed blearily up at him.

“You said something just now. It sounded like a name.”

“Taine,” I said, remembering my dream.

“What about him?”

“He’s hurt.”

“Where?”

“It was just a nightmare.” I shook my head. “I can barely recall it.”

“Try,” he urged. “Taine… you saw him?”

“Yes… in—in a tower made of bones, I think.” I frowned, trying to recall the details. “I heard a voice… a serpent’s voice. They had Taine on an altar.”

“They? Who are they?”

“The guards… hell-creatures… but not like the ones in Ilerium…”

“And Taine was alive? You are sure of it?”

“Yes. I think… they needed his blood for something… it dripped up!”

“Go on.” He spoke softly. “What were they doing with his blood?”

“I don’t know…”

“Think! It is important! Try to remember!”

I half closed my eyes, trying to see the tower in my mind’s eye, blood dripping into the air. “They were looking for us, I believe. I saw Juniper in a window made of blood… I think.”

I shook my head, the dream-images slipping away, elusive as will-o’-the-wisps. In another minute they would be gone.

Dworkin sank back on his heels. “Blood drips toward the sky in the Courts of Chaos,” he said numbly. “You have never been there. You could not possibly know…”

“It couldn’t have been real,” I said.

“I think it was. And if you saw Taine… then he is alive! That is good news. I had given up hope.”

“Better off dead, from the look of him.”

“All the children of Chaos heal fast and well. If we can find him… if we can rescue him—”

“Do you think that’s possible?”

“I will see.”

“And the Logrus!” I said, levering myself up with my elbows. I felt a rising sense of excitement at the prospect of traversing it. “How soon can we go there?”

He hesitated.

“What is it?” I demanded. “You said it was my birthright. You said King Uthor couldn’t deny me my chance to go through it.”

“Oberon… the news is bad. You cannot use the Logrus. Not now. Not ever.”

“No!” Anger and outrage surged through me. I’d spent my whole life being denied. Denied a father. Denied a family. Denied all that should have been mine. I had no intention of missing out again. I would master the Logrus, even if I had to borrow one of Aber’s magical Trumps and go to the Courts of Chaos on my own.

“Listen to me,” he said urgently. “The pattern within you is wrong, somehow. It is more distorted than mine… so crooked, I almost did not recognize it.”

“So?” I said. His news meant nothing to me.

“You cannot enter the Logrus. It would destroy you, as it destroyed my brother, as it almost destroyed Freda and me. You would die, Oberon.”

I looked away. My headache returned with a vengeance, little knives piercing the inside my skull.

“So that’s it, then?” I said. I felt like he had kicked my legs out from under me. “There’s nothing you can do? No way you can fix it, somehow? Make it work?”

“I am sorry, my boy.” His eyes grew distant, thoughtful. “Unless…”

“Unless what?” I demanded. If he had any idea, any plan that might help me, I would have seized upon it.

But Dworkin simply sighed and shook his head. “No. It was a crazy thought, best left unspoken. You must be content with who and what you are. If nothing else, that may keep you alive. I know it gives you small comfort now, but perhaps it is a blessing in disguise. Put all thoughts of the Logrus behind you. There is nothing else we can do for now.”

For now. That still hinted of plans for the future, I thought. Plans which, it seemed, he had no intention of sharing with me. At least, not yet.

“Very well,” I said. I had a blinding pain behind both of my eyes, like twin needles pushing into my brain. I didn’t feel up to fighting with him about the Logrus. There would be time enough for that later.

Let him think I’d given up. I’d ask Aber about it later. My new-found brother seemed eager to volunteer information. If another way existed to get to the Logrus, or to have it imprinted on my mind, he might well know of it. Too many of Dworkin’s lies had been exposed for me to blindly trust him now, when he said the Logrus would kill me. For all I knew, he’d made it up to keep his control over me.

I considered the evidence. First, my childhood face-changing game… no one else I knew had been able to do that. And what about my great strength? I was two or three times stronger than any normal man. Or the speed of my reflexes—the quickness with which I healed—? If the pattern inside me came out so distorted, why had I been able to do all these things?

No, I thought, everything added up to more than Dworkin wanted to admit. I already had a measure of power over the Logrus—small as it was compared to everyone else’s. Judging from all these little signs, the Logrus within me worked just fine.

But what if he’s right? a small voice at the back of my head asked. What if I can’t master the Logrus? What if this is as much magic as I’ll ever have?

I didn’t like the thought.

“Take my arm,” he said.

With his help, I made it to the chair without falling. My head still swam, but not like before. A clarity had come over me, a sense of warmth and well-being. Probably from the brandy, I thought.

He moved to refill my cup, and I didn’t stop him. I drank it in a single gulp. After a moment’s hesitation, he filled the cup again, and again I drained it all.

A warm glow spread down my throat and into my belly. I pressed my eyes shut, turned away, tried to envision Taine on the altar’s slab and failed. My dream or vision or whatever it had been had left me.

“You’ve had enough brandy,” he said.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. That was a mistake; waves of nausea engulfed me again. “I haven’t had enough yet—not by far. I feel like I need a good three-day drunk.”

“Do not feel bad about the Logrus, my boy,” he said, patting my shoulder. “You grew up without it. You will not miss what you have never had.”

“Won’t I?” A wild fury came over me. My mind was racing, cataloging every sin he’d ever committed against me, and the words just poured out. “Do you know what it’s like, growing up in Ilerium without a father? Yes, you were there, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t real. When my mother died in the Scarlet Plague and you simply disappeared—do you know how alone that left me? You cannot imagine it. No father or mother or brothers and sisters. No uncles or aunts, no cousins. No one. Now, ten years later, you magically sweep back in and expect everything to be perfect because, oh yes, you really are my father, and my whole life up till now had been a lie!”

“Oberon…” he whispered. He took a step back, face ashen.

“It’s the truth!” I yelled. My whole body quivered with rage. “And now… after you’ve shown me all these wonders… told me about the Logrus and the powers that should be mine… now you tell me I’ll never have them! And never miss what I’ve never known!”

“I—” he began.

I drowned him out. “I never knew my father, and I missed him. I never knew a real family, and I missed it. I never knew my brothers and sisters, and I missed them every day of my childhood. Every time I saw other children, it reminded me of what I lacked. Don’t tell me I won’t miss what I’ve never had—I know the truth!”

“Perhaps I deserve that,” he said heavily. His shoulders slumped; he seemed old… old and tired and beaten. In that moment, he looked every day of his two hundred years of age.

A pang of guilt touched me, but I pushed it away. He was the one who should feel guilty, I told myself. He was the one who had lied to me, denied me a normal childhood, and now planned to deny me everything else.

I had lived too long in Shadow. Never again. I would not be denied my birthright.

Whatever it took, whatever it cost, I would master the Logrus. I vowed it to myself.

Distantly, I heard a bell toll.

“Time for dinner,” Dworkin said softly. Then with a touch of almost bitter irony, looking up into my eyes, he added, “Time for you to meet the rest of our happy little family.”

Chapter 10

To my displeasure, I needed Dworkin’s steadying touch on my arm to navigate the corridors. Luckily, by the time we reached the dining hall, much of my strength had returned. We paused outside, looking at each other, and I shrugged his hand away.

“I suppose I should thank you,” I said bitterly. Silence stretched uncomfortably between us.

“You cannot help your nature,” he said simply. “You were always a rebellious child, never content.”

“You make me sound ambitious. I’m not. I only want what should by rights be mine.”

“I know,” he said, “and I do not blame you, my boy. It is a lot for me to ask… but try to fit in, and try to be a part of this family. I know it will be difficult—none of us is perfect, me least of all. But… we are all worth the effort. I have to believe that. It keeps me going.”

“Very well,” I said. “I’ll… try. For now.”

“Thank you.”

Turning, he pushed the door open and we entered the dining hall—a large oak-paneled room with a crystal chandelier over the table. Logs blazed, snapping and popping cheerfully, in the fireplace against the far wall, and they took the dampness and chill from the air.

The table had been set for fifteen, though only ten had arrived so far: Freda, Aber, Pella, Blaise, and six others—four men and two women. All twisted in their seats to stare as I came in. Aber grinned happily and waved.

I forced myself to smile and gave the whole table a polite, “Hello.” No sense letting them know how I felt right now; our problems should stay private between Dworkin and me. Freda’s warning echoed in my mind: trust none of them. If any of the others found out what had happened between us in Dworkin’s workshop, they might try to use it against me. No matter how I felt about my father, I wouldn’t allow that to happen.

Locke and Davin I recognized from their Trumps, and from seeing them in the courtyard earlier that day. And, of course, I’d already spoken with Freda, Pella, Blaise, and Aber. The other four were strangers. As I looked over my siblings, I noticed again that all bore a striking resemblance to Dworkin… and to me.

“This is Oberon,” Dworkin said heavily. He started to put a hand on my shoulder, hesitated, let it drop to his side. I caught Freda pursing her lips—she’d noticed, and she didn’t like the tension between us.

“I’m pleased to be here,” I said in even tones. Be bland, be harmless, I told myself. One of them may be trying to kill me—I wouldn’t let on that I knew. “I hope we’ll all grow to be friends as well as family.”

That got a snort of derision from Locke, which he tried to hide behind a quick cough. I gave him a cool appraisal as if to say: I know your type. You will not get to me.

Dworkin did a quick round of introductions, starting with my half-brothers: Locke, of course, tall and stout, with a full black beard and a brooding expression; Davin, a year or two younger than me and slender as a reed, smooth-cheeked and serious; Titus and Conner, clearly identical twins, both as short as our father and both with his eyes and wary expressions; and Fenn, who was taller than Dworkin but not as tall as me, with blue eyes and a hesitant but honestly welcoming smile, Aber came last; he gave me a quick grin.

I nodded and smiled at each in turn. Be calm and polite, reveal nothing, I reminded myself.

As for my half-sisters, I had already met Freda, Pella, and Blaise. That left Isadora and Syara, as alike as two peas in a pod: reddish hair, pale complexions, broad cheeks and eyes, and the slender figures of goddesses. Clearly both shared the same mother. Had we not been related, I would have lusted after them. As it was, I could now only admire them from afar as objects of feminine perfection.

“I want you at my right hand tonight,” Dworkin said to me, starting for the head of the table. “We have a lot of catching up to do. Locke, slide down for Oberon.”

Locke tried to hide his annoyance as he rose to make room for me. Luckily the seat next to his was vacant. As the eldest son, clearly he was used to the place of honor next to our father, and clearly he resented my taking it. So much for our getting off to a good start. If he truly feared my replacing him, as Aber claimed, this would only feed his paranoia.

I gave a mental sigh; surely he would realize that I couldn’t control our father’s whims. And, I had to admit, it seemed only natural for me to sit next to him tonight, on my first evening in Juniper.

“Locke, you may have my seat,” Freda said, rising. She had the place to Dworkin’s left.

“Are you sure?” he asked. To my surprise, he seemed hesitant. I would have expected him to leap at the chance… though perhaps he knew Freda’s motives too well and expected to pay some later price for her favor.

“You and Father need to talk about military matters,” she said with a dismissive wave. “I will sit next to Oberon tonight. I think it best.”

“All right. If you want it so.”

Locke still looked a bit puzzled, but he traded places with her quickly, before she could change her mind. Being one seat closer to our father seemed important to him. I reminded myself that he had grown up knowing his noble heritage… and playing politics in the Courts of Chaos. Perhaps having the right seat at dinner was important, and I simply didn’t have sense enough to realize it. I definitely would have preferred a spot at the far end of the table next to Aber.

I glanced at my father. Better to sit with a friend, even in exile, than with an enemy. No, I had to correct myself, not an enemy. A tired old man, sad and out of his element. Dworkin wasn’t meant for war, I realized suddenly, thinking of his workshop and all his experiments. He should never have been head of our family… he should have been tinkering and building and playing with his toys.

And I knew, then, why Locke commanded the army instead of him. Everything—our family, our plight—began to make sense in that context. Dworkin was weak, and our enemy had to believe we made easy prey. Weakness had often been the cause of war, I knew from my studies of Ilerium’s history… and the history of the Fifteen Kingdoms, which had once numbered twenty-seven before conquest and consolidation had dwindled their number.

Try as they might, Locke and Davin would not be able to win this war, which clearly had already begun. And from the look of things, we were far outclassed.

I gave Freda a sad little smile as she sat to my right.

“You’re looking particularly lovely this evening,” I told her sincerely.

She all but preened, smoothing her dress and looking entirely pleased. “Thank you, Oberon. You cleaned up rather well yourself.”

“Thanks to you, dear sister. You sent the barber up, didn’t you?”

“Me? No—it was probably Anari.”

“Probably,” I said blandly. I took a glance around the table to see if my mentioning Ivinius’s visit had gotten a reaction, but apparently it hadn’t. Side conversations had sprung up, and only Locke and Freda and our father were paying attention to me—Locke pretending not to, of course, but I could tell he took in every word as a man too long in the desert takes in water.

I chatted amiably enough with all of them over the first course, a cold creamy soup made with some kind of yellow pumpkin, telling one and all a bit about my childhood in Ilerium. And, in turn, I learned more about them.

Dworkin certainly had been busy over his 200 years. Almost all of them had different mothers on different Shadows. Most had been raised with the knowledge that they were children of Chaos, and all had gone through the Logrus in the Courts of Chaos except for me. I felt a pang whenever they mentioned it.

Freda must have sensed it, for she touched my arm and murmured, “Your turn will come,” she murmured. “You must have patience.”

Patience… I’d had too much of that already. So I simply smiled a little sadly and made no reply: little sense in letting them know my bitter news just yet, I thought.

I did find out some interesting facts. Locke turned out to be more than eighty years old—though he looked no more than thirty. Our whole family aged quite slowly, it seemed, which explained not only Dworkin’s condition despite his advanced age, but how he had managed to sire so many offspring. He had left more than a few women—or had them leave him, as with Locke’s mother, a Lady of Chaos—but most had been normal humans found on Shadows such as my own. They had died of old age while he remained young and hearty.

And at least twice Freda hinted that time moved at different speeds in different places. A year in the Courts of Chaos might well be two or five or ten years on other Shadows.

It was Aber who broached the question I had hoped to avoid. “So, Dad,” he said happily, and I could tell he thought he was helping me, which made it all the more painful. “How soon will Oberon go through the Logrus?”

“Never,” Dworkin said flatly. No tact there, just a sharp and unpleasant truth.

I looked down, studying the tablecloth, fingering my napkin. Never. It had a final ring.

“What!” Aber sounded honestly shocked. “But not even King Uthor can deny Oberon his birthright. He must gain power over Shadow!”

Dworkin shook his head. “Though he is my son, Oberon does not carry the Logrus within him. It is so distorted, it has become nearly unrecognizable. He cannot try the Logrus… ever. It would destroy him, as it destroyed my brother Darr.”

Chapter 11

Utter silence followed. I took a quick glance down the length of the table. To a one, my every half-brother and half-sister, even Locke, had a look of stunned disbelief on his or her face. They took their magical powers for granted, I realized. That one of their own might be unable to use them—unbelievable!

And yet it was true. Despite my anger and hurt and earlier denial, I could find no reason for Dworkin to lie to me. If anything, he needed me to go through the Logrus… needed another strong son to help defend Juniper. Clearly such a task now lay beyond my meager, mortal abilities.

“How can that be?” Freda finally asked, looking troubled. “Anyone born of Chaos carries the Logrus within. It is a part of our very essence. You have said it yourself many times over, Father.”

Dworkin said, “He does carry it… only it has gone wrong within him.” Slowly shaking his head, he regarded me thoughtfully. “I do not know why or how, but the problems we have all had—except of course you, Locke—with the Logrus are so much the worse in him.”

“But to forbid him from ever trying the Logrus!” Aber protested. “That has never been done before!”

“I did not forbid him,” Dworkin said sharply. “I said it would kill him.”

“It is the same thing,” I said.

“Perhaps the problem is simpler than you realize,” Locke said, leaning back and regarding me with a half taunting, half triumphant smile. He clearly scented my blood and was moving in for the kill, the strong attacking the weak. “Perhaps his mother whored around on you. It wouldn’t be the first time we had a bastard in the family.”

I rose from my chair smoothly and silently. “Take that back,” I said, voice cold as a grave, “while you still can.” If I’d had my sword, I would have drawn it.

“Oberon! Sit!” Dworkin barked. “Locke, apologize.”

My nerves stretched toward their breaking point. Nobody had ever insulted my mother and lived. If not for Dworkin, I would have leaped across the table and twisted Locke’s head off with my bare hands—brother or not.

Instead of responding, my half-brother slowly tilted his chair back on the rear two legs and grinned mockingly at me. “The pup thinks he has teeth.”

My voice was hard. “More than enough to rip your throat out.”

He shrugged, “My apologies, brother.” I noticed how he emphasized the word, like he doubted its truth. “I chose my words with insufficient care. I meant—”

So softly I almost missed it, Freda hissed, “Shut up, Locke, or I will make you wish you had. This is dinner.”

Locke glanced at her, looked away, didn’t finish. Clearly he didn’t fear me. But could he be afraid of Freda?

She touched my hand softly. “Sit, Oberon. Please.”

It was not a command, but a soft, kind suggestion, and somehow it took the fight out of me. I let out my breath and did as she instructed.

Pointedly, she said, “Bickering is forbidden at dinner, as our brother knows.” And her voice carried the same insulting inflection Locke had used.

In that instant I discovered I liked her even more than I had known.

“Thank you,” Dworkin said to Freda. He cleared his throat. “Now, where was I?”

Dutifully picking up my spoon, I returned to my soup. I wasn’t really hungry anymore, but I couldn’t let Locke know he’d spoiled the meal for me.

“Oberon is my son,” Dworkin said with conviction. “I have known it since the day he was born. And my tests here today proved it. The problem lies with the Logrus… it is a damnable mystery still, even to me. Its pattern is within Oberon—without any doubt, it is there—but some trick of fate, or our family’s poor degenerate blood, has distorted its pattern in him more than in the rest of us. That is the true and only answer.”

Silence stretched again. My siblings stared at the table or the walls or went back to their soups, now and then glancing furtively at each other or Dworkin—anywhere but at me.

“Well done, Locke!” Aber finally said after more than a few awkward minutes had passed. He began clapping. “That’s the way to make a new-found brother feel at home and brighten up the dinner conversation.”

“Shut up!” Locke growled at him.

Then Freda began clapping, then Blaise and Pella, then most of the others. Dworkin threw back his head and howled with laughter.

I stared from one to another, bewildered. This was hardly the reaction I would have expected.

Locke glared around the table, gaze settling first on Aber then me, but he must have remembered Freda’s threat because he said nothing. Instead, rising, he threw down his napkin and stalked from the room.

“Send up my meal,” he called to one of the servants. “I prefer to eat with civilized company—alone!”

If anything, the applause grew louder.

“First time that’s ever happened,” Aber said brightly, the moment Locke was safely out of earshot. “Can’t say it will hurt the dinner conversation.”

He picked up his bowl and spoon and made a big show of moving to Locke’s former place. As he settled in, he gave me a quick wink.

“Hey!” he said to everyone down at the other end of the table. “The food tastes better up here!”

That got a laugh… from everyone except Davin, who sat next to him. He was Locke’s right-hand man, I reminded myself. Clearly he took that position seriously. He frowned, and I half expected him to rise and leave, too, in a show of solidarity… but he didn’t.

Then he glanced at me, and I recognized the look in his eyes.

It wasn’t hate or mistrust.

It was pity.

They now had a cripple in their midst, I realized suddenly. They could all work wonders like Dworkin. All travel through Shadow-worlds, summon weapons from great distances, contact each other with magical Trumps, and only the gods knew what else.

And now they pitied me, like the soldier who had lost his sword-arm in battle and would never fight again, or the scribe who had gone blind from too much reading. They pitied me because I would never share our family’s one great gift… the Logrus.

As I looked across their faces, not one of them met my gaze. They all felt the same way, I saw. Only Freda and Aber seemed willing to accept me as I was.

Freda was patting my arm.

“You do not need the Logrus,” she said. “It almost killed Father and me, you know. I lay unconscious for nearly a month after I completed it.”

“Oh?” That interested me.

“It is supposed to be a family problem.” She lowered her voice so only I could hear. “Locke had the least trouble. Poor breeding, if you ask me. Dad had him by his first wife, a Lady of Chaos—an arranged marriage, you know, well before he inherited his title. The biggest mistake he ever made was falling in love with her; he said it a hundred times if he’s said it once.”

I forced a chuckle.

“Thank you,” I told her softly. “It helps to have a friend.”

“None of us is truly your friend,” she said softly, but in an almost wistful tone. “Trust no one, but love us anyway, even Locke, since we are family. Betrayal is our nature and we cannot change, none of us.”

I regarded her curiously, thinking of Ivinius. Could this be a confession? Or just the bittersweet words of a woman who had been hurt too often by those around her?

“You’re too much of a pessimist,” I finally said. “I prefer to think of everyone as a friend until it’s proved otherwise.”

“You are naive, dear Oberon.”

“I’ve been disappointed in the past… but I have also been pleasantly surprised.”

She smiled. “You do not truly know us. Soon… too soon, I fear, you will.” She patted my arm again. “You do have a good heart. I admire that. Now finish your soup.”

I took a few more spoonfuls to satisfy her, but I didn’t enjoy them. Mostly I wanted to be alone now… to think things through, to reconsider the day’s events. So much had happened, and so quickly, that I could barely take it in.

Locke’s departure had definitely lightened the mood around the table, though. Small conversations resumed around us, and the next course came right on schedule: braised pheasant, or a game bird close enough to pheasant that it didn’t matter, accompanied by spicy roasted potatoes and strange yellow vegetables the size of walnuts that tasted, somehow, like fresh salmon.

I ate slowly, eavesdropping on the chatter around me: Davin telling Titus and Conner about a new horse he had broken to saddle. Blaise telling Pella and Isadora about a kitchen scandal involving the pastry chef and a pair of scullery maids; apparently she’s just heard it from one of the seamstresses, who had gotten it straight from the herb gardener. Aber and Freda talked about new Trumps that Aber planned to paint. And Dworkin… Dad… looked down across us all and smiled like the benevolent ruler he so desperately wanted to be.

Almost pointedly, nobody discussed me… or so much as looked in my direction. Being ignored hurt almost as much as being insulted.

Oberon the weak.

Oberon the cripple.

Oberon the doomed-to-be-powerless.

There must be an answer, I thought. Maybe Dworkin—Dad, I corrected myself—had made a mistake. Maybe a true version of the Logrus did exist somewhere within me, only he hadn’t seen it. Maybe…

No. I couldn’t give in to wishful thinking. I forced all thoughts of the Logrus from my mind. After all, I told myself, I’d spent my whole life with no knowledge of it or the powers it bestowed. For years I’d relied on my wits and the strength of my arm. I didn’t need Dworkin’s tricks, nor magic cards nor spells, just a good sword and a sturdy horse.

As servants cleared our plates in preparation for the next course, Dad leaned back in his seat and focused his gaze on Davin.

“How are the new recruits working out?” he asked.

At last something I knew, I thought, leaning forward and regarding Davin with interest. Hopefully Locke managed troops better than he managed relations within our family.

“As well as can be expected,” Davin said. He gave a short report, mentioning company names like “Eagles” and “Bears” and “Wolves,” none of which meant anything to me. A company could have been anything from a hundred to a thousand men, depending on how it had been set up.

The report seemed to satisfy Dad, though. I also liked what I heard. Locke and Davin seemed to have a solid grasp of military matters. From the sound of things, their newest recruits had begun to pull together into an able combat force and would be ready to join the rest of the troops in just a few weeks.

“How many men are under your command?” I asked Davin, hoping to win a few points with him by showing an interest. Perhaps he could use whatever influence he had with Locke to put us on better terms.

“Nearly two hundred thousand,” he said off-handedly. “Give us another year and we will have half a million… the finest force ever assembled, if I do say so myself.”

“We may not have a year,” Dworkin said.

“Did you say—two hundred thousand?” The number shocked me.

“Well, a few thousand more, actually,” Davin said with a little shrug. “I haven’t seen the latest figures yet. More keep arriving all the time.”

“Where are they coming from?” I wasn’t sure all of Ilerium had that many able-bodied fighting men.

“Oh, far and wide.” He met my gaze. “We recruit from a dozen Shadows, including some where we are worshipped as gods. They are eager to join.”

“I would have guessed fifteen or twenty thousand men in total,” I said, thinking back to the size of the camp around the castle. Their numbers made King Elnar’s fight against the hell-creatures look like an alley brawl in comparison. “Where do you keep them all quartered?”

“There are additional companies stationed to the north and east of Juniper. We only have so much space around the castle, after all.”

“With a tenth that many,” I mused aloud, “it would be a simple matter to drive the hell-creatures from Ilerium once and for all…”

Davin brayed with laughter. I flushed, realizing how ridiculous that must have sounded to him. Ilerium was but one world amidst all the Shadows cast by the Courts of Chaos, meaningless to anyone except me… and well beyond the concern of anyone else at this table. Never mind that I had spent the last twenty years there, and that I had dedicated my life to serving my king and my country.

And never mind that those vows still weighed on me.

“With you gone,” Dworkin reminded me in gentle tones, “the enemy no longer has any reason to attack Ilerium. They will leave it alone to concentrate on other battles.”

“Like here,” I said, realizing the truth. “That’s why you’ve brought all these soldiers to Juniper, isn’t it. You’re getting ready for an attack.”

“Very good!” Davin said in lightly mocking tones, a pale imitation of Locke now. “Give the man a prize.”

I gave a shrug and did not bother to reply. Sometimes it’s better to say nothing. Locke had taken an instant dislike to me, and Davin had obviously taken his cue and done the same. Even so, I hoped they both might eventually be won over as allies—perhaps even as friends—with some effort on my part.

I said, “Two hundred thousand men… all fully trained? Armed and armored? Ready for battle?”

Davin smiled. “That’s right. We’ve been preparing them for a year now.”

I frowned. “The logistics of keeping such a force—the food supply alone, not to mention the costs! How is it possible? Juniper looks well off, but surely it can’t support a standing army of such size for long!”

“All we need is taken from Shadow,” Davin said with a grand wave of his arm. “We’re worshipped as gods on countless thousands of worlds. People are happy to tithe us all we need—food, weapons, gold, jewels. Everything.”

“But why so many? Do we really need two hundred thousand men? Or half a million? How many hell-creatures do you expect will attack?”

Freda said, “If we command this many, so too may other Lords of Chaos. They have had longer to prepare… they might well command more. Perhaps millions more.”

I found the numbers incredible. That my family could sustain a force of two hundred thousand, let alone train and manage it, spoke greatly of their general competence in such matters.

Dworkin said, “An attack is coming, and soon. Freda has seen it.”

“In her cards?”

I glanced at her, and she gave a little nod.

“Soon,” she said.

“Oberon has given me some good news, though,” Dworkin said happily. “Taine is alive.”

There were exclamations all around the table.

“How? Where?” Freda demanded.

I took a minute to tell them of my dream or vision or whatever it had been—the few details I could still recall, anyway. Dworkin had to remind me of several key points as I stumbled through the narrative.

“Are you certain it was real?” Davin asked me, sounding more than a little skeptical.

“No, I’m not,” I said. I had more than a few doubts myself. “I have no experience in such things.”

Dworkin said, “Remember, Oberon has never been to the Courts of Chaos. He had never even heard of it before today. In his dream, however, the blood flowed up. That is a detail he could not have guessed or imagined. I believe his vision is true. Somewhere, somehow, Taine is still alive.”

“Indeed,” Freda said.

Davin looked thoughtful suddenly and regarded me with what I thought was a new-found respect.

“The question now,” he said, “is what do we do? How can we rescue Taine?”

“Perhaps his Trump…” Aber said.

Freda shook her head. “I have tried that too many times now. He cannot be reached.”

“When was the last time?” I asked.

She thought carefully before replying. “Perhaps two weeks ago.”

“It never hurts to try again,” Dworkin said. “Perhaps, knowing he is alive, you will have a better chance of reaching him.”

“I will try,” she said, “as soon as dinner is over. We should all try.”

There were murmurs of agreement from all present. It seemed they all had Trumps depicting Taine and could use them.

I felt a measure of pride. Perhaps I was more than a cripple after all. Maybe I had my own form of magic to fall back upon… visions that showed more than Freda’s Trumps.

Servants began bringing in platters bearing the next course—cubes of beef, nicely pink and steaming, artfully arranged with waxy looking yellow-and-red striped beans. Unfortunately, as delicious as it looked, I found my appetite completely gone. A restlessness came over me, a need to get up and do something active rather than sit and wait for the meal to end.

Pointedly, I stifled a yawn.

“If you don’t mind,” I said to Dworkin, “I’d like to retire. Everything I’ve been through today is starting to catch up with me. I’m going to fall asleep in this chair if I don’t get some rest.”

“Off you go, then.” He made shooing motions with his fork. “Pleasant dreams, my boy. I will send for you again tomorrow. There are still a few matters we must discuss.”

“Yes, Dad,” I said, rising.

Freda, Aber, and all the rest—even Davin—bade me good night. They all had interesting expressions on their faces: not so much pity, now, as a kind of awe or wonder. I might not be able to walk the Logrus as they had done, but it seemed I shared at least some of their powers. Dworkin had been right to show it off before them. This way they wouldn’t dismiss me outright, the way Locke had done.

I strode out into the corridor, pausing only long enough to get my bearings. Although exhaustion really did threaten to overwhelm me, I knew I had work to do: Ivinius’s body remained hidden behind that tapestry. I had to dispose of it without being seen.

Instead of going back to my rooms, however, I decided to explore the castle a bit more. There might be a safe, easy passage out—I just had to find it.

Unfortunately, every way I turned, I found more servants moving on errands or scrubbing the floors or changing candles or filling reserves in oil lamps. The castle’s staff had to number in the hundreds.

I passed one of the guard rooms Aber had pointed out earlier that afternoon. Through the open door, it looked like any of a hundred guard rooms I’d seen over the years—a rack of swords against the far wall, armor and shields on wooden pegs, a table and plenty of sturdy chairs.

At the moment, three guards sat at the table throwing dice. Unfortunately, the one facing the door recognized me—the moment he saw my face, he leaped to his feet.

“Lord!” he cried. He saluted, and the other two shoved back their chairs and did the same.

“Please, continue with your game.” I gave a polite wave, then strolled on. No need to involve them; they were probably off duty and unwinding from a long day’s work.

Kitchens… servants’ quarters… the still-guarded corridor by Dad’s workshop… the main hall… everywhere I went, I found people. Lots of people. And all seemed to recognize me. Clearly, I thought with some frustration, getting Ivinius out of Juniper would not be as easy as I’d hoped.

Then I remembered Aber’s gift—my own set of Trumps. I could make them work on my own—after all, I had been able to contact my brother earlier from Dworkin’s horseless carriage. Perhaps I could use one now to get rid of Ivinius’s body. Frowning, I tried to recall all their pictures. I had barely glanced at them—but hadn’t one showed a forest glade with Juniper in the distance? That would be perfect, I thought.

Excited now, I hurried back up to my rooms. The hinges squeaked when I entered. Servants had lit an oil lamp on the writing table, but everything else looked just as I had left it: my sword across the back of one of the chairs, the stand and washbasin beside the now-dark windows, the desk shoved up against the wall, its paper, ink, and blotters all in slight disarray.

The carved wooden box containing my set of Trumps sat atop the stack of unused towels on the tray atop the washstand.

Feeling a growing sense of elation, I opened the little box and pulled out my stack of Trumps. They felt cool and hard as ivory in my hands. Slowly, one by one, I leafed through them. Portraits came first: Aber… Locke… Pella… Blaise… Freda…

Yes—there was the one I needed! With a trembling hand, I drew forth the card I had half remembered. It showed a dark forest glade, lush grass underfoot, trees all around, with Juniper’s towers just visible in the distance. This seemed an ideal place to dump a body… far enough from Juniper to be safe from any immediate discovery. Let Ivinius’s masters try to figure out what had happened to him!

Card in hand, I started for the sitting room. Then I stopped myself. How would I get back after I’d disposed of the body? I gave a chuckle. I was catching on to this game of Trumps—I would need one to bring me safely home.

I returned to my set of cards, selected the one that I had confiscated from Aber, which showed my bedroom, and only then headed for the sitting room. This would be a fast and simple job using magic, I thought. I would go to the glade, dump the body, and come straight home.

Hurrying now, I swept back the tapestry.

My elation died. I had come back too late.

The body had disappeared.

Chapter 12

A quick search of my suite revealed no sign of Ivinius anywhere. No blood had been spilled, so no tell-tale stains remained. Only the tray with the razors and towels told me he had actually been here… and the ink stain beneath the small carpet, but that could have been spilled any time. It spoke of a clumsy scribe more than of an assassin.

I had no proof now that I’d been attacked, or that he’d been a hell-creature impersonating a servant. Without his body, I’d lost my one clue… and my one slight advantage. Since no alarm had been raised, I assumed either another hell-creature or a traitor in Juniper had come searching for him, discovered his body, and spirited it off.

I frowned. I hadn’t seen a single empty hallway or corridor all the way back to my rooms from dinner. Someone could have snuck into my rooms by normal means—it only took a moment of turned backs to slip through my unlocked door. But anyone smuggling out a body would have encountered witnesses. Clearly the body had been removed by other, perhaps even magical means. A Trump? It seemed likely.

And a Trump meant one of us… one of my half-brothers or half-sisters…

But which one?

Puzzled, annoyed, and more than slightly frightened by the implications, I carefully bolted my doors, checked the windows (there didn’t seem to be any way short of flying to get to my balcony from the balconies to either side), and I moved my sword to within easy reach of the bed.

Only then did I undress and crawl between the sheets.

Exhaustion surged like an ocean tide. I was asleep almost before my head hit the pillow.

Polite knocking has never been the way to rouse me in the morning, nor softly called invitations to breakfast. As with all soldiers, I liked to sleep the same way as I ate, fought, and bedded my women—heartily, fully, deeply. Trumpets sounding a call to arms, or the clash of swords, are the only things that stir my blood in the early hours. Otherwise, as my men had found out over the years, it’s best to let me be.

It should have surprised no one, then, that I scarcely heard the knocking, or the politely incessant “Lord? Lord Oberon?” that followed from the hallway when I refused to be awakened.

When someone threw back the curtains and bright sunlight flooded the room, I half opened one eye, saw it was only Aber, rolled over, and continued to snore.

“Oberon!” he called. “Wakee wakee!”

I opened my eyes to slits and glared at him. Hands on his hips, my half brother gazed down at me with a bemused expression. Behind him, in the doorway to my bedchamber, stood a clump of anxious servants in castle livery.

“I thought I bolted the door!” I said.

“Dad wants to see you. The servants have been trying to rouse you for half an hour. Finally they came and got me.”

“Why didn’t they say something?”

Growling a little, I threw back the covers and sat up, naked. A couple of the women hurried from the doorway, blushing. Anari hurried forward with a robe which turned out to be several sizes too large—but it would do, I shrugged it on.

Then I noticed a Trump in Aber’s hand… and plucked it from his grasp before he could object.

“Aha!” I said. A miniature portrait of my antechamber, done just like the one I had confiscated yesterday. “I knew I locked the door last night!”

He laughed. “Well, how else do you think I’d get in?”

“You told me you didn’t have any more Trumps of my rooms!”

“No,” he said with a grin, “I didn’t. I told you I didn’t have any more of your bedroom. This one isn’t of your bedroom, is it?”

“A fine distinction,” I grumbled. He looked entirely too pleased with himself. Served me right for not being specific enough, though I didn’t appreciate the service. Clearly I needed to do a better job of watching out for my own interests. “I’ll hang onto this one, too. Do you have any other Trumps of my rooms? Any of them?”

“Hundreds!” He tapped his head. “I keep them up here.”

I snorted. “Make sure they stay there. I don’t like people sneaking up on me!”

“Oh, all right.” He sighed. “You’re no fun.”

Yawning, I stretched the kinks from my muscles. “Now what were you saying? Dad wants to see me?”

“Yes.” Aber folded his arms. “You’ll find things run much more smoothly when you stick to his schedule. Rise early in the morning, stay up late at night, and try to catch a nap in the afternoon if time allows.”

“Lord,” said Anari, “I have found you a valet and taken the liberty of preparing your schedule for today.”

Schedule? I didn’t like the sound of that.

“Go on,” I said.

Anari motioned toward the doorway, and a young man of perhaps thirteen or so dashed forward and bowed to me.

“This is my great-grandson, Horace,” Anari said. “He will serve you well.”

“I’m sure,” I said. I gave Horace a brief nod. He had Anari’s features, but black hair to the old man’s white. “Pleased to have you, Horace.”

“Thank you, Lord!” He looked relieved.

“Call me Oberon,” I told him.

“Yes, Lord Oberon!”

“No, just Oberon. Or Lord.”

“Yes… Oberon… Lord.” He seemed hesitant at such familiarity. Well, he would get used to it soon enough. I needed a valet, not a toady.

Anari said, “The castle tailors will be here after breakfast. They will prepare clothing to your tastes. After that, lunch. You will be fitted for armor in the afternoon… and Lord Davin wishes to accompany you to the stables. He says you need a horse.”

“A peace offering?” I asked Aber.

“Who understands them?” he said with a shrug. “I don’t.”

I didn’t care; I did need a horse.

“It sounds fine,” I said to Anari. “But all must wait until after I see my father.”

“Of course.”

Horace was already making himself useful, laying out clothes for me—a beautiful white shirt with a stylized lion’s head stitched on the chest in gold thread and dark wine-colored pants that shimmered slightly in the bright morning light. They looked about my size, too… certainly closer than the robe.

“These were Mattus’s,” Aber said. “I don’t think he’d mind if you took them.”

“They’re beautiful.” I ran my hand over the fabric, wondering at the incredible softness and the silky texture, unlike anything I’d ever seen in Ilerium. No one there, not even King Elnar himself, had garments such as these.

“They were made in the Courts of Chaos,” Aber said.

“What’s the secret? Magic?”

“Spider-silk, I believe.”

“Incredible!”

Horace had continued his work while we talked, setting out a wide belt, cape, and gloves in colors to match the pants, plus clean socks and undergarments.

“You know where to find me,” Aber said, starting for the door. “I’ll walk down with you when you’re ready. Don’t dawdle… Dad’s still waiting!”

“And growing more annoyed by the moment, I’m sure,” I added with a smile. “I remember.”

Shaking his head, he left, and the few servants still outside the door followed. Anari started after them, then paused in the doorway to look back.

“Don’t worry,” I told him. “Horace will be fine. I can tell he’s a hard worker. And I’ll watch out for him, you have my word.”

He seemed relieved. “Thank you, Lord Oberon.”

Ten minutes later, I collected Aber from his rooms across the hall and started down for Dad’s workshop. I have always had a fairly good sense of direction, and I unerringly retraced our journey from the previous evening.

As we walked, I asked Aber what had happened at dinner after I left.

“Not much,” he said. “Everyone was too shocked.”

I chuckled. “Shocked? By Taine’s being alive or my being a cripple?”

“A little of both, actually.” He swallowed and wouldn’t meet my gaze. “After dinner—”

“Everyone tried to contact Taine with his Trump,” I guessed. “But it didn’t work.”

“That’s right.”

“So he’s either dead, unconscious, drugged, or protected somehow from your Trumps.”

“That’s how it looks to me.”

We reached Dworkin’s workshop. Two new guards—one of whom I recognized from the dice game in the guardroom—snapped to attention as we passed.

“Is there anything else you can do?” I asked. “Is there any way to just reach through his Trump, grab him whether he’s awake or not, and just drag him through?”

“I wish we could. But Trumps don’t work that way.”

I raised my hand to knock on the workshop door, but it swung open for me. The room blazed with light. I couldn’t see Dworkin for a moment—but then I spotted him on the other side of the room. He hadn’t opened the door, but there didn’t seem to be anyone else present. Ghosts? No—probably just the Logrus again, I realized with a gulp. If he could snatch swords from the other end of the castle, why not open doors from ten feet away?

“Ah, there you are!” Dworkin said. “Come in.”

Disconcerted, I stepped inside.

“Good luck!” Aber said to me, and then the door slammed in his face.

Dworkin sat at a table in a tall-backed wooden chair. The table held a box, and in the box sat what looked like an immense ruby. I must admit I stared at it; I had never seen a jewel of its size before. Surely it belonged to some king… which is what Dworkin probably was in this Shadow.

He chuckled. “Impressive, is it not?”

“Beautiful,” I said. I raised it, studying the carefully faceted sides, which gleamed seductively in the bright light.

“This crystal is special. It holds a replica of the pattern within you.”

“Where did you get it?”

“I… acquired it some time ago. It has unusual properties, one of which may prove useful in your situation. Your Pattern, I now believe, is not a mere distortion of the Logrus after all.”

“Then… you were wrong last night?” I felt a mounting excitement. This might be the answer to my hopes and prayers. “I can walk the Logrus after all?”

“No—that would kill you!”

“But you said—”

“I said your pattern is not a distortion of the Logrus. It is something else… something new. A different pattern.”

I frowned, confused. “How can that be? Isn’t the Logrus responsible for everything… for the Courts of Chaos and all the Shadow worlds?”

“In some ways, perhaps.”

“I don’t understand.” I stared at him blankly.

“Few are the things that cannot be replaced.”

“You mean I really am a cripple. I cannot draw on the Logrus like you do.”

“No!” He threw back his head and laughed. “Exactly the opposite, my boy—you do not need to draw on the Logrus. You have something else to draw upon… your own pattern.”

“My own…” I stared at him dumbly.

“I hold the design of your pattern fixed clearly in my mind now, and it burns with a primal power. You are like that first nameless Lord of Chaos. You hold a pattern—this new pattern—inside you. It is unlike the Logrus! It is a pattern from which whole worlds may spring, once it is traced properly!”

Not the Logrus…

I felt a sudden joy, a boundless euphoria, as I realized what that meant. Perhaps I could master Shadows the way the rest of my family had. I might yet travel between the Shadow worlds and work the wonders I had seen. Suddenly it all lay within my grasp.

And I wanted it more than I had ever wanted anything in my life. More than a father, more than a family, I wanted my heritage… my destiny.

Only—

“Traced properly?” I asked slowly. “What does that mean?”

He hesitated, and I could tell he was trying to find the words to explain it to me.

“I believe the Logrus exists not just inside, but outside the universe as we know it,” he finally said. “The first Lord of Chaos partly traced its shape using his own blood… putting a form to the formless, making it real in a way that it had not been before. It is my belief that when someone of our bloodline passes through it, the Logrus’s pattern is imprinted forever in his mind, enabling him to use it—to draw on its power and move between worlds.”

“I understand,” I said. I’d heard the whole history-of-our-powers speech already. “You said the Logrus wouldn’t work on me… it would destroy me.”

“That is correct. What we must do for you is something similar to what the first Lord of Chaos did… find a way to trace the unique pattern within you, so that your pattern is imprinted on your mind, much the way the Logrus is imprinted on my mind.”

“All right,” I said. It sounded reasonable enough. And yet… something still bothered me.

Dad hesitated.

“You’re leaving something out,” I said accusingly.

“No…”

“Tell me!”

He swallowed. “I have never tried this before. It may work. It should work, if my theories about the Logrus and its nature are correct. But then again… what if I am wrong? What if I have made a mistake?”

“It might kill me,” I said, recognizing what he had been unwilling to say.

“That, or worse. It might destroy your mind, leaving your body little more than an empty shell. Or… it might do nothing at all.”

I didn’t know which would be worse. My hopes had been raised; it had to work. It would work. I had run out of options.

“What are my chances of living?” I asked.

“I cannot guarantee anything, except that I have done my best.”

“Would you do it?” I asked. “Would you risk your own life on tracing this pattern?”

“Yes,” he said simply. No arguments, no explanations, just a single word.

I took a deep breath. This was the moment of truth. I could risk everything and try to gain power unimaginable. Or I could be safe, forever trapped in the world of mortal men.

Could I live with the Lockes of the world sneering at me, pitying me? Could I live with myself if I passed up my one last chance for power?

Only cowards choose the safe path.

I had known what my answer must be even before Dworkin told me of the risk. I wanted power. I wanted magic of my own. After seeing what Dworkin and the rest of my family could do, how could I step back now?

I swallowed hard. “I want to try it.”

Dworkin let out his breath. “I will not fail you, my boy,” he said softly.

He held up the ruby. I gasped as it caught the light, sending flashes of color dancing and slashing around the room.

Holding the jewel higher, at my eye level, I found it glowed with an inner light. I leaned forward, wanting to fall into its center like a moth is called by an open flame.

“Look deep inside,” Dworkin continued. His voice sounded as if he were standing far away. “Fastened within it is a design… an exact tracing of the pattern within you. Gaze upon it, my boy—gaze and let your spirit go!”

A shimmer of red surrounded me. The world receded, and light and shadow began to pulsate rhythmically, shapes and forms seeming to appear, then vanish.

As though from a great distance away, I heard Dworkin’s voice: “Follow the pattern, my boy… let it show you the way…”

I stepped forward.

It was like opening a door and entering a room I never knew existed. The world unfolded around me. Space and time ceased to have meaning. I felt neither breath in my lungs nor the beating of my heart; I simply was. I did not need to breathe, or see, or taste, or touch. When I reached for my wrist, I felt no pulse… I felt nothing at all.

Lights glimmered, moved. Shadows flowed like water.

This isn’t real…

And yet it was. Before me, behind me, to the sides and all around me, I saw the lines of a great pattern. It blazed with a liquid red light, curves and sweeps and switchbacks, like the twisted body of some immense serpent or dragon. It held me transfixed within it, just as I held it within me, and together we balanced perfectly. I felt a calm, a harmony of belonging.

“This way…”

I felt a hand on my shoulder, pushing me on. I took a step.

“Dad?”

“Yes. I am here. I have projected myself inside the jewel, too. Come. Move forward, onto the pattern. Walk its length. I will be withyou…”

I stepped forward, heading for the pattern. This was no mere distortion of the Logrus. It was separate, different, and yet… two parts of some greater whole.

Distantly, as though in a dream, I heard Dad’s voice talking to me. I could not make out the words, but the tone nagged and insisted. I had to do something… go somewhere…

So hard to concentrate. And yet I knew there was something I had to remember… something I had to do…

“Forward,” said the voice. “Do not stop.”

Yes. Forward.

I moved on, into the pattern, following the glowing red light. At first I found it easy, but it grew steadily harder as I progressed, like wading through mud. The light pushed at me, trying to drive me back, but I refused to give up. I thought. I would not stop no matter what happened.

And abruptly the resistance ceased. I moved easily down the trail. The light, clear and brilliant, lit the path. Around the turn, forward—another turn—

The whole of my life flashed before me, but strangely vivid—all the places I’d been, all the people I’d ever met.

My mother—

Swearing to serve King Elnar—

Sword lessons on the town green—

Our house in Piermont—

Fighting the hell-creatures—

Dworkin as a younger man—

The path curved and again grew difficult, and I found myself straining for every inch, forcing myself forward. I would not stop. I could not stop. The lights ahead beckoned. Images of my life flashed and danced through my mind.

The beach at Janisport—

King Elnar’s crowning—

Fishing on the banks of the Blue River—

The women I had known before Helda—

The battle of Highland Ridge—

In bed with Helda—

Mustering troops for battle—

For some reason, I seized upon the image of the battlefield. Here King Elnar had fought the hell-creatures to a standstill. Here we had known our first real victory in the war against the hell-creatures.

In my mind’s eye, I still saw our troops again rallying valiantly to the king, swords and pikes raised, screaming their war-cries—

And, reaching the center of the pattern, where it had wound in upon itself—

—I staggered across mud and matted grass, then drew up short, half gagging on the stench of death and decay. Bodies of men and horses lay all around me, rotting and covered with flies. A low buzz of wings came from the corpses.

I looked up. It was late afternoon on a dark, overcast day. A chill wind blew from the east, heavy with the promise of rain. It could not remove the stench of death, however.

Slowly I turned in a circle. The battlefield stretched as far as I could see in every direction. There had been a massacre here, and I saw uncountable hundreds, perhaps thousands of bodies, all human, all dressed in King Elnar’s colors.

From warmth to cold, from dry to damp, from the safety of a castle to the horrors of a battlefield in an instant. What had happened? How had I gotten here?

Dworkin’s ruby…

I remembered it now. I had seen the fields outside of Kingstown while gazing into the jewel. Somehow, it had sent me here.

But why? To see the destruction?

I covered my mouth and nose with my shirt tail, but it did little to hide the stench. Slowly, I turned full circle, taking in the horrors around me.

These men had died at least four or five days ago, I estimated. Broken weapons, a burnt out war-wagon toppled on its side, and fallen banners caked with mud and gore spoke to the magnitude of the loss. King Elnar’s army had been destroyed, and from the number of bodies, probably to the last man.

A cold drizzle began to soak my hair and clothes. The stench of carrion grew worse. Carefully I began to pick my way among the bodies, looking for the king, for anyone I knew.

I shivered, suddenly, soaked to the skin. Then I forced myself to look at the battlefield, at all that remained around me. Birds and dogs and other, less savory carrion-eaters had worked on the corpses for several days, but I didn’t need to see faces to recognize them.

All had been human.

I climbed onto the burnt-out wagon’s sides, my fingers growing black and greasy from the char, and when I stood above the battlefield I saw the true scope of the disaster.

The battlefield stretched as far as I could see. Proud banners lay in the mud. Swords, knives, pikes, and axes by the score lay rusting on the ground. And everywhere, piled or singly as they had fallen, lay more bodies.

No one, not wife nor child nor priest, had come to sing the funeral songs and bury the dead. I did not have to look to know that Kingstown too had fallen, or that the hell-creatures had slaughtered all whom they met along the way.

So much for Dad’s prediction that the hell-creatures would leave Ilerium once I went to Juniper. As I picked my way through the battlefield, a numb sort of shock settled upon me. Severed limbs, empty eye sockets that seemed yet to stare, expressions of terror and pain etched on every face—I could scarcely take it all in.

Then I came to a place where the bodies and debris had been cleared away. A line of seven chest-high wooden poles, each stuck into the mud perhaps two feet apart, held ghastly trophies: the severed heads of King Elnar and six of his lieutenants.

Staring at what little remained of my king, I felt my stomach knot with pain. I stumbled forward to stand before him. His eyes were closed; his mouth hung open. Though his grayish skin had begun to crack from exposure to the sun, he had a peaceful look, almost as though he slept.

It was a struggle to keep from throwing myself to the ground and sobbing helplessly. How could this have happened? Dad had said the hell-creatures would leave once I fled Ilerium. I had believed him.

“I’m sorry,” I told him.

Suddenly, impossibly, King Elnar’s eyelids flickered open.

I felt a jolt of terror.

His eyes turned slowly to regard me. Recognition shone in them.

“You!” he croaked, barely able to form the words. A black tongue darted out, licking cracked and broken lips. “You brought this punishment upon us!”

“No…” I whispered.

The other heads on the other poles began to open their eyes, too. Ilrich, Lanar, Harellen—one by one they began to call my name: “Obere… Obere… Obere…”

Voice growing stronger, King Elnar said, “You fled your oath of allegiance. You abandoned us in our hour of need. Know, then, our doom, for you shall share it!”

“I thought the hell-creatures would leave,” I told him. “They were looking for me, not you.”

“Traitor!” he said. “You betrayed us all!”

And the other heads began to shout, “Traitor! Traitor! Traitor! Traitor!”

“No!” I said. “Listen to me! It’s not true!”

“Hell-creatures!” King Elnar began to scream. “He’s here! He’s here! Come and get him! Come and get the traitor!”

“Quiet!” I said, voice sharp. “Don’t call them—”

“Help!” one of the other heads shouted. “Hell-creatures! Come help us! Lieutenant Obere is here!”

I cried, “Shut up!”

Another called, “This is the one you want, not us! Help! Help!”

“Come and get him!” shouted the rest of the heads. “Come and get him!”

I tried everything to quiet them—explanations, reasoning, orders. Nothing worked. They just wouldn’t stop shouting for the hell-creatures to come and get me.

They were no longer men, but bewitched things, I finally told myself. The people I had known would never have betrayed me this way… not the king I had sworn to serve till my dying breath, not my brothers-in-arms… not one of them.

Raising my boot, I knocked over King Elnar’s pole. His head did not roll free. I bent to pry it off, but then I discovered it was not stuck on top of the pole, but had somehow become a part of it… flesh and wood grown together in a horrible mingling of the two.

“Liege-killer!” the heads shouted.

“Traitor!”

“Murderer!”

“Assassin!”

“Hell-creatures—help us!”

I pulled the pole free from the ground. A little more than four feet from end to end, it only weighed twenty pounds or so. I raised it easily over my head and smashed the head-part on the nearest stone with all my strength.

King Elnar’s face shattered, but instead of bone and brains, a pulpy green mass and what looked like sap sprayed out. It smelled like fresh-cut lumber.

Half sobbing, I smashed it again and again until the head was completely gone. Then I used the pole to smash the other heads, too. All the time they screeched their insults and called on the hell-creatures for help.

They couldn’t help it, I told myself. They were no longer the people I had known.

Finally it was done. Alone again, I stood there, listening to the wind moan softly through the battlefield, the smell of fresh wood mingling with the carrion stench. Rain pattered down harder. Darkness began to fall. Lightning flickered overhead.

Turning, still dragging the pole, I looked toward Kingstown. Perhaps I could find answers there… or a way back to Juniper. I needed time to rest and think and gather my wits.

Then I heard the one sound I feared most: distant hoofbeats. A lot of them. Hell-creatures? Answering the heads’ frantic calls?

I didn’t doubt it. The hell-creatures must have left the heads to watch for my return. And they had betrayed me as soon as I arrived.

Desperately, I looked around. There was no one left alive to help me here, and no place to make a stand. I might hide among the fallen bodies for a time, but a search would find me soon enough, and I didn’t look forward to a night spent lying motionless in cold mud.

I snatched up a fallen sword, only to discover it was chipped and bent in the middle. The second one I grabbed was broken. Damn Dworkin and his no-swords-in-the-workshop rule! If I’d had my own blade, I might have stood a chance.

With darkness falling rapidly now and rain drumming incessantly, I didn’t have time to hunt for a weapon I could use. With the hell-creatures approaching, I had to find cover, and fast. In my current condition, I didn’t think I’d last two minutes against any determined attack.

I ran toward Kingstown. Perhaps it still stood. Perhaps the remains of King Elnar’s army had rallied there and still held it. Though I knew the chances were slim, it seemed my only remaining option.

At the very least, I might find a place to hide until morning.

Chapter 13

Kingstown was a burnt-out ruin.

When I topped the small hill overlooking the town, tongues of lightning showed nothing but blackened rubble. Not a single building remained. Here and there stone chimneys still stood, marking the passing of this place like gravestones. I would find no help here. Oberon…

A distant voice seemed to be calling my name. I gazed around me in surprise. “Who’s there?”

Aber. Think of me. Reach out with your thoughts. I tried to picture him in my mind. As I concentrated, an image of him grew before me, wavered, and became real.

“It is you!” I gasped. Perhaps my situation wasn’t as desperate as I’d thought.

“Yes. Dad said he… lost you, somehow. I thought I’d try your Trump. Where are you now? What happened?”

“I’m cold, wet, and tired. Can you get me back home?”

He hesitated only a second. “Sure.”

“Thanks.”

He reached out his hand toward me, and I did the same toward him. Our fingers touched somewhere in the middle. He gripped my wrist firmly and pulled me forward. I took a step—

—and found myself standing in a room lined with tapestries of dancers, jugglers, and scenes of merriment. An oil lamp hung from the ceiling, spreading a warm yellow light. A rack of swords, a cluttered writing table, a high canopied bed, and two plain wooden chairs completed the furnishings.

I glanced behind me, but another wall stood there now, this one lined with shelves full of books, scrolls, shells, rocks, and other odds and ends such as anyone might accumulate over the years. Ilerium, Kingstown, and the hell-creatures had vanished.

“Is this—?” I began.

“My bedroom.”

Only then did I relax. Safe. Back in Juniper. I found myself trembling from sheer nervous exhaustion. I had never felt so helpless before.

But I had escaped.

“You look like a drowned rat!” he said, laughing a bit.

I glanced down. Rain had plastered my clothes to my body. Mud and sap and wood-pulp had splattered my pants and boots. Water dripped from my hair, trickled down my forehead and cheeks, and dripped from my chin.

“I feel like a drowned rat,” I told him. “Sorry about the mess.” Gingerly I lifted first one then the other foot. My boots left a muddy brown smear. Water began to pool all around me.

“That’s okay.”

“But your carpets—” They had to be worth a small fortune!

He shrugged. “Oh, I don’t care. They can be cleaned or replaced. Having you back safe is what matters. Now, sit down—you look like you’re about to collapse!”

“Thanks.” I took two steps and sank heavily onto one of his spare wooden chairs. My clothes squished. Water ran in my eyes. I just wanted to find a warm dry place and curl up there for the next month. “I think this has probably been the worst night of my life.”

“What have you got?” Aber asked.

“Huh?” I looked down and realized I still held the pole… the one upon which King Elnar’s head had been stuck. I let it drop to the floor. Somehow, I never wanted to see it again. It was cursed or bewitched or both.

“I was going to defend myself with it,” I said half apologetically. “Hell-creatures were hunting me.”

His eyes widened. “Hell-creatures! Where were you?”

“Back home… the Shadow I came from… Ilerium.”

“How did you get there?”

“Dad did something. He was trying some experiment, some idea he had to get around my using the Logrus.” Taking a deep breath, I pulled off first one boot, then the other. Half an inch of water sat inside each. After a moment’s hesitation, I put them down next to the chair.

“Well?” he demanded. “Did it work?”

“I don’t think so. It gave me a headache, then somehow he dumped me back in Ilerium—that’s the place I grew up. King Elnar—his whole army—had been butchered. The hell-creatures had burned the town, too. I don’t think anyone survived. And they were still there, waiting for me. If not for you…”

“I’m sorry,” he said sympathetically.

“It can’t be helped,” I said heavily. It seemed I’d escaped my destiny. Dad really had saved me. “If I’d stayed behind to fight the hell-creatures, I’d be dead, now, too.”

“You look half frozen as well as half drowned,” he observed. “How about a brandy?”

“Please!” I pushed wet hair back out of my eyes.

An open bottle and a glass sat on the writing table. He poured me a large drink, which I downed in a single gulp, then a second one, which I sipped.

Rising, I went over to the fireplace. It had been banked for the evening, and its embers burned low, but it still radiated warmth. It felt good to just stand before it, basking like a cat in a sunny window.

Aber threw on a couple more split logs, then shifted the coals with a poker. Flames appeared. The logs began to burn. The room grew warmer, and I toasted myself quite happily front and back.

“How did you bring me here?” I asked him. “The Logrus?”

“Yes.” He went back to the writing table, picked up a Trump, and brought it back to show me. It had my picture on it. In typical fashion, he had drawn me holding a candlestick and peering into darkness.

I had to chuckle. “That’s exactly how I feel right now,” I told him. “Lost in the dark. Or perhaps found but still in the dark.”

I reached out to take the card, but he said, “Sorry, it’s not quite dry yet,” and carried it back on the writing table.

Taking another sip of brandy, I felt its warm glow spreading through my belly. Maybe there were some advantages to belonging to this crazy family after all. A last-second rescue by a brother I’d only met the day before… it was the sort of thing a bard could easily spin into a heroic song.

Frowning, I thought back to King Elnar and my fellow lieutenants, all dead now, their ensorceled heads smashed to pulp. If only the story had a happy ending…

Aber had taken a blanket from the bed and now handed it to me.

“Get out of those wet things and dry yourself off,” he said. “I’ll bring you another set of Mattus’s clothes. As soon as you’re up to it, you must see Dad. He’s worried sick about you.”

“Thanks,” I said gratefully.

Aber returned in short order with shirt, pants, and undergarments, plus my valet. Horace looked half asleep and I guessed Aber had dragged him from bed to help me.

It didn’t take them long to get me changed and cleaned up. I found myself moving slowly; after all I’d been through, the lateness of the hour, and the effects of the brandy, my arms and legs felt like lead weights, and my head began to pound. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and pass out for the next day or two.

Aber had a spare pair of boots, but they proved several sizes too small. Horace went out and soon returned with a larger pair—I didn’t ask where he’d found them, but I suspected he swiped them from another of my brothers. Not that I cared at this point.

“You’ll do,” Aber said finally, looking me up and down. “Just try not to collapse.”

“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 battlefield 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.

Chapter 14

I 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 I 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 courtyard, 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, he ran 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 a 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-а-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 some time.

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!”

Chapter 15

Let me get my sword first,” I said, I wasn’t making the mistake again of getting sent off gods-knew-where without being properly armed.

Running back into my bedroom, I grabbed my swordbelt and buckled it on. Then I rejoined Freda and Aber, and together we hurried downstairs. Titus and Conner followed almost on our heels.

We met Locke and Davin on the ground floor. Both looked grim.

“Anyone know what the problem is?” Locke asked us.

“Sorry, no,” I said. “You?”

“No.” He turned and headed for the audience hall at a jog, Davin at his heels. Aber and I followed them.

“How often has the alarm been rung?” I asked Aber.

“First time that I know of,” he said. “It’s only supposed to be rung in the direct of emergencies.”

“Like an attack?”

He gulped. “Yes!”

We reached the audience chamber, and there Anari directed us to a small antechamber off to the left. Inside, Dworkin sat at a table covered with maps of the lands around Juniper. A soldier with that extra joint in his arms stood stiffly at attention before him. I noticed he had minor wounds on his hands and arms, and what appeared to be burns on the left side of his face.

I nudged Aber. “He’s been fighting hell-creatures,” I whispered.

Aber looked suddenly terrified. “Here?” he whispered back. “Then it’s begun?”

“What is it?” Locke demanded of our father and the soldier. “What’s happened?”

“Tell them, Captain,” Dworkin said.

“Yes, Prince.” Slowly, in strangely accented tones, the officer began his report. “We were on the dawn patrol—”

“That’s ten men on foot walking the forest line,” I overheard Davin whisper to Blaise.

“—and there was a wind blowing from the forest. I smelled fresh horse manure and knew it could not have come from our camp. No horse patrols go there. I ordered everyone to spread out, and we entered the trees to investigate. Almost immediately we came upon a small campsite, well hidden. Three devils were waiting for us with their fire-breathing mounts. They attacked and killed four of my men. We killed one, and when that happened, the other two fled. We could not catch them on foot. They seemed to vanish into the trees. Men are searching for them now, but…” He shrugged. “I do not have much hope for the finding.”

“Hell-creatures come and go like that,” I said, half to myself. “You never see their raiders—or their spies—until it’s too late, and you never find them when they run.”

Davin shot me a curious glance. “You know them?” he demanded. “How?”

“They tried to kill Dad and me the day before yesterday. I’ve been fighting them for the last year in Ilerium.”

“How can we be sure it’s them?” Aber said.

I shrugged. “How many other armies have fire-breathing horses?”

Locke said to the captain, “How long had they been there?”

“No more than two or three days, General.”

Locke turned to our father. “I must see that campsite. They fled quickly. Perhaps they left something behind.”

“A good idea,” Dworkin said, nodding. “Take Davin with you… and Oberon.”

“Oberon?” Locke asked. I heard doubt in his voice. “Are you sure—?”

I stepped forward, “As I just said, I’ve been fighting hell-creatures for more than a year now. I think I know them better than anyone else here.” Or almost anyone else, I thought, looking around the circle of faces. We still had a traitor in our midst.

“Very well,” he said with a shrug of acceptance, no taunting or baiting now, when it really mattered.

I had half expected a childish display of temper, and my opinion of him as a soldier went up a notch. A very small notch.

“Get your wounds looked after, Captain,” Locke said. “Meet us at the stables in twenty minutes. We’ll have a fresh horse ready for you.”

“Yes, General,” he said. He gave Locke a raised-palm salute, then hurried from the hall.

“The time is here,” Dworkin said softly, brow creased. “They will move against us shortly, if they are sending watchers. We must be prepared.” He looked up at us, at Locke, Davin, and me. “Be on your guard. They will kill you if they have a chance. Do not give them one!”

I trailed Locke and Davin to the stables. Now that we had a task to do, Locke moved with the deftness and speed of an experienced commander, calling for horses and a mounted squad. Grooms hurried to obey, and guards went running to the camp outside to summon the men he wanted to accompany us.

“Better add more guards to Juniper’s walls,” I suggested in a quiet voice as we waited for our horses. “Put more guards at the gates, too. Have everyone searched coming in… and going out. The hell-creatures are shape-shifters. No telling what they might try to smuggle in… or out.”

“Shape-shifters? You’re certain?”

“Yes,” I said, thinking of Ivinius, so well disguised as a human barber that he had gotten close enough to slit my throat.

“Very well. I’ll take your word on it.”

With a frown, he waved over the Captain of the Guard and gave him instructions. The man took off running a moment later.

“Extra guards,” Locke told me, “at the gate. Extra patrols on the walls. Anything else you’d suggest?”

“Just… after this, trust no one.”

He raised his eyebrows at that, but made no reply.

“Aren’t you going to ask… ?” I said.

“No. I recognize Freda’s words.”

Instead of denying it, I chuckled. “Yes. But she’s right, at least in this particular instance. A hell-creature almost killed me once by impersonating a barber. I’d hate to have the same thing happen to you.”

Locke gave me another odd look. “You aren’t what I expected,” he admitted. “You surprise me, brother.”

“This is the second time I’ve been told that since I got here.”

“Freda—?” He hesitated.

“No. If you must know, it was Aber. He expected me to be just like you, from Dad’s tales, and apparently you two don’t always see eye to eye.”

Locke shrugged. “Such is life,” he said philosophically. “There are only sheep and wolves. I have never much wanted to be a sheep.”

“As for me… I simply don’t care about our family’s politics,” I told him. “You’re all strangers… except, of course, our father.” I’d almost said Dworkin. “My only concern is keeping alive—and the best way for me to do that is to keep the rest of you alive, too. We all want the same thing, so we might as well work together.”

“Well spoken.” He hesitated. “Later, tonight perhaps, we must have a talk… just you and me, alone.”

“I’d welcome it.”

He gave a curt nod and looked away.

A private talk… I took his invitation as something akin to an apology—or at least as an admission that I wasn’t as horrible as he’d thought. Slow progress, but progress nonetheless.

Our horses had been saddled and were now being led into the courtyard. He stepped over to a handsome black stallion, about sixteen hands high, who nuzzled his palms looking for sugar. I felt a pang of envy—the stallion was a magnificent animal, and Locke patted his neck affectionately.

They had brought me a dappled gray mare, who seemed good tempered and fit. She would do, I decided, looking her over. Davin had a chestnut gelding with white socks on both front feet, full of nervous energy. The extra-jointed captain who would be leading us had another dappled gray mare like enough to mine that I couldn’t have told them apart.

“Mount up!” Locke called.

I swung into the mare’s saddle and followed Locke and the others out through Juniper’s gate. Twenty more horsemen waited outside for us, and they fell in behind, two side-by-side columns, as we turned left and cut through the army camp. Ahead, perhaps five or six miles away, I could see the dark line of trees that marked the edge of a dense forest. The land had been cleared for farming all the way to its edge, but no crops had been planted and the military camp didn’t extend all the way to its edge. It seemed an ideal place from which to spy on us.

When I glanced over my shoulder, I spotted extra guards just now coming out onto the castle battlements, and the two men normally stationed at the gates had grown to eight.

I caught up with the captain who’d found the hell-creatures. His wounds had been cleaned and dressed, and the minor burns on his face gleamed with ointment.

“I’m Oberon,” I told him.

“I am called d’Darjan, Lord.” He inclined his head. “If it pleases you.”

“These spies you found… had you ever seen their like before?”

He hesitated. “No, Lord.”

I had the impression he knew more than that, but didn’t want to speak too openly to me. After all, he had never seen me before today and didn’t know my loyalties. And who knew what rumors were circulating among the guards about me… one overheard insulting remark between Davin and Locke might well fuel a dozen stories among the guards and soldiers of my treachery, cowardice, or worse.

I let my mare fall back, and he spurred his to catch up with Locke. They talked in low voices, with Captain d’Darjan pointing ahead. Then Locke glanced back at me and nodded, and I guessed d’Darjan had asked what he could safely tell me. Nothing to do but wait, I thought with growing impatience.

A thirty-minute ride brought us to the edge of an ancient forest. A thick hedge of gorse bushes and blackberry brambles, threaded with trails, grew along its edge.

I studied the tall oaks and maples, many with trunks as wide around as my arms could reach, that towered a hundred feet over us. They would provide ample vantage points for spying, I thought.

I rode forward to join d’Darjan and my brothers. The rest of the soldiers reined in behind us.

“This is it, General,” Captain d’Darjan said, indicating what looked like a deer track that wound between the gorse bushes and circled out of sight. It would be a prickly, uncomfortable ride, but I thought a horse could make it through. “There is another path on the other side, but it is no larger.”

“Fan out into the forest and keep watch,” Locke called to the soldiers behind us. He dismounted. Davin and I did the same. “Be on your guard. Shout if you see anything unusual. If you spot the enemy, fall back at once.”

His men wheeled their horses and began moving slowly into the forest down various trails, sharp-eyed and ready for battle. I didn’t think anything or anyone would be able to sneak up on us.

“Let’s take a look at their camp,” Locke said. He tethered his horse, drew his sword, took a deep breath, and marched into the thicket.

Davin followed him, and I followed Davin. Captain d’Darjan brought up the rear.

I had to admit the hell-creatures had chosen their hiding spot well. From the outside, you would never have guessed their camp lay hidden within the thicket. The trail, little bigger than a deer track, widened after a few paces and a turn, and only there did I spot the impressions of horse hooves in the soft earth.

We circled in toward the center of the thicket. There, an area perhaps twenty feet across, with a tall oak at its center, had been cleared with small axes.

The hell-creatures had clearly left in haste, abandoning three bedrolls, a small coil of rope, and a wickedly barbed knife. They had even dug a small firepit and rimmed it with large rocks to hide the flames.

I found a stick and stirred the ashes, uncovering the well-gnawed bones of what looked to be rats or squirrels. A few embers still gleamed faintly orange-red.

Rising, I looked at the tree. A broken branch at eye level still oozed sap, I found. From the evidence, they probably hadn’t been here more than a day or two, as captain d’Darjan had said.

“Here’s where they tethered their horses,” Davin said, squatting and examining the markings. “Three of them, all right.”

I turned slowly, looking for anything else out of the ordinary. The oak tree at the center of the thicket had several more broken branches about twenty feet off the ground.

“They climbed up to spy on us,” I said, pointing.

“Take a look,” Locke said.

I grabbed a sturdy looking limb and pulled myself up. It was an easy climb, and sure enough, when I reached the broken limbs I discovered I could see both the military camp and the castle with an unobstructed view.

“Well?” Locke called up.

“I can see everything,” I said, squinting. “Troops, horse pens, even Juniper.”

“So they know how many we are,” Davin said, “and where we’re placed.”

I began to climb down, then dropped the last five feet. “And they know the lay of the land now,” I added. “They were scouting for an attack.”

“They may come back,” Locke said. He hesitated, looking up the tree, then down the trail. “We’re going to have to clear out all the brush at the edge of the forest and post sentries. This can’t happen again.”

“Burn it off?” Davin asked.

I left them and went to the abandoned bedrolls. When I picked the first one up, something small fluttered down from its folds… a Trump, I realized from its blue back, complete with gold lion. I glanced at Locke and Davin, but they hadn’t noticed.

“No,” Locke was saying. He had turned to face the other way, toward the heart of the forest. “We can’t risk a fire spreading out of control and reaching the camp. It will have to be done by hand.”

Carefully, trying to avoid attracting my brothers’ attention, I turned my back to them, picked up the card, and flipped it over.

It had Locke’s picture on it.

The hair on the back of my neck prickled with alarm. I glanced over my shoulder, but he and Davin were busy talking and weren’t paying the slightest attention to me. They hadn’t seen my discovery.

And I couldn’t let them see it. I saw the need for great care; in this family, it seemed I could never trust anyone if there was an alternative.

“I’ll get a detachment out as soon as we get back,” Davin said. “It’s going to be a two-day job, possibly three.”

I tucked the card into my sleeve, then rejoined them with a sigh of mock disgust.

“Nothing else here,” I announced.

Locke gave a nod, then turned and led the way back toward our horses. The cool touch of the Trump against my arm was a constant reminder of my discovery.

Locke…

Why would the hell-creatures have his Trump… unless they needed to contact him?

And why would they contact him… unless he was the traitor?

Chapter 16

On the trip back to Juniper, I ranged ahead of the others, leaving Locke and Davin with their men. I rode neither hard nor fast enough to attract undue attention, but managed to get back a good ten minutes ahead of them.

All the way, winding through the tent city of their soldiers, crossing the drawbridge, and into the castle’s courtyard, I kept turning the implications of my discovery over and over in my mind.

We had a traitor in our midst. Ivinius’s presence—and the disappearance of his body—proved it. And the traitor had to be someone capable of using Trumps… which meant a family member.

But Locke?

Well, why not Locke?

He had been nothing short of hostile until this morning. And since Dworkin—I still found it hard to call him Dad—trusted him with the defenses of Juniper, his betrayal would be truly disastrous.

Or was I allowing personal dislike to cloud my judgment?

Safely ahead of the others, I pulled out the Trump I’d found, turned it over, and studied it without concentrating too hard on the picture. Locke… drawn exactly the same way as Freda’s Trump had been.

In fact, I realized with some dismay, this could be Freda’s Trump. But they couldn’t both be in league with hell-creatures… could they?

I knew one fact that might help: Aber had created this card. I’d ask him who it belonged to as soon as we got back to Jumper. If he could identify it…

I left my horse with the grooms and went looking for Aber. I found Freda standing in the audience hall with Pella, Blaise, and a couple of women I didn’t recognize. The warning bell must have brought everyone out looking for news or rumors.

I joined them.

“Did you find anything?” Freda asked me, once suitable introductions had been made. As I had suspected, the women I didn’t recognize were the wives of two of Dworkin’s chancellors.

“I’m afraid not,” I said. I didn’t mention the Trump I’d found. “It was just a camp site. They had been spying on us for a couple of days.”

“Too bad. Are you all back now? Safe?”

“I’m a little ahead of the others,” I said, glancing toward the door. “Locke wants to clear the brush at the edge of the forest, and I’m sure he’s going to stop and detail those duties before reporting back. He and Davin shouldn’t be too long.”

She nodded thoughtfully, then took my arm and drew me aside. “And how did you find Locke today?” she asked more softly.

“Less…” I searched for the right word. “Less upset by my presence. I think he’s begun to accept me. Who knows, we might even end up friends.”

“Davin gave him a complete report about what Father said about you last night.”

I smiled lightly. “Yes, I got the feeling he knew about it. He has nothing to fear from me now. I cannot take his place without the Logrus.”

“Do not place too much trust in him yet. He may not view you as an enemy, but you are still a rival.”

“I won’t,” I promised. What would she think if she knew he wanted a private chat with me tonight? “Trust must be earned. He certainly hasn’t earned any yet.”

And he won’t earn it as long as there’s a chance he’s our traitor, I added silently.

“Good.” She smiled, the small lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth crinkling, “I hope you both make an effort at it. You can be of great help with the army, I know.”

“I hope so,” I said. Deliberately changing the subject, I asked, “Have you seen Aber?”

“Aber? Not since you left. You might look in his rooms. That’s where he spends most afternoons.”

“Thank you,” I said. I gave her and the chancellors’ wives a polite nod, then headed for the stairs. “Until dinner.”

Today I felt more comfortable navigating the castle’s seemingly endless stairs and corridors, and found my way safely to my rooms. I found Horace in my bedroom. My bed was covered with heaps of clothing.

“What’s all this?” I asked, staring.

“Mattus’s clothing, Lord,” Horace said, folding a shirt deftly and placing it in the wardrobe. “Lord Aber said I should bring it in for you.”

‘Thoughtful of him.”

“Yes, Lord.”

I realized I hadn’t had a chance to change yet from my workout, and now I stank not just of sweat, but of horse.

“Pick out new clothes for me,” I said, heading for the washbasin. “Then get the rest of them put away.” I’d clean up before going to see Aber, I decided.

Five minutes later, I went to Aber’s room and knocked sharply.

He called, “Enter at your own risk!” in cheerful tones.

I went in and found him sitting at a drafting table by the windows. Small bottles of colored pigments sat all around him, and he held a tiny horsehair brush in one hand.

He paused in his work. “What news from the woods, brother?” he asked.

“Nothing more than we already heard,” I said with a shrug. “The hell-creatures were long gone.”

“A pity,” he said.

I came closer, looking at the half-dozen Trumps sitting out on the table. “What are you doing?”

“Making a Trump.”

He picked it up and turned it so I could see… and though only half finished, it clearly showed a man standing with feet spread and sword raised, ready for battle. He was dressed all in deep blues with black trim, and his cloak ruffled faintly as though from a steady breeze. In the white spaces of the unfinished background, ever so faintly, I noticed a lacework pattern of thin black lines… curves and angles that seemed to reach deep into the card, somehow, like a three-dimensional puzzle. A representation of the Logrus? I suspected so.

Aber had just begun coloring the face when I walked in. With some surprise. I realized it was a miniature portrait of me.

“What do you think of this one?” he asked. “I’m making it for Freda. She told me she wanted it last night, after dinner.”

“No more candles?”

He chuckled. “Actually, that one was supposed to be Mattus. I finished it up this morning with your face.” He shrugged apologetically. “I was in a hurry.”

“And a good thing you were. You probably saved my life.”

“Ah, how ironic! The artist saves the warrior.”

I laughed. “It was still a good likeness, even if it started out as a picture of Mattus. And I’m even more flattered by this one.”

“Really?” He seemed honestly delighted. “You know, I think you’re the first person who’s ever said that to me!”

I regarded his new card carefully. “Blue is not really my color, though,” I said. “How about red next time?”

“The colors don’t matter, it’s the person and how the image is drawn.” He set it back in the last of the dying sunlight. “Have to let it dry now, anyway,” he said. “So, what brings you here?”

I hesitated. Trust no one, Freda had said. But this was something I couldn’t do alone. I needed an ally… and of all my family, I liked Aber most of all. If I had to trust someone, it had to be him… for no other reason than he was the one most likely to recognize the Trump I’d found. It wasn’t an easy decision, but once made, I knew it was the right one.

“I want you to look at something.” I pulled out the Locke’s Trump and handed it to him. “I found it. Is it yours?”

“Well, I made it.” He turned it over and pointed to the rampant lion painted in gold on the back. “I put a lion on all of mine. Dad never bothered with such niceties when he made Trumps.”

“Do you know who you made it for?”

He shrugged. “Why not ask at dinner? I’m sure whoever’s lost it wants it back.”

“I… do have a reason.”

“But you’re not going to say.”

“No. Not right now.”

“Hmm.” He studied me thoughtfully, then raised the Trump for a second, studying it more carefully. “Honestly, I’m not sure who I made it for,” he admitted. “I’ve done at least twenty of Locke over the years, and I always copy my original. They all look pretty much the same.”

He opened a drawer in the table and pulled out a small teak box similar to the one he’d given me, but with polished brass corners. He swung back the lid and pulled out a set of perhaps fifty or sixty cards, fanned them open, and pulled one out.

When he set it beside the Trump I had found, they appeared identical. I wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart. No wonder it had looked like Freda’s—he really had been copying his original card over and over. And with twenty of them out there… this Trump could belong to anyone.

“Sorry,” he said. “Like I told you, ask at dinner. That’s your best bet.”

I shook my head. “I can’t do that. Do you think it might be Locke’s?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I never give anyone their own Trump. It’s a waste of my time. Why would you want to contact yourself?”

It made sense. And yet, when I thought back to my carriage ride, envisioning the Trumps I’d seen on the table, I was pretty sure Freda had one of herself.

“What about Freda?” I asked. “Doesn’t she…”

“Oh, that’s different.” He laughed. “She reads patterns from them, so she needs one of everyone in the family, including herself. That’s what you get for growing up in the Courts. People are… different there. They think and teach and learn things that the rest of us, who grew up in Shadows, can only long for.”

I nodded. It all fit. “So Locke wouldn’t need it. He couldn’t use it. But Davin…”

“Yes, it might be his.” Aber’s eyes narrowed a bit with sudden suspicion. “Why are you asking all these questions? Something’s wrong. Where did you really get it… in the enemy’s camp?”

I hesitated. If I could trust one family member, somehow I thought it would be Aber. Should I tell him? I needed an ally… someone in whom I could confide and seek advice… someone who knew Juniper. And if anything happened to me, if another hell-creature managed to assassinate me, I wanted the truth known. He had just guessed where the card had come from, after all. What could it hurt to tell him the truth… or as much of it as he needed to know?

“That’s it, isn’t it?” He took my silence for confirmation. “So… they have our Trumps.”

I took a deep breath. Against my instincts for secrecy, I told him how I had found the Trump, hidden it from Locke and Davin, and brought it back with me.

Then I told him my suspicions about a traitor in Juniper.

“And you thought these spies had been talking to Locke,” he said, folding his hands together under his chin thoughtfully. “You thought Locke might betray us.”

“That was the general idea,” I admitted. “He’s been the most, ah, hostile, after all.”

“You’re wrong,” Aber said bluntly. He looked me straight in the eye. “Locke doesn’t have the imagination or the ambition to betray anyone. He and Davin spent the last year training the army for Dad. They will both fight to the death, if necessary, to protect us.”

“Maybe he thinks we’re going to lose and wants to be on the winning side.”

“They are trying to wipe out our bloodline. Why would they let him live?”

“Deals have been made before.”

“Not with Locke.”

“Then how do you explain this?” I tapped the Trump with my finger. “Maybe they agreed to let him live out his years in exile. It’s a small price it he can deliver Juniper… all of us.”

“I don’t know.” His brow furrowed again. “There are at least four sets of Trumps missing… Mattus, Alanar, Taine, and Clay all carried them. This card could easily be one of theirs.”

“Then why Locke?” I demanded. “Why would hell-creatures carry his card and no others?”

“And why would they forget it when they left?” Aber countered. “It’s not the sort of thing you’d accidentally leave behind when you clear out camp. And, for that matter, it’s not the sort of thing a routine scout would carry.”

“I see your point,” I admitted.

“What if they wanted us to find it,” he went on. “What if they planned the whole thing, right down to hiding that card in the bedroll?”

The idea hadn’t occurred to me. It was devious… exactly the sort of trick a hell-creature might try.

Aber went on, “If Dad stripped Locke of his command, it would do us real damage. The men love him and will follow him to the seven hells and back, if he asks. Davin isn’t half the leader Locke is. And the men don’t know you well enough to follow you. Losing Locke would be a terrible blow.”

“You have a good point,” I admitted.

“So, what are you going to do?” he asked. “Tell Dad or keep it to yourself?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I said. “If only you recognized the Trump!”

I began to pace, thinking. Everything had seemed much clearer before I’d talked to Aber, when Locke looked guilty. Now, according to Aber, finding the Trump meant the traitor could be anyone except Locke.

Who?

I sighed. “Plots and schemes have never come easily to me,” I told him.

“Nor to me,” he said. “It takes a lot more patience than I have. You’d be better off talking to Blaise, if you want that sort of advice.”

“Blaise?” His suggestion left me faintly baffled. “Why her? I would’ve thought you’d send me to Freda.”

“Freda is no amateur, but Blaise is the true master when it comes to intrigue. Nothing happens in Juniper without her hearing about it.”

“Blaise?” I said again. “Our sister Blaise?”

He gave a chuckle at my bewildered expression.

“Don’t let her fool you,” he said. “She’s got a regular network of spies. Half the staff is in her pay.”

“And the other half?”

“Sleeping with her.”

I snorted. “Well, it saves money, I suppose,” I said.

Blaise…

It was something to think about. I hadn’t even considered her. From our first meeting, I’d gotten the impression she knew little beyond what jewelry to wear with which clothes to such-and-such a court function—an important skill in its way, I’m sure, but not one I’d ever found particularly useful. Perhaps I had been too quick to dismiss her.

And then, just when Aber had me half believing I’d been fooled into believing we had a spy among us by the planted Trump, I remembered Ivinius the barber, who had tried to kill me in my rooms. He’d been smuggled into the castle for the sole purpose of killing me, and by someone who knew who I was and what I needed to hear to put me off my guard.

So who had sent Ivinius to kill me? And how had he or she gotten the body out of my rooms without being seen?

“But I do know—without any doubt—that we have a traitor in Juniper,” I continued,

He blinked in surprise. “What! Who?”

“I don’t know—yet.”

Then I told him how Ivinius had tried to slit my throat in my room. It felt good to share this secret, too.

“So that’s why you jumped at me when I Trumped in,” he said. “You thought I’d come to check on your murder!”

“Or to finish the job.” I sighed and shook my head. “If it had only been Locke instead of you… things would certainly be a lot simpler right now.”

“You were lucky,” he said slowly, “If it had been Locke, you’d be dead. He’s the best swordsman among us,”

“You’ve never seen me fight.”

He shrugged. “I concede the point. But Locke’s the best swordsman I’ve ever seen. He was schooled by a dozen weapons-masters in the Courts of Chaos. He grew up with blades in both hands. His mother, after all—”

“Freda mentioned her,” I said. “Some sort of hell-creature?”

“The Lady Ryassa de Lyor ab Sytalla is hardly a hell-creature.”

“Then you’ve met her?”

“Not formally, no… but I’ve seen her half a dozen times.”

I shrugged. “You’re probably right. Father never would have married her otherwise.”

“True.”

“And,” I said, “if you say Locke’s a great swordsman, I’ll accept that, even though I’ve never seen him fight.”

“Good.”

“It’s just that I made the mistake of letting down my guard, thinking I was safe here. It won’t happen again. Not with anyone.”

He pursed his lips again. “A traitor… that’s something none of us has ever talked about before. Yet it makes a lot of sense. This Shadow is very, very far from the Courts. About as far as you can get and still use the Logrus. We should have been safe here… and yet they found us fairly quickly.”

I spread my hands in a half shrug. “So… what now?”

“Blaise…” he hesitated.

“The same qualities that make her a likely ally also make her a likely suspect. She could have gotten Ivinius into the castle and sent him to my room.”

“True. She saw what you looked like when we had drinks, so she knew you needed a shave and a haircut. But you could say the same for Pella, Freda, and me, too. Or Dad, for that matter. Or anyone you passed in the corridor.”

“Or anyone who saw me get out of the carriage when we got here,” I said, remembering the crowd that had surrounded Dad. Locke and Davin had been among them… plus several dozen others, any one of whom could have said the wrong word to the wrong person and set me up.

I sighed. Clearly we weren’t getting anywhere.

“What do we do now?” I asked.

“Tell Blaise about the Trump you found,” he said, “and your suspicions. The more I think about it, the more I believe she’ll be able to help you. I’ll tell Freda. Perhaps one of them will have an answer.”

“Don’t tell them about the hell-creature barber yet,” I said. “I don’t want to tip my hand.”

“No… you’re right, of course. Save that. It may be important later.”

I found Blaise’s rooms on the floor above, and her serving girl showed me into a sitting room done in bright colors, with fresh cut flowers in intricate arrangements all around. My sister reclined on a small sofa, a glass of red wine in one hand and a pretty young man in the other. He kissed her fingers, rose with a sideways glance at me, and slipped out the side door. I watched him go without comment, thinking of Aber’s jibe that she slept with half the serving staff. An exaggeration, of course… at least, I hoped so.

“Oberon,” she said, rising.

I kissed the cheek she offered.

“Blaise,” I said. “You’re looking lovely.”

“Thank you.” She wore that wide, predatory smile again, and all my mistrust came flooding back. “I’m glad you’ve come to see me,” she said, “May I offer you some wine?”

“No, thank you.”

“It’s time we had a talk. But I certainly hadn’t expected to see you so soon.”

Glancing pointedly at her serving girl, I said, “This isn’t really a social call.”

“No?”

“Aber thought I should seek your advice.”

“Interesting.” She smiled. “Go on.”

“Alone, if you don’t mind.”

She made a little motion with one hand, and her serving girl curtsied and withdrew, shutting the door. Only then did I turn back to my half sister.

“I’m listening,” she said, more businesslike than before. She set down her glass, folded her hands in her lap, and looked up at me curiously.

I took a deep breath. What did I have to lose at this point? I didn’t know who to trust and who to suspect, so I might as well put all the evidence out in the open. Perhaps she would have more insight than Aber and I did.

Quickly, before I could change my mind, I told her everything, starting with Ivinius trying to slit my throat and ending with the Trump I’d found in the hell-creature’s camp. A little to my surprise, she neither interrupted nor showed the slightest concern. She merely looked thoughtful.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“That you are a damned fool,” she said sharply. “You should not have hidden an assassination attempt. This isn’t a game, Oberon. If we are in danger in Juniper, we all have a right to know!”

I bristled at that, but did not reply. Unfortunately, I thought she might be right. I had handled it wrong. I should have gone straight to Dad as soon as I’d killed Ivinius.

“What’s done is done,” I finally said, “and cannot be changed. I thought I made the right decision at the time.”

“And now you’ve come to me?”

“Aber seems to think you might have a certain… insight into whatever plots are going on around us.”

“Hmm.” She leaned back on the couch, drumming her fingers on its arm, eyes distant. “I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted. There has never been much love between Aber and me, you know.”

“We don’t need love. We need cooperation.”

She looked me in the eye. “You are quite right, Oberon. This is not a petty squabble among siblings. We are all involved, and we are all in mortal danger. If we are not careful, we will all end up dead.”

“Do you know anything about Ivinius?” I asked.

“He performed his job well and faithfully for many years. He was married. I believe his wife died about a week ago.”

“Murdered?” I asked.

She shrugged. “When a woman of seventy-odd years dies in her sleep, who questions it? Not I.”

“I suppose not.” I sat on the chair opposite her. “Of course, Ivinius’s wife would have known immediately if someone began impersonating him, I bet they killed her to keep her quiet.”

“A hell-creature impersonating Ivinius would need help. A stranger could never sneak into Juniper, replace a skilled tradesman, and impersonate him perfectly without some assistance. It had to be someone with a knowledge of the castle’s routine, who brought him here and coached him on what to say and what to do.”

I reminded her that the body had been removed from my rooms.

“That narrows down our list of suspects.”

“Not really,” I said. “The door wasn’t locked. Anyone could have walked in, found Ivinius’s body, and escaped with it.”

“Anybody might have slipped in,” she said, “but no one saw a body being carried out. I would have heard. You cannot hide a death here… which means whoever took the body used a Trump.”

“A family member?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what I concluded,” I said. “Someone who knew I arrived in need of a shave and a haircut. You, Freda, Aber, Pella, Davin, and Locke all saw me. I don’t know whether any of the others did.”

“And then you found Locke’s Trump in the hell-creatures’ camp,” she said, frowning.

“Yes. But Aber doesn’t think he’s the traitor.”

“Locke is guilty of many things, but he wouldn’t plot with our enemies. They planted that card for us to find.”

“That’s what Aber said, too. But if not Locke, then who?”

“I think I know.”

“Tell me!”

Blaise shook her head as she rose. “Not yet,” she said firmly. “I have no proof. We must see Father first. This cannot wait.”

She hurried me out and down a series of back staircases and plainly furnished corridors through which a constant stream of servants moved until I had quite lost all sense of direction. Juniper was big. But when we pushed out into a main hallway, I realized we’d taken a shortcut and reached Dad’s workshop in about half the time it normally would have taken from my suite.

Now that she had a purpose, she moved with a speed and determination that surprised me. Who did she suspect? As Aber had said, there was more to her than I’d thought.

She swept past the two guards, with me still trailing, and knocked on our father’s workshop door.

Dworkin opened it after a heartbeat, peered up at the two of us, then stood back for us to enter.

“This is an odd pairing, I would say. What brings you here together?”

“Tell him,” Blaise said, looking at me.

So, for the third time that afternoon, I repeated my story, leaving nothing out. Then I told him our conclusions, down to our having a traitor in the family,

“I know I should have come to you sooner,” I said, “and I’m sorry for that. I didn’t know who I should trust… so I trusted no one.”

“You thought you were doing the right thing,” Dworkin said. “We will get to the bottom of this matter.”

“Blaise thinks she knows who the traitor is,” I added.

“Oh?” He looked at her, surprised and pleased.

“That’s right, Father. It can only be Freda.”

Chapter 17

“Freda!” he and I said as one. I couldn’t believe it.

“That’s right.”

“But—why?” I said.

“Who else could it possibly be?” Blaise said. “She has more Trumps than any of us except Aber. She’s said several times that we cannot win the coming battle. And she refuses to name those who have set themselves against us.”

“I am not sure refuses is the correct word,” Dworkin said. “She cannot see who they are.”

“She has named the guilty often enough before,” Blaise said, folding her arms stubbornly. “Why not this time… unless she is helping them?”

“No,” Dworkin said. “I cannot believe it. Wild accusations prove nothing.”

“Then how about proof.” She leaned forward. “Freda went into Oberon’s rooms yesterday morning… after he went downstairs to see you. She went in alone, and she didn’t come out.”

“How do you know this?” Dworkin demanded.

“One of the scrubwomen told me.”

“A spy?” I said.

She smiled at me. “Not at all. I simply asked some of the servants to keep an eye on you, in case you needed help. She noticed Freda going in after you had left, and when Freda didn’t come out, it struck her as odd. She mentioned it to me this morning.”

Dworkin turned away, and when he spoke again, his voice shook. “Summon Locke,” he said. “And Freda.”

We had quite a little gathering in Dad’s workshop: Locke arrived with Davin in tow, and Freda came with Aber. No reason had been given, just that our father wanted them.

I had to repeat my story a fourth time for Locke’s benefit, and I went through the details quickly and surely. When I mentioned finding his Trump hidden in the bedroll, he leaped to his feet.

“I had nothing to do with them!” he said.

“Sit down,” our father said. “We know that. They clearly planted the card there, hoping to discredit you.” He looked at me. “Continue, Oberon.”

I finished up with the discussion Aber and I had, where we agreed that the hell-creatures were trying to get Locke removed.

“See?” Davin said to him in a whisper. “They fear you.”

Then Blaise told how Freda had been seen entering my rooms… and how she hadn’t come out.

I stepped forward. “Unfortunately, eyewitnesses don’t prove anything,” I said. “Remember, the hell-creatures are shape-shifters. One of them could easily have disguised himself as Freda.”

“How could they—” Blaise began.

I said, “Look!”

Closing my eyes, I envisioned Freda’s face in my mind, her long hair, the thin lines around her eyes, the shape of her jaws and cheeks. I held that image, made it my own, and then I opened my eyes.

“See?” I said with Freda’s voice. From the shocked faces of everyone around me, I knew my old childhood trick still worked. My face now looked exactly like Freda’s. “Anyone can do it.”

“How—” Blaise breathed.

Dworkin chuckled. “A simple enough trick. You have never tried to change your face, have you, my girl?”

Blaise looked from Freda to me and back again. Then, when she opened her mouth, no words came out.

“I have something to say,” Freda said, standing. She glared at Blaise. “First, my comings and goings are of no concern to anyone but myself. I don’t need your spies peeking at me from behind every wash-bucket in the castle. Second, I did go to Oberon’s rooms yesterday. He wasn’t there, so I left. And I used a Trump—we all do.”

“Where did you go?” Blaise countered. “Off to hide the body?”

“If you must know, I returned to my room,” Freda said coolly.

“What did you want with me?” I asked her.

“I wanted to read your cards. Just like this afternoon… only I didn’t get a chance then, either.”

“See?” Dworkin said. “A simple explanation.”

“Then who removed the body?” Locke said.

Nobody had an answer.

Then, for the second time that day, a distant bell began to sound an alarm.

Locke led the way out to the audience hall, where a man dressed as a lieutenant stood waiting with two other men. They were panting and soaked in sweat.

“General!” he gasped, saluting Locke, “they’re doing something to the sky!”

“What?” Locke demanded.

“I don’t know!”

As one, we ran to the windows and peered up at the sky.

Directly over Juniper, immense black clouds now boiled and seethed. A strange bluish lightning flickered. The cloud grew larger as we watched, and slowly it began to move, swirling, spiraling inward.

“What is it, Dad?” I asked Dworkin.

“I have never seen its like before,” he admitted. “Freda?”

“No. But I do not like it.”

“Nor I,” said Locke.

“Where is Anari?” Dworkin said.

“Here, Prince.” He had been standing to the back of our little crowd, also staring up at the sky.

“I want everyone out of the top floors,” Dworkin said firmly. “Bring the beds downstairs to the ballroom, dining hall, and audience chambers. No one is to go above ground level.”

“I’m going to pull some of our troops away from Juniper,” Locke said, starting for the door. “I don’t know how, but that cloud means ill for us.” To Dworkin he said, “You and Freda need to find something to stop it. If you need to swallow your pride and ask for help at the Courts of Chaos, do it!”

Turning, he ran for the door, with Davin and the lieutenant close behind.

“Oberon, come with me,” Dworkin said, turning and heading back toward his workshop.

I hesitated. Part of me wanted to join Locke in the field, getting the army camp moved farther from Juniper. There was something about those clouds that made me more than a little bit afraid. But a good soldier—and a dutiful son—obeys orders, and I followed him back to his workshop.

Inside, he bolted the door, then turned and went to a large wooden chest pushed up against the wall. He opened the top and drew out a blue velvet bag with its drawstring pulled closed.

He opened it slowly, carefully, and pulled out a set of Trumps similar to Aber’s. Looking at them over his shoulder, I saw portraits of men and women in strange costumes. I didn’t recognize any of them as part of our family.

He flipped past these people quickly, then drew out an image I did recognize… a gloomy castle almost lost in night and storm, with strange patterns of lightning around the silver-limned towers and battlements: The Grand Plaza of the Courts of Chaos, drawn almost exactly as it had been on Freda’s card.

“You’re going to the Courts of Chaos?” I asked slowly. Just looking at the Trump sent my skin crawling.

“Yes. Locke is right—I have avoided it too long. This fight has gotten out of hand. I must petition King Uthor to intercede. It is a disgrace… but it must be done. You will accompany me.”

I swallowed. “All right.”

He raised the card and stared at it. I took a deep breath, held it, expecting to be whisked off to the world on the card at any second.

But nothing happened.

I let out my breath. Still Dworkin stared. And still we stayed in his workshop, unmoving.

“Uh, Dad…” I began.

He lowered the card and looked at me. I saw tears glistening in his eyes.

“I can’t do it,” he said.

“Want me to try?”

Silently, he handed me the card. I raised it, saw the courtyard, concentrated on the image… and nothing happened. I stared harder. Still nothing.

Rubbing my eyes, I turned the card over and looked at the back—plain white—then at the front again. I remembered how other Trumps had seemed to come to life as I stared at them, and I tried once more, willing it to work.

Nothing.

Was I doing something wrong?

Dworkin took the card out of my hand.

“I thought so,” he said softly, returning it to the bag and tightening the drawstring. “Now we know what the clouds are for. Somehow, they are interfering with the Logrus. We are cut off.”

“Perhaps it’s just the cloud,” I said. “If we ride out from under it…”

“No,” he said, eyes distant. “They are here, now, and they are close. Now that we cannot retreat, cannot run, they will march on us… and they will kill us all.”

Chapter 18

I swallowed. “It can’t be as bad as all that.”

“Why not?” I had no answer.

“I’ll tell Freda,” I said, starting for the door. “Perhaps she’ll know what to do.” He gave a curt nod.

I left him there, seated at one of his work tables, just staring into space. I had never seen him like this before, and it tore me up inside. How could he have let it come to this? How could he have become so helpless so suddenly? It didn’t take me long to find Freda; she still stood at one of the windows in the audience hall, staring up at the sky. Aber and most of the others were still there as well.

The black cloud, I saw, had doubled in size, and it swirled faster than before. Blue flashes and the constant flicker of lightning gave it a sinister appearance.

I touched Freda’s arm and motioned for her to follow me. She gave one last look at the sky, then we went off to the side, where we could talk without being heard.

“What happened?” she asked. “Is he gone?”

“No.” Quickly I told her what we had discovered. “I thought you might be able to do something.”

She shook her head. “I have not been able to use my Trumps since this morning. I started to tell you when we were in your room. I wanted you to shuffle them… I thought I had done something to cause the problem.”

“It had begun even then?” I said. “Before the cloud?”

“Apparently. Why?”

“Then maybe the cloud isn’t the cause. Maybe it’s something else.”

“Like what?”

I shrugged. “You and Dad are the experts. Is there a device that could cause it? If so, could it be hidden here, inside the castle?”

“Not that I know of,” she said.

I sighed. “So much for that idea. I thought Ivinius or our unknown traitor might have smuggled something into Juniper.”

“Still… it is possible, I suppose. I will organize a search, just to make sure.”

“Why don’t you ask Blaise to do it?”

She looked at me in surprise. “Why?”

“She’s already in charge of the servants. She can put them to work.”

“You ask her, then. I cannot, after what she accused me of.”

I looked into her eyes. “Trust none of them, but love them all?”

She sighed and looked away. “Advice is easier when given than taken,” she said. “Very well, I will talk to her.”

Turning, she headed back to the window. I saw her pull Blaise aside, and they began to talk in low voices. Since no blows were exchanged, I assumed the best. In a life-or-death situation, even bitter enemies would work together to save themselves.

I went outside, into the main courtyard. The cloud had grown large enough to blot out the sun and most of its light, and a hazy sort of twilight settled over everything. Guards hurried across the courtyard, lighting torches. I knew without doubt that something huge and terrible was about to break over us. I think we all did.

Well, let it come. I gave a silent toast to inevitability. The sooner it came, the sooner we could act against it.

Without warning, a tremendous flash lit the courtyard, followed by a deafening crack of thunder. Tiny bits of rock rained down on me, followed by a choking cloud of dust. Then a block of stone as big as my head hit the paving stones ten feet from where I stood, shattering. I reeled back, coughing and choking, eyes stinging and tearing.

Screams sounded from inside the castle. It took me a second to realize what had happened—lightning had struck the top floor.

I ran for the steps to the battlements, knowing I’d be safer there than out in the open. The real danger lay in falling stones, not being struck by lightning. Somehow, I had a feeling this one had been the first of many to come.

Gaining the top of the battlements, I looked out across the army camp. Men by the thousands worked frantically, packing gear, pulling up wooden stakes and folding tents, herding animals. I spotted Locke on horseback, directing their movements. He seemed to be directing everyone within two hundred yards of the castle away to the empty fields by the forest where the hell-creatures had been spying on us.

Another blast of lightning came, then a third. Each struck the castle’s highest tower, cracking stone blocks and roof tiles. Debris rained down. Luckily no one was injured or killed.

“Close the gates!” I called down to the guards on duty. “Don’t let anyone in except Locke or Davin! It’s too dangerous!”

“Yes, Lord!” one of them called up, and two of them began to swing the heavy gates shut.

I went back down to the courtyard, waited for the next bolts of lightning to strike and the debris to fall, then sprinted across the courtyard and into the audience hall.

It was deserted. Two of the windows had broken, and I saw blood on the floor—someone had been cut by flying glass, I thought.

I spotted servants moving in the hallway, and I hurried to see what they were doing. Anari, it turned out, had taken Dworkin’s orders to heart and had begun moving all the castle’s beds and bedding to the ground floor. Servants would sleep in the grand ballroom. My sisters would share the dining hall. My brothers and I would have one of the lesser halls—one with no windows. Hopefully the lightning would stop or the castle would withstand its blasts through the morning.

I caught sight of Aber, who was supervising two servants as they carried an immense wooden chest down the stairs, and I strode over to join him.

“Who got hurt in the audience hall?” I asked.

“Conner,” he said. “A section of the glass fell in on him. His face and hands are cut up, but he’ll live.”

“That’s good news,” I said. “What’s in the trunk?”

“My set of Trumps. And a few other precious items I don’t want to lose. I thought I’d store them down here until we leave. We are leaving, aren’t we?”

I smiled bleakly. “What happened to your faith in Dad, Locke, and me? I thought you planned to sit tight until we killed everyone.”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “No offense, brother, but have you noticed what we’re up against? We won’t be alive to fight if we don’t get out of here, and soon. They’re bringing the castle down on our heads!”

A particularly loud crack! sounded outside as if to underscore his words. The castle shook, and I heard the low rumble of falling stones.

He might have a point, I thought. But the castle walls grew stronger the closer you got to the foundations. It wouldn’t be easy to destroy Juniper.

“In case you missed it,” I told him, “our Trumps aren’t working anymore. We can’t go anywhere. It’s time to stand and fight.”

“What?” He paled. “You’re wrong! The Trumps always work!”

“Try one,” I said, “and you’ll see. Neither Freda, Dad, nor I could get them to work.”

The servants carrying the trunk had reached the bottom of the stairs, and he motioned for them to set it down. They did so, and he flipped open its lid. I peered over his shoulder and saw stacks of cards… there had to be hundreds of them.

He picked up the top one, which showed me… it was the same card he’d been painting in his room earlier.

“Do you mind?” he asked me.

“Go ahead.”

He stared at it intently, frowning, but I felt no sense of contact. From his frustrated expression, I knew it wasn’t working for him, either.

With a low moan, he dropped his arm and looked at me. His face had gone ashen; his hand trembled.

“I’m sorry,” I said. I felt a little guilty for having him try the Trump when I’d known it wouldn’t work. Making Trumps seemed to be his one great talent, and it had been rendered useless right now.

“I can’t believe it,” he said.

“We’ll think of something else,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “Dad has whole rooms full of magical stuff. He must have something that can help us.”

Aber tossed the card back into the trunk, then slammed down the lid. Motioning for the two men to pick it up again, he told them to put it with the rest of his belongings. They started off down the hall.

“Well,” he told me philosophically, “I’ll just have to fall back on my other plan, I suppose.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Hide until the danger’s past!”

I laughed, and he gave me a weak smile. At least he still had his sense of humor.

The lightning stopped half an hour later, with the coming of night, but I suspected it was a temporary reprieve. Perhaps whoever had sent the cloud needed daylight to direct his attack. I had little doubt but that the blasts would resume at dawn.

Our father remained locked in his workshop, leaving the rest of us to care for the castle. It was late by the time we had everyone bedded down for the night, from family to servants. The guards bravely walking the battlements were the only ones outside.

Freda, Blaise, and I retired to the audience hall, waiting for Locke and Davin to return. We didn’t have much to say to each other, but the company was better than being alone.

The silence outside seemed ominous.

Finally, toward midnight, I heard horses in the courtyard and rose to check.

“It’s Locke and Davin,” I told my sisters.

“About time,” Blaise murmured.

Locke left the horses with Davin and hurried inside. He looked grim when he saw us.

“What news?” I asked.

“The men are now a safe distance from the castle,” he said. “I don’t think the lightning will reach them. What have I missed? Where’s Dad?”

“Locked in his rooms,” I said unhappily. “He’s not answering to knocks.”

Freda added, “We moved everyone to ground level, and they are settled for the night.”

“I saw the lightning strikes,” he said. “Perhaps we should move everyone out to the fields as soon as possible.”

“I think that would be a mistake,” I said. “They’re trying to drive us into the open. Despite the lightning, we’re better off in here. Although the top towers will fall, the closer the walls get to the ground, the stronger they become. We’ll be all right for a while yet.”

“Good enough.”

“If you’re going back out tomorrow morning,” I said, “you might want to do it before daybreak. I think darkness stopped the lightning.”

“I will.” He glanced around. “Where are we camped out tonight?”

I rose. “I’ll show you.”

My sleep was deep and restful, for once. Even though I shared the chamber with a dozen others, most of whom snored, exhaustion took me. No bad dreams plagued me, no visions of evil serpents or dying men on stone altars, no skies of ever-shifting patterns nor towers made of human bones.

I woke a little before dawn, listening to the first stirrings of life, thinking back to events of the previous night. It seemed unreal, somehow, almost like a bad dream. Clouds didn’t swirl in the sky, loosing thunderbolts upon helpless people. It seemed impossible, and yet I knew it had happened.

A silent figure crept into the room. I tensed, hand reaching for my sword. It was one of the castle guards. Another assassin?

Silently, like a ghost, he padded to Locke’s side. I prepared to shout a warning and launch myself at him, but he only stretched out his hand and shook his general’s shoulder.

Locke came awake with a start.

“You asked me to fetch you before dawn, General,” the man said. “It’s time.”

“Very well,” he said softly. “Wake Davin.” Rising, he began to dress.

I too sat up, stretching. My muscles ached a bit from my workout the previous afternoon, but I felt much refreshed… ready to fight, if need be, to protect Juniper. The hell-creatures would not take the castle easily, I vowed. I began to dress, too.

Locke picked up his boots, noticed me, and gave a quick jerk of his head toward the door. Rising, I grabbed my own boots and followed him out. We headed toward our father’s workshop.

“What are your plans for today?” I asked when he paused to pull on his boots. I took a moment to do the same.

“Prepare the men for battle,” he said grimly.

“I don’t think it will come today.”

“Why not?”

“Why rush? Let the lightning work on our morale.”

He nodded. “You’re right. That’s what I would do, too.”

We headed for our father’s rooms again, but the guards there lowered their pikes, blocking our way.

“Apologies, my Lords,” said the guard on duty with an audible gulp. “Prince Dworkin said not to let anyone disturb him. Not even you, General.”

Locke sighed. “I know you are only doing your duty,” he said. “But I must do mine as well.”

He hit the man twice, fast and hard, with the flat of his hand; the poor fellow slumped to the floor. It happened before the other guard could so much as move.

Locke glared across at him. “Remove your friend,” he said, “or I will remove you both.”

“It means my life, Lord,” the man pleaded, eyes wide and desperate. He barred the way with his pike and raised his chin, then pressed his eyes shut. “If you please.”

Locke nodded. Then he hit him twice, too, and when he slid to the floor, Locke and I stepped over the bodies. We had gone well beyond the point of fooling around.

Dworkin had left the door unbarred, so we didn’t have to kick it in. Locke glanced over at me, then pushed it open and entered.

Our father sat with his head down on the table nearest us, snoring. Three large bottles sat before him. Two had been completely emptied, plus half of the third, I picked up the half bottle, sniffed once, set it down.

“Brandy,” I said.

“Dad! Wake up!” Locke shook his shoulder.

Dworkin lolled to the side and would have fallen to the floor if I hadn’t reached out to steady him. We didn’t get to much as a whimper. He was dead to the world.

“Typical,” Locke said.

“He’s done this before?”

“Once that I know of, when he got kicked out of the Courts of Chaos.”

“Kicked out? Why?”

“Well, that’s not exactly how he tells it. He usually says he left because he grew tired of life in the Courts. But I know the truth. He forgets that I was there, too.”

I leaned forward. “What really happened? Every time someone tells me, I get a different story.”

“The truth?” He gave a sad smile. “He seduced King Uthor’s youngest and favorite daughter. Got her with child, in fact. Once that happened, it was hard to hide their involvement.”

“Couldn’t he have married her?”

“Unfortunately, she was already betrothed. Had been, in fact, since birth. Dworkin knew that, too, and he didn’t care.”

“Then… all this could be King Uthor’s doing?”

“Could be?” He chuckled. “Oh, Uthor may not be leading the attack, but I see his hand in it. I had hoped we could outrun or outlast him. He is old. And all this happened forty years ago, as time goes in the Courts.”

Forty years… long before my birth. I stared down at our father’s unconscious form. If Locke told the truth—and I believed him; why should he lie?—then Dad had brought ruin upon himself. And upon the rest of us.

I pushed him back onto the table. He could sleep off his drunk there. Foolish, foolish man.

“Leave him,” I said. “If you don’t mind, I’ll accompany you today. I don’t want to spend the day in the castle, listening to falling rock. And if I get a chance to swing my blade a few more times in the right direction—”

“All right.” He chuckled humorlessly. “I’m sure we can find something for you to do.”

The grooms had emptied the stables during the night. Our horses were penned with the cavalry’s mounts outside in the main camp. Davin joined us in the courtyard, now littered with fallen stone, and together the three of us walked out toward the military camp.

The sky grew lighter. I saw that the clouds still swirled endlessly overhead.

Halfway to the army camp, the lightning started again behind us. I glanced over my shoulder at the castle, as bolt after bolt of blue lanced from the sky, striking the tallest towers. More stones fell, raising clouds of dust. I didn’t envy those still inside. I knew it wouldn’t be a pleasant day for them.

Ahead, horns began to sound.

“That’s an attack!” Locke cried, recognizing the call to arms and sprinting for the pens of horses.

Davin and I followed on his heels.

Chapter 19

By the time we reached the horses, the grooms had already saddled Locke’s black stallion. Locke mounted without hesitation and took off at a gallop.

Davin and I waited impatiently for our own horses to be readied. “Does anyone know what’s happening?” I called, but none of the grooms or the soldiers at nearby tents spoke up. The soldiers were grimly putting on armor and buckling on their weapons.

Finally our horses were ready, and we took off after Locke. It didn’t take us long to find the command tent, and when we ducked through the flaps, we found our brother barking orders.

“They’re marching on our men to the north,” he said to Davin.

“The recruits?” Davin paled. “They’re not ready!”

“They’ve just become our front lines. Muster the Wolves, Bears, and Panthers. We need archers at the fore. Put them… put them at Beck’s Ridge.”

“Got it.” Davin turned and ran.

Locke looked to me. “You said you fought them for a year. What advice can you give me?”

“Are they on foot or mounted?” I asked.

“Tell him,” Locke said to one of the captains standing before him.

The man turned to me. “Both,” he said. “They have two lines of creatures with pikes marching at the fore. Horsemen with swords ride behind. No archers that I could see.”

“That sounds right,” I said. I swallowed at the sudden lump in my throat. It was just like Ilerium all over again, only larger. There, we had lost battles steadily for a year, and we had been able to fall back as necessary. Here we had a castle to defend. A siege seemed inevitable. And yet, with the lightning blasting the castle to ruin, we would find no safety within its walls.

To Locke, I said, “Their mounted troops are the biggest danger right now. Their horses breathe fire, remember, and they kill men as readily as the riders do.”

“Then I’ll have our archers take out as many horses and riders as they can,” Locke said.

“Fight the horsemen with two weapons,” I continued. “Keep a knife pointed at the horse and it won’t come too close. The riders are strong and like to beat down their opponents, so keep moving and keep them off-balance. Fight two or three on one.”

“What weapons are best?” the captain asked.

“Spears, pikes, and arrows.” I glanced at Locke. “How many archers do you have, anyway?”

“Five thousand, more or less.”

I whistled. “That many!” For the first time, I felt a surge of hope. “It may be enough.”

“Best guess at their numbers?” Locke asked the captain.

“Maybe ten thousand, from what I saw. We outnumber them.”

Locke frowned. “That’s too few,” he said. “There should be more. They’ve scouted us. They know how many we have.”

Horns began to sound again outside. A runner came through the flaps.

Gasping for breath, half bent over with his hands on his knees, he managed to say: “More of them marching against us, General! From the east and the south! Thousands!”

Nodding like he’d expected it, Locke rose. “Sound the ready call. We march in five minutes. Split the forces evenly in thirds. Archers to the front, pikes and spears behind. I’ll lead the west, Davin the east. Oberon, will you take the south?”

“Yes,” I said.

He nodded. “We’ll pick off as many as we can with the archers. Keep falling back around the castle. If necessary, we’ll regroup there and make our stand.”

“All right,” I said.

“Parketh,” he said to one of his aides, “find Lord Oberon some armor. Move!”

The number of men assigned to my command—nearly twenty-five thousand infantry, with spears and pikes, plus two thousand archers and a thousand cavalry—seemed impossibly huge, and yet as I rode down the assembled ranks, I couldn’t help but feel it wouldn’t be enough. This attack had been well orchestrated… the hell-creatures knew our numbers, and still they came. Somehow, I thought we had missed some important detail.

Then I glanced up at the sky, at the swirling black mass of clouds over Juniper, and I wondered if they counted on the lightning to help destroy us. If we fell back around the castle, we would certainly be within its range…

No sense worrying about retreat now, I thought with a sigh. If we carried the day, we wouldn’t have to worry about getting too close to the castle.

I reached the end of my troops, raised my sword, and cried, “On to victory!”

The men gave a cheer, then began to march forward, heading south across the fields.

As we neared the woods, troops began to pour from the forest silently, waves of hell-creatures armed with pikes. I saw no sign of their horsemen yet, but I knew they wouldn’t be far behind. We couldn’t wait for them—our archers would have to take out their first wave of attackers.

“Archers ready!” I called, and the bugler sounded my commands so all could hear.

Our front lines dropped to one knee, giving the archers room to aim.

“Fire!” I screamed.

They began to let loose their arrows, huge volleys of them. The front line of hell-creatures fell, but more swarmed from the trees in a seemingly endless black wave.

My archers continued to shoot, but there were too many of the hell-creatures. For every one that fell, five more took his place, advancing on us at a run. And then, behind them, I saw lines of hell-creatures on horseback making their way steadily toward us.

“Sound the call for the pikemen!” I said to the bugler, as their first men neared our lines.

He blew the call, and our archers dropped back. The line of pikemen rushed forward, screaming fierce battle cries. The archers raised their bows and fired over the pike-men’s heads, killing more of the hell-creatures to the rear.

“Hold some arrows back for their horses!” I shouted. “Aim for their mounts whenever you have a clear shot!”

Both sides met in the middle of the field, a huge writhing mass of bodies. From my vantage point on my horse’s back, I saw still more hell-creatures pouring from the forest, although there had to be tens of thousands already fighting.

Our archers kept firing as they found targets, but I held our horsemen back. Their mounts shifted impatiently, eager to charge.

“Steady… steady…” I murmured.

The battle slowly turned in the hell-creatures’ favor. Half my troops had fallen, and the remaining half seemed badly outnumbered. The archers had begun to fall back; they couldn’t pick out targets easily. I knew the time had come to send in my horsemen.

“Sound the charge,” I said, raising my sword.

To the wailing call of the horn, I spurred my own mount, and together with my two thousand cavalrymen, I rode into the battle.

It became a blur of slashing, hacking, and chopping. Around me, I saw horses and riders from both sides pulled down and then hacked to bits. Still I fought on, my sword a blur as I killed hell-creatures by the dozen. Soldiers began to rally around me, and together we cut a wide swathe through the enemy’s lines. I screamed my war-cry and rode, smeared in blood and gore, fighting as I had never fought before, taking a wild joy in the feel of metal slicing through armor and flesh, of killing those who had destroyed my life and my love and my home.

Suddenly, it was over. I heard the wail of enemy horns, and the hell-creatures turned and began their retreat. Archers fired at their backs, taking down dozens, then hundreds more. The men around me began to cheer.

I sagged in my saddle, grinning madly, exhausted beyond words. As I turned, taking in the battlefield, I saw bodies everywhere, human and hell-creature alike, piled three and four deep in places.

My arms trembled. My head ached. I had never felt so tired before in my entire life.

And yet I felt a wild elation—it had been a victory of epic proportion. Although two-thirds of my men had fallen, dead or wounded, we had still won the battle. And we had killed twice as many of them as they had killed of us.

“O-ber-on! O-ber-on! O-ber-on!” The men began to chant my name.

I raised my sword and sat up straight in my saddle. “Back to camp!” I cried. “Carry the wounded and our dead!”

Still cheering, they fanned out across the battlefield, looking for human survivors, killing whatever hell-creatures still lived.

There would be no prisoners in this war, I thought.

By the time we started back toward camp, scouts had ridden out to get a report and tell me what had happened. Their news wasn’t good. Although Locke’s men had ultimately carried the day, Locke had been badly wounded, dragged from his saddle, and left for dead by the hell-creatures. His men had carried him back to his tent, where physicians now tended him.

That was the good news.

Davin’s men had lost their battle. Davin hadn’t made it back. He lay lost somewhere on the battlefield, amid the corpses of eighteen thousand other men.

I left my horse and hurried to see Locke. I pushed past the physicians, ignoring their pleas to let the general rest, and knelt at the side of his cot.

Although they had bandaged his head, blood had already soaked through the bandages.

“Locke,” I said, “it’s me.”

His eyes flickered and opened. Slowly he turned his head toward me, though I could tell it pained him greatly to do so.

“What news?” he croaked.

“We won,” I said. “At least for today.”

He smiled a bit, and then he died.

Taking a deep breath, I reached out, shut his eyes, and stood. Priests hurried forward and began to say their prayers, getting his body ready for burial. I’d have to ask Freda what we did with our family’s dead, I thought distantly.

“Send runners if the enemy moves on us again,” I told Locke’s aides. “I must tell our father.”

“Yes, General,” they said to me.

Slowly I turned and walked out into the open. Officers called to me for news of Locke, but I ignored them.

With a heavy heart, ignoring the lightning that once again struck the castle walls, I began the long walk back. It would be dark soon, I thought. The attack would cease. I would go in and let them know what had happened.

It wasn’t a duty I looked forward to.

Chapter 20

The two guards at Dworkin’s door had been replaced, I noticed as I approached. They snapped to attention, but made no move to stop me.

I went past them and entered my father’s workshop without knocking.

He took one look at my face, then sagged into a chair.

“The news is bad,” he said flatly, “isn’t it.”

“Davin and Locke are dead,” I told him. “But we won the day.”

“And tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” I said, “I will lead the men. We will fight and hope for the best.”

“Will you tell Freda?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, and without another word I turned and left.

I ran into Aber first and paused to tell him the news, but he didn’t seem surprised.

“I told you Locke wasn’t a traitor,” he said.

“No,” I agreed, “he wasn’t. He may well have been the best of us all. I have to tell Freda. I promised Dad.”

“She’s taken over the little room off the audience hall. She won’t come out. I’ve tried all day.”

“What’s she doing?”

“I don’t know.”

I sighed, rose. ‘I’ll go talk to her,” I said. One more unpleasant task on top of an unpleasant day, I thought.

I went to the audience hall, but when I tried the door to the little room, it had been locked from the inside.

“Freda,” I called, knocking. “Let me in.”

She didn’t answer.

“Freda?” I called. “It’s me, Oberon, Open up, will you? It’s important. Freda!”

I heard bolts sliding, and then the door opened a foot—enough for me to slip inside. She closed it and locked it behind me.

“You should not have come,” she said.

She looked terrible, face pinched and drawn, cheeks gray, hair a disheveled mess.

“Aber is worried about you.”

“Worried about me?” She gave a laugh. “I am the least of anyone’s worries. The end has come. We are trapped. We will die here.”

“You’ve seen this in your cards?” I nodded toward the deck of Trumps scattered across the table, on top of Dworkin’s maps.

“No. I cannot see anything.”

I glanced at the two small windows set high in the wall. She had drawn the curtains, hiding the clouds and the incessant flicker of that odd blue lightning.

“There is an old saying,” I said. “Where there’s life, there’s hope.”

“It is not true.” She gestured at the table in the center of the room. Several candles, burnt down almost to nubs, showed her Trumps laid down in rows. “The patterns are random, without meaning. We will all die. We cannot survive without the Logrus.”

“I did,” I said. “I have lived my whole life without the Logrus.”

“And look where it has gotten you,” she said bitterly. “You would be dead now if Father had not saved you.”

“No,” I said. “I survived a year of fighting against the hell-creatures without the Logrus, or Dad, or you. I survived my whole life without once drawing on its power. I still cannot use the Logrus, and I am the one who survived today’s battle.”

“And… Locke and Davin?”

I swallowed, looked away. “I’m sorry.”

She began to cry. I put my arm around her.

“I’m not about to give up,” I said softly. “I’m not about to lie down and die here, trapped like an animal. Out of every life a little blood must spill. It makes us stronger. We will survive.”

“You do not know any better,” she said after a minute, and with some effort she regained control of herself and dried her tears. “The war is already over… we have lost.”

“Our enemy wants us to believe that. I don’t.”

She looked at me, puzzled. “I do not understand.”

“You’re thinking like a woman of Chaos. Your first impulse is to reach for the Logrus… and when it isn’t there, you think you’re crippled.”

“I am crippled! We all are!”

“No, you’re not!” I fumbled for the right words. “Look, I’ve never drawn on the Logrus. Not once in my whole life. You don’t need it to use a sword. You don’t need it to walk or run or laugh or dance. And you don’t need to see the future to live. People get by just fine without the Logrus. They always have and they always will.”

“Not real people,” she said. “Just Shadowlings…”

“Am I a Shadowling?”

She hesitated. “No… but—”

“But nothing! Forget the Logrus! Forget it exists! Think of what you can do without it… find ways to fight, ways to escape, ways to confuse and deceive our enemies. Dad says you’re the smartest of us all. Prove it.”

Her brow furrowed, but she did not argue any more.

I crossed to her table, gathered all her Trumps into a single stack, and put them back in their little wooden box. Had a fire burned in the fireplace, I would have cast them into it.

“Don’t look at your Trumps again,” I said in a firm voice. “Promise me?”

“I promise,” she said slowly.

“Keep your word,” I told her. Then I kissed her on the forehead. “I will send someone with food. Eat, then go to sleep. Something will occur to us sooner or later. Some way to win the fight… the war.”

“Yes, Oberon,” she said softly. “And… thank you.”

I forced a smile I didn’t feel. “Don’t mention it.”

As I left her room, I found my mind suddenly racing. She had given me an idea, with her stubborn clinging to the power of the Logrus. I knew the Logrus had become useless. Something had cut off Juniper from its power, isolated us, left Dworkin and all the rest of my family powerless. Without the Logrus, they felt like cripples.

Our enemies depended on that.

Talking to her had given me an idea… an idea so crazy, I just thought it just might work.

I sent servants running to the kitchens to prepare a hot meal for Freda, then went back toward Dworkin’s workshop. Again the guards let me pass without question.

I strode straight to the door, found it standing open, and an impromptu war conference going on inside. Conner, his head and shoulder wrapped in blood-stained bandages, stood inside with Titus and our father. The jumble of experiments had all been dumped onto the floor or shoved into the corners, and maps now covered every single table.

“—not going to work,” Conner was saying heatedly.

They all grew silent as I entered.

“I know I’m interrupting,” I said, “but get out, both of you. Now. I have to speak to our father alone. It’s important.”

“You get out,” Conner said, bristling. “We’re working.”

“Go,” Dworkin said to them both. “We are not accomplishing anything. Get some sleep; we will talk again later.”

Conner looked like he wanted to argue, but finally gave a nod. Titus helped him stand, and together they limped out.

I shut the door after them, then barred it. I didn’t want to be disturbed again.

“They are trying to help,” Dworkin said. “You cannot lead the whole army yourself. You are going to need them.”

“Forget the army,” I told him. “Aber showed me something of what goes into making a Trump. You incorporate the Logrus into it, making it part of the image. Right?”

“In a way. Yes.”

“You’re supposed to be good at it. He said so.”

“Yes. I made thousands of them in my youth.”

“I want you to make me a Trump, right now. But instead of the Logrus, I want you to use the pattern within me.”

He raised his bushy gray eyebrows. “What?”

“You’ve seen it,” I said. “You said it’s in that ruby. You know what it looks like. If it’s so different from the Logrus, perhaps we can use it to get away from Juniper. It took me to Ilerium, remember.”

“Yes.” He stared, eyes distant, envisioning something… perhaps the pattern within me, the pattern he had seen deep within that jewel. “What an interesting thought.”

“Will it work?” I demanded.

“I don’t know.”

“I want you to try.”

“It may be possible,” Dworkin mused aloud. “If…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, but rose and fetched paper, ink, and a cup full of brushes. After clearing a space on one of the tables, he sat and began to sketch with a quick, sure hand.

I recognized the picture immediately: the street outside Helda’s house. He drew burnt-out ruins where her home had been, with only the stone chimney still standing.

“No…” I said. “I don’t want to go there. Anywhere else, please!”

“You know this street well,” he said, “and that will help you concentrate. It is the only place we have both been recently.”

“Ilerium isn’t safe!”

“It should be by now. Time moves a lot differently between these two Shadows… a single day here is almost two weeks there.”

“What about my pattern?” I asked. He hadn’t drawn the image the way Aber had, starting with the Logrus in the background, but went straight to drawing the street. “Don’t you need to work it into the picture?”

He gave a low chuckle. “You begin to see the difference between Aber and me,” he said. “Aber does not understand why the Trumps work. He doesn’t want to understand. Instead, he slavishly copies my own early efforts, when I painted a flat representation of the Logrus as part of each card, behind the image. It helped me concentrate. The Logrus does not actually need to be part of the card… but it does need to be foremost in the artist’s mind as he creates. It shapes the picture as much as the human hand. They are, after all, one and the same.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You do not need to. That is my point!”

He dipped his pen in the inkwell and finished quickly. The image was sketchy, little better than a simple line drawing, with the faintest hints of shape to the background. But despite the lack of detail, it had an unmistakable power that I could feel as I gazed upon it. A power which the Logrus Trumps no longer held.

I concentrated on the scene, and it swiftly grew more real… colors entered… a deep blue sky… black for the burnt-out foundations to either side… blue-gray cobblestones littered with broken red roof tiles… and suddenly I looked out onto the street in late afternoon. Not a single building still stood, just fire-blackened chimneys by the dozens. Neither man nor beast stirred anywhere that I could see.

Had I stepped forward, I would have passed through to safety. Kingstown and Ilerium lay within my reach.

Dworkin’s hand abruptly covered the picture. Blinking, I stood before him again.

“It worked!” he said, and I heard the awe in his voice. “We can leave!”

“Make more Trumps,” I told him, “for five distant Shadows, places where everyone will be safe. We’ll send everyone through, scatter the family to places our enemies will never find them.”

“Why separate?” he asked. “Surely together…”

“We still have a traitor among us,” I reminded him. “I don’t know who it is. But if only you and I know where everyone has gone, they will be safe. I think that’s how they found us here.”

“Yes,” he said, smiling now, his confidence returning. “A good plan. Freda and Pella can go together. Conner and Titus. Blaise and Isadora. Syara and Leona. Fenn and Aber. No one will be able to track them if they stay away from the Logrus…”

“Exactly.”

“You and I will go last,” he went on, eyes distant, envisioning some special Shadow. “We must work on mastering the pattern within you… for that is where our future hopes must rest.”

“Whatever you say, Dad.” I rose and clasped his shoulder. “Be strong for now. We’ll win. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I never had any doubts.” He smiled up at me.

Then I went to find the rest of our family. We had a castle to abandon.

Chapter 21

With everyone living on the ground floor, I didn’t think it would take long to find all my brothers and sisters. I found Aber waiting impatiently outside Dworkin’s rooms.

“Well?” he demanded.

“Well what?”

“From the way you went racing in there, I thought something had happened. Did it?”

I shook my head. “Actually, we have come up with a plan. I think it’s going to work, too.”

“Great! Tell me about it. What can I do to help?”

“We have to find everyone first.”

“I just saw Freda and Pella in the kitchens,” he said.

“Fetch them. I’ll see who else I can find.”

We split up. I headed for the dining hall, and there I found Blaise, Titus, and Conner seated at the long table—now pushing up against the far wall. A cold supper of roast chicken, grilled vegetables, and what looked like meat pudding sat before them.

They grew silent the second I walked in, and from their guilty expressions, I knew they had been talking about me.

Well, let them. I had nothing to hide. And it looked very much like I’d be their savior.

“What news?” Conner asked after a few awkward seconds.

I said, “Our father has come up with a plan. He wants to see everyone in his workshop. Right now.”

“It’s about time,” Blaise said, throwing down her napkin and standing. “What is he up to?”

“Later,” I said, “when everyone gets there. Do you know where anyone else is?”

Blaise hesitated.

“Tell me! “I said.

“It’s Fenn and Isadora,” Conner said suddenly. “They aren’t here.”

“What!” I stared at the three of them. “Don’t tell me they’re trying to slip past the hell-creatures—”

“No,” Blaise said. “They left three days ago by Trump. Just before the problems started. They went for help. We weren’t supposed to tell anyone… they swore us to secrecy.”

I cursed. They might be dead or captured. Then a worse thought struck. Had we just found our traitor—or should I say, traitors?

“Do you know where they went?” I asked.

“It’s Locke’s fault,” Titus exclaimed. “He put them up to something.”

“They didn’t say,” Blaise said. “We were just supposed to cover for them.”

“Fenn called it a secret mission,” Conner added.

“And none of you has the slightest idea what it was?”

“That’s right,” Blaise said.

I sighed. Well, perhaps it made things simpler. Two less bodies to save. Two less possible complications to our escape.

“All right,” I said. “Go join our father. I still have to find Leona and Syara.”

“I think they’re still in the audience hall,” Blaise said.

“Thanks.” I nodded. “I’ll check there first.”

I watched them go, then hurried to the audience hall. Sure enough, I found Leona and Syara helping tend to wounded soldiers. Some of the more grievously injured had been brought here from the battlefields.

“Father wants to see us all,” I said, drawing them aside. “Leave them to the physicians.”

They hesitated a second, looking at the injured and dying. Clearly they didn’t want to leave their charges.

“It’s very important.” I linked my arms through theirs and gently steered them toward the door. “I’m not allowed to take ‘No’ for an answer.”

“Very well,” Syara said with a sigh. “But there are men dying here.”

“Dad has a plan,” I said. “He needs us all there.”

At that, they gave in and let me lead them back to our father’s workshop.

The door stood open. I brought them inside, counting heads. Yes, everyone had come. They clustered around Dworkin, chattering happily, asking questions which he answered with knowing smiles.

“Ah,” he said. “Here is Oberon. Ready, my boy?”

“Yes.” I shut and barred the door.

“What’s this plan?” Conner asked me.

Everyone echoed his sentiments.

“Are you done with the Trumps?” I asked Dworkin.

“Yes.”

“We’re leaving,” I told my brothers and sisters. “We’re going to split up—head to different Shadows. I want you all to stay there at least a year or two. Do nothing involving the Logrus. Let’s see if we can’t outlast our enemies.”

“But the Trumps—” Freda began.

“We now have a few that work,” I told her. “That’s all you need to know for the moment.”

She still looked upset, so I added, “It’s for everyone’s safety. We’re going to pair up. None of you will know where the other groups have gone. Hopefully, you’ll all be safe.”

“Who is first?” Dworkin asked.

“Leona and Syara,” I said. They stood closest to me. “Give me the first Trump,” I said to our father.

He passed me a card. I held it up, staring at it, feeling the power of the image as it sprang to life.

A placid lake, swans swimming, sailboats racing across the water. Beyond the water rose a golden-hued city, its bridges and towers like spun glass. My sisters would be happy here, I thought.

I pushed them through, saw them on the other side staring back at me with startled expressions—and then they were gone.

I held a crumpled card in my hand. Silently, I passed it to Dworkin, who thrust it into a candle’s flame. It caught fire like well-seasoned tinder, burning brightly and rapidly. He dropped it to the stone floor, where it slowly turned to ash.

“Next,” I said. “Conner and Titus.”

They stepped forward, and as before, our father passed me one of his new Trumps. I held it up, concentrating on the image.

This scene showed a busy street in a bustling city. Men on horseback, tall buildings, shops selling arms and armor—the perfect place for two young men to lose themselves in adventures.

As the sights and smells and textures of this city leaped to life, I pushed my brothers through. As before, I crumpled the Trump in my hand, and they were gone.

Dworkin burned it, too.

“Freda and Pella,” I said.

“Pick us a nice world, Father,” Freda said in a soft tone.

He smiled at her lovingly, then passed me another Trump. I gazed at it.

A winter palace, with snow falling. White horses decked in bells and ribbons. Twin statues of Freda and Pella being worshipped as goddesses.

I smiled. Yes, they would be happy here, I thought. I pushed them through as the world came to life before me, and just before I crumpled the page, I heard wild cheering as they appeared. The goddesses had arrived. They would be well cared for.

That only left Aber and Blaise. I would never have paired them, but with Fenn and Isadora gone, there didn’t seem much choice.

“Ready?” I asked.

“I suppose,” Aber said, stepping forward bravely. “Coming, Sis?”

She glared at him. “Don’t call me that!”

Oh yes, I thought, rolling my eyes, they were going to have a lot of fun together. If they didn’t rip each other’s throats out first.

Without comment, Dworkin passed me another Trump. I gazed down at an elegant whitewashed villa. As it came to reality before me, I smelled the ocean’s brine and heard the soft calls of gulls as they wheeled in a cloudless azure sky. It seemed almost idyllic.

I helped Blaise through, then reached for Aber. But as he stepped close, he snatched the Trump from my hand, ripped it in half, and the doorway into Shadow vanished. My last glimpse of Blaise showed her with hands on her hips and a furious expression on her face.

“Are you crazy!” I demanded. “What’s the idea?”

Grinning, Aber thrust the ruined Trump into a candle’s flame. It burned fast and bright.

“You have to ask?” he said. “I’m not living with her for a year or two! I’d rather face a legion of hell-creatures naked and unarmed!”

I took a deep breath, then let it out with a laugh. “All right,” I said, looking at our father. He looked distinctly nonplussed. “I guess we don’t have any choice now. Like it or not, you’re coming with us.”

“Where?” he asked eagerly.

Dworkin held up the last Trump.

“Where they least expect us,” he said, smiling like a shark about to devour its prey.

I looked down, a horrible cold feeling reaching up inside my chest.

He had drawn the Courts of Chaos.

Chapter 1

“Oberon!”

Over a roaring wind, I heard a distant calling of my name. I had been dreaming of sailing a small boat across a churning, wind-swept sea; the dream clung to me, and I could not easily shake its tendrils away.

Where was I? My eyes were closed, but I sensed no light beyond them. Could it be nighttime, or was I in a dark room? I heard what might have been either the rush of wind or the beating of a thousand wings around me. My skin prickled all over with goosebumps, and I felt at once cold and hot, wet and dry.

When I tried to sit up and open my eyes, however, I could not. I found my lack of strength vaguely troubling. But it was so easy not to care, to let myself slide back into the dreaming—

“Oberon! Wake up!”

Ships. I had just begun to dream of ships for a second time when that nagging voice broke in again. The motion around me—a gentle rocking as from waves—reminded me of a ship's deck… but there came no susurrant lap from the waves, no cries of gulls nor smell of briny sea.

No, not a ship, I decided, trying to focus my attention on the problem. Also not a horse; no stamping hooves nor neighs nor smells of dung and horse-sweat. A moving carriage, perhaps? That almost made sense. My father had a magnificent carriage, like a giant pumpkin made of spun glass. I remembered my first and only ride in it; we had passed through dozens, maybe hundreds of nightmare worlds. But that didn't explain why I felt both hot and cold. It didn't explain a lot of things.

What was that roaring noise?

And why couldn't I open my eyes?

“Oberon!”

I tried to turn my head toward that distant voice but couldn't quite figure out where it came from. Above me? Below? I had gotten turned around; every direction felt wrong, as though I teetered on the edge of a cliff, about to fall. I shivered, and an impulse to flee came over me. I didn't like this place. I didn't like the sensations of being here. I had to get out, now, before something horrible happened.

Once more I tried to rouse myself from sleep. With that effort, colors suddenly pulsed in my head; lights sang and danced before my closed eyelids, and strange tastes and smells and textures flooded my senses. The flavors of lemon and salt and roast chicken and straw all mixed together, the smells of mud and sweat and honey—

If I dreamed, I dreamed strangely. Yet, somehow, I knew I was not dreaming… not quite, anyway. This was something else, something strange and unnatural and unpleasant.

“Oberon!” that distant voice bellowed. “Get your lazy ass out of bed! The king needs you! Now!”

The king. Yes, King Elnar needed me. I was one of his lieutenants. I tried to reach for my sword. It must be time to muster the men

No, that was wrong. King Elnar had died a long time ago… it now seemed a lifetime past. A sour, discordant note crept into the sounds in my head; the dancing lights pulsed, bright and dark, dark and bright. I reached for the memory, found it, shuddered at the sudden chill it brought. Yes, I remembered too well… remembered how King Elnar fell at the hands of hell-creatures in Ilerium. I had seen his severed head stuck on a pole in the mud outside of Kingstown, a warning and a trap for me when I returned there unexpectedly.

“You killed me!” I had heard his accusing voice say, impossibly coming from that severed head on the pole. “Traitor!” it called. “Traitor…!”

I'd opened my mouth to argue, but the words disappeared in a sudden roar of wind. In my mind, I pressed my eyes shut, refusing to see, but the image lingered. And I knew he had been right.

King Elnar, the entire population of Kingstown, and countless thousands of soldiers—all had died because of me. Hell-creatures had invaded Ilerium to find and kill me because my father was a Lord of Chaos, commanding powers I could barely begin to understand.

Now, with King Elnar gone, I no longer served anyone but myself. I didn't have to listen to his accusing voice. I didn't have to wake up. I didn't have to do anything I didn't choose to do.

“Oberon! On your feet!”

I tried to answer, to tell the voice to go to hell, but I could not make my body obey. That vaguely bothered me. Had I been drugged? Had I been sick or grievously injured? Everything I remembered—could it all have been some nightmare or wild fever-dream?

It all seemed so clear. I remembered my Uncle Dworkin, who had swept back into my life after ten years' absence. Dworkin had saved me from a band of hell-creatures, announced himself as my true father, and carted me off to a magnificent castle on another world… a castle full of people who claimed to be my half-brothers and half-sisters. Aber and Freda… Locke and Davin and Blaise… too many for me to take them all in at once.

And I was one of them; I had known it the moment I saw them. We all shared many traits with Dworkin; clearly he had sired us, though with different mothers. I had never suspected my true heritage, but now I recognized the truth of it: Dworkin really was my father.

In Juniper Castle I had learned I was born to a noble line of sorcerers. My family had its roots in a place called the Courts of Chaos, the center of the universe, where magic was real. As I understood it, all other worlds were mere Shadows cast by the Courts.

These sorcerers used something called the Logrus, which was a kind of shifting pattern or maze—I wasn't quite clear on how it worked or what it looked like, since different people described it in different ways. All I knew was it granted them miraculous powers, including the ability to move between Shadows and summon objects from distant places. I hoped to be able to travel through it myself, but it seemed I didn't have the ability to do so. I was a magical cripple as far as my family was concerned… even though I had already learned to do a little bit of magic on my own. I could change my appearance for short periods of time when I tried.

Unfortunately, our family was at war with an unknown enemy. This mysterious foe had been tracking down and murdering all of Dworkin's offspring, and when he (whoever he was) discovered me in Ilerium, I had become his next target. That was why Dworkin returned and rescued me. My father had gathered all his surviving children together in Juniper, his castle stronghold, guarded by a hundred thousand soldiers under the command of his eldest son, Locke.

Unfortunately, an even larger army of hell-creatures showed up to wipe us all out, and an epic battle ensued. We carried the first day, but at a terrible cost. Our army was decimated, Locke died, and dark sorceries had cut off everyone's access to the Logrus. With no magical means of escape remaining, it seemed we were about to lose. Home, fortune, life; everything.

Fortuitously, it turned out I had a different sort of magic within myself… a Pattern—different from the Logrus and yet related to it. Calling on its power, and with Dworkin's guidance, my siblings fled into other Shadows, scattering like dust in the wind, hopefully to places where they would remain safe from harm… at least for now. With our enemy's attention and troops focused on Juniper, we had at least a short time to be safe.

Dworkin decided to return to the Courts of Chaos to seek help. Who had attacked Juniper? Who was trying to destroy Dworkin's bloodline? We needed to find the answers.

I had accompanied him, along with my half-brother, Aber. I liked Aber best of all my siblings; he was the only one who seemed to have a sense of humor, and he had been the only one to really take me in and make me feel like I belonged. Aber had been the one who most helped me understand how everything and everyone in our family worked.

A voice broke in on me again, over the sounds of wind:

“Oberon! The king! Rally to the king!”

“He's dead,” I tried to say, but it came out a faint mumble.

“Did you hear that?” the voice asked. I did not think its owner was talking to me. “He tried to say something.”

“Oberon!” said another voice, lower in pitch, stronger. I recognized it instantly. It belonged to my father. “Listen to me carefully, my boy. You must wake up now—rightnow! Don't hesitate. Do it!”

I was mad at my father, I decided. He had dragged me from my safe, cozy life in Ilerium, where I'd known my place and my duty. I had been one of King Elnar's lieutenants, and I had been happy. This whole nightmare—armies attacking, people trying to murder me and destroy our whole family—it was all Dworkin's fault. Before his death, my brother Locke told me the truth of it: Dworkin brought all of this down upon himself through an unfortunate affair with King Uthor of Chaos's daughter.

“Oberon! Look at me!”

Something hit me in the face. I heard the slap, felt it like a white-hot brand across my right cheek. Rage crystallized within me. I forgot the rush of wind in my ears, the darkness and the confusion. Nobody hits me and gets away with it.

I was like a drowning man struggling up through thick, heavy waters. Rage buoyed me upwards. Distantly, I heard a groan. It was an awful, pitiful sound, not the sound a man—a warrior—should have made. When I realized it came from my lips, I tried to stifle it.

And at that moment I opened my eyes.

Dworkin, my father, loomed over me, a short, almost dwarfish man of indeterminate years. He had a look of intense concentration on his face, as though studying some specimen of scientific interest rather than his own son.

I tried to speak, but no sound came out. The breath wheezed in my throat.

“Wake up, I said!”

My father slapped me a second time, hard. My head whipped back from the force.

Both cheeks stinging, I gritted my teeth and turned my head back to face him. My ears rang. The whole room seemed to be whirling around.

As he raised his hand to strike me again, I grabbed his wrist and held it back.

“Don't—” I growled, “or I'll—break your—arm!”

He smiled toothily. “Ah. About time.”

I released him and he lowered his arm.

Moving my head made the room swim drunkenly around me. I spotted my half-brother Aber standing behind and to the side of Dworkin, studying me with clear concern. He seemed to be swaying like a tree in a windstorm.

Turning my head farther, I discovered I lay on my back on a high, narrow bed. Slowly, half groaning, I shifted to the other side. It seemed to take forever. The bed sat in a small, dimly lit room. My eyes didn't want to focus on the far wall. It appeared to be made of blocks of red stone flecked with green. A phosphorescent yellowish-green light oozed from between the stones and trickled up toward the ceiling, where it pooled.

I pressed my eyes shut, then rubbed them with my fists. No, I definitely was not ready to see yet. But Dad wanted me awake, and I assumed he had a damn good reason. He'd better, or I really would break his arm. And maybe his neck.

Sucking in a deep breath, using every ounce of my strength, I managed to sit up. That was a huge mistake. The room pinwheeled around me, doing its best imitation of a drunkard's stagger. My insides convulsed in response, but disgorged nothing. I had no idea of how long it had been since I'd last eaten.

“Where am I?”

“Home,” Aber said. “Our family's estates in the Beyond.” At my puzzled look, he went on. “Close to the Courts of Chaos. You know.”

I didn't know, but my head felt ready to explode, and I couldn't muster much enthusiasm to care. The roar in my ears returned. Groaning, I pressed my eyes shut and willed everything back to normal. It didn't work.

We must have been out on some drinking binge last night: too much ale, maybe a fistfight or two, hopefully a pair of comely barmaids well bedded. I had awakened from many worse things over the years.

The only thing was, I didn't remember any of it.

“How do you feel?” Dworkin asked me.

I hesitated. “Not quite dead.”

“Do you know where you are?”

The last thing I remembered—

“The Courts of Chaos,” I whispered.

“The Beyond is a Shadow of the Courts,” said Dworkin, “so close to Chaos that the... ah, atmospherics are almost identical.”

I had hated the Courts of Chaos even before I'd come here with my father and Aber. I'd seen the Courts distantly, through one of my sister Freda's Trump cards. Trumps had the power to open doorways to other worlds. Just gazing at the Courts—strangely shaped buildings, lightning-filled sky, stars that moved and whirled around like fireflies—made me physically ill. Looking back, I should have known coming here would be a mistake. I should have refused to go when my father told me he planned to go to the Courts of Chaos for help.

But I hadn't refused. I hadn't said a word. I'd gone with him because, despite a lifetime of lies and deceptions, he was still my father, and I felt the full weight of my responsibility as his son. Duty and honor had been drilled into me since I was old enough to know what they meant. He'd made sure of that.

Before Juniper could fall, we had used his Trump to get away. In the Courts of Chaos, blood dripped up, stones moved like sheep across the ground, and somewhere, a serpent in a tower made of bones worked dark sorceries to destroy our family.

If the Beyond truly was like the Courts of Chaos, that explained the walls, which now seemed to pulsate gently as they wept their phosphoric light. Overhead, the high-beamed wooden ceiling began to flicker like candles seen through a paper lantern.

Unbidden, a moan welled up from deep in my chest.

“Steady,” said Aber.

“Keep him talking,” Dworkin said to Aber, then turned and crossed to the other side of the room. I couldn't see what he was doing at the table, nor did I particularly care at that point. I wanted to curl up and go back to sleep.

Aber sat beside me on the edge of the bed. He had been my one true friend in Juniper, and I had immediately sensed a real camaraderie between us. Now he seemed to drift in and out of focus as I gazed up at him. The brown of his hair began to drip like the walls, colors running down his face. I hesitated. It was him—but not quite. He had horns. His features were heavier, thicker, almost a parody of the young man I knew. And yet… the other Aber… the Aber I knew in Juniper… seemed to be there as well, superimposed on this one. He seemed to flicker back and forth between the two.

Quickly I looked away. Hallucinations? Madness? Maybe it was an effect of being so close to the Courts of Chaos. Maybe it was me and not him at all. I had no way of knowing.

Chapter 2

“Why are we in this place…?” I whispered, feeling my insides knot and twist like a serpent swallowing its own tail. “I don't… understand…”

“Dad's trying to figure out what's wrong with you,” he said softly, looking me in the eyes. “Don't go to sleep. It's important. He doesn't want to lose you.”

Lose me? What did that mean?

“Get me—out of—here!” I managed to gasp.

“It's more complicated than that,” he said. “We can't leave. Someone is trying to kill us, remember, and we have to find out why. And Dad's just been summoned before King Uthor. He has to go. You don't ignore the King of Chaos.”

“This place—hurts—”

His brow furrowed. “Maybe you just need to get used to it. You know, like on a ship.”

“Sea legs…” I whispered, thinking of boats, as the world moved around me.

“Yeah. Chaos legs.” He chuckled.

I tried to rise and found some leverage with my elbows, but couldn't keep my balance. I fell in the wrong direction. Aber grabbed my arm and helped pull me upright.

Why did everything want to go up instead of down? And why did up keep moving to the sides? If it would all stop for a minute, I thought I'd be able to get my bearings. My head began to pound.

“Steady.”

Without being asked, Aber rose, took my legs, and swung them around and over the side of the bed. Big mistake; I almost passed out as the room seemed to twist down and away, moving out from under me.

I gasped. This couldn't be happening, couldn't possibly be real. The room was strangely shaped. No corners met at right angles, walls curved and the ceiling sloped in an architect's nightmare. It was also sparsely furnished: a tall lookingglass, the bed on which I now sat, a table pushed up against the far wall, and two heavy wooden chairs whose high backs had been carved with the likenesses of dragons.

“Let's get you up,” Aber said.

“Wait—”

Reaching down with my feet, I touched the floor with the tips of my toes. Hard, bare, no carpet, just wood that had been polished smooth as glass. It seemed fine. I frowned. So why couldn't I get my balance? Why was everything moving?

Aber glanced over his shoulder at our father. “If you pass out again, Dad will skin you alive.”

“But—”

“Don't be a baby about it! Just get up!”

I glared, but shut up. He didn't understand. Well, I'd just have to show him. It wasn't possible for anyone to stand here with the floor moving so much.

“Stand up!” he said. “On your feet, Oberon!”

“Help me—”

With a sigh, Aber draped my right arm over his shoulder and heaved. He was stronger than he looked, like everyone in my family, and he got me up with little trouble considering I must have weighed a hundred pounds more than he did.

Leaning on him, I stood unsteadily. The room kept shifting. The corners moved. The floor kept trying to slide away from under me. Without Aber propping me up, I would have fallen.

“There you go,” he said, cheerful as always. “First things first. Chaos legs. See?”

He let go. For a second, it wasn't so bad. I steadied myself on his arm and actually thought about trying to walk. Maybe I could make it a few feet.

Then the walls spasmed with reds and yellows. The floor heaved. I felt myself falling and seized his arm hard enough to make him yelp.

“No—you—don't!” He staggered under my weight, bracing himself.

A fierce humming noise filled my ears. The room spun and slipped, and I felt myself going over backwards. Aber quickly caught my shoulders and lowered me back to the floor with a grunt.

I hugged the broad wooden boards, feeling the universe spin, praying that everything would stop moving soon. What sort of place was this? I couldn't even stand up here.

Pressing my eyes shut, I tried to block this place from my mind. I willed myself back to Ilerium. It had worked once before, after all.

But it didn't now.

“Want to try standing again?” Aber asked.

“No!”

“At least sit up,” he said. “You can do it. Try.”

“Maybe…”

Taking a deep breath, I eased myself up and braced my feet against the floor. The walls seemed to slide around me like they weren't fastened down. But at least I was sitting now.

“Better,” Aber said. I noticed he was rubbing his arm where I'd grabbed him. “We'll take it slowly.”

“I need sleep,” I growled. “Then I can wake up from this nightmare!”

“You'll get the hang of it. Give yourself time.”

Time? I had always been able to walk, even when I was so drunk I could barely see. But I could tell he wasn't going to let me rest.

“Give me a hand—I'll try again.”

“Are you sure?” Aber said, hesitating. He rubbed his arm again. I must have really hurt him.

“Sorry about your arm,” I said. Sighing, I looked up at his face. He flickered: horns, no horns, horns. I had never felt so dizzy and disoriented.

“Don't worry,” he said. “Accidents happen. I heal fast, and I'm happy to carry a grudge.” He chuckled. “I'll get even when you least expect it, dear brother. Maybe you ought to sit still for a while.”

Slowly I began to crawl toward the bed. It felt like a trip across a constantly moving sheet of ice—tipping first one way then another, with me hanging on desperately and trying not to slide away. Maybe I could use the bed to balance myself. Mostly I tried not to think about throwing up.

As I reached the bed and began to climb back onto it, Dworkin hurried over, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and yanked my head back. I felt my eyes roll in panic as colors and lights burst like fireworks around me.

“Let go!” I cried. It came out more like the howl of some haunted beast.

Shoving his face close to mine, he peered into my eyes like a physician studying a new patient. I smelled wine on his breath and knew he'd been drinking. That wasn't a good sign. He'd drunk himself into a stupor in Juniper when faced with overwhelming problems. With a comment of, “Interesting,” he let go.

I fell flat with an oomph of lost air. Then I curled up in a ball on the floor. My breath came in shudders. I wanted to pull the universe in on top of me.

“Do not go to sleep,” Dworkin told me firmly.

I peered up at him through a haze.

“Why?” I whispered

“Because you will die.”

I groaned. “I'm too stubborn to die.”

“Then you are a fool, my boy.”

“Send me back to Juniper!” I begged. “Or Ilerium. Anywhere but here!” I would rather face an army of hell-creatures alone and unarmed than put up with this Shadow of the Courts of Chaos for another minute.

“Quiet, Oberon,” he said. He began to pace. “I need to think.”

As the room began to steady once more, I forced myself to roll over toward the bed. I leaned back against it, watching him. As long as I remained motionless, barely breathing, the room seemed almost steady.

“Can I do anything to help?” Aber asked.

Dworkin said, “Try this.”

As I watched, he reached into the air and, seemingly from nothingness, pulled down a large reddish-brown clay pitcher. That was another one of those Logrus tricks. Wine? Something stronger, hopefully. I needed a drink right now. I needed it desperately. I wasn't sure I could keep it down, but I welcomed the chance to try.

Aber accepted the pitcher with his left hand, then reached down, grabbed my shirt, and hoisted all two hundred and forty pounds of me to my feet as though picking up a kitten. When he released me, I teetered unsteadily. Colors leaped and pulsed around me; my vision dimmed, then brightened, then dimmed again. The scream of wind in my ears grew wild and discordant.

“Whiskey?” I gasped. “Brandy?”

“Afraid not,” Aber said.

“What—?”

“See for yourself.”

Without warning, he raised the pitcher and dumped the contents over my head.

I gasped. It was cold water. Very cold water. Water so icy it shocked and numbed my entire body.

Stunned, I didn't move, couldn't breathe. I just stared at him, feeling like a whipped dog thrown out into the pouring rain in the dead of winter just in time to be kicked by a runaway horse.

“Now,” said Aber, “we're even.” He grinned mischievously at me.

Folding my arms, I silently cursed all siblings to the worst of the seven hells. Fathers, too. A special torture-pit must be reserved for the gleefully malevolent. Dworkin had doubled up with laughter.

So I glared at both of them and waited for their composure to return.

“Remember, Oberon,” Dworkin said sharply, catching his breath. He leaned toward me, one stubby finger leveled at my eyes. As I focused on him, his entire body seemed to waver like a flame in a strong breeze. “No sleeping. If you go to sleep, there is a good chance you will never wake up.”

I gave a low growl of displeasure. I wasn't sure if I meant it for him or Aber.

“We need to talk,” I said to Dworkin.

“Not now.” He returned to the table, gathered up half a dozen scrolls scattered there and hurried out the door.

“When—” I began.

The door slammed before I could finish. I looked at Aber.

“Off to see the king,” my brother said with a half sigh. “I told you he'd been summoned, remember?”

“Why?”

“Dad petitioned for an audience. It took a while. Everything has its proper time and ceremony. And I'm afraid Dad isn't held in very high regard at the Courts. None of us is.”

What rot. I saw the truth. The delay was a deliberate insult… King Uthor's way of letting us know we weren't important enough to merit his attention. We would have to change that. Being here was the first step. Making ourselves important would be the second.

Right now, though, I felt like crawling into bed, pulling the covers over my ears, and hiding from the world for the next ten years. Fathers and their advice be damned, if I could just get rid of Aber…

“You should go with Dad,” I suggested.

“Hah! He would never let me.” A sour note crept into his voice.

“I'm not like you…”

“He didn't ask me.”

“No, he wouldn't. Not with you being sick. He would have taken Locke, though. He was always the privileged one. The favorite son. And now there's you, of course. As soon as you're well, you'll take Locke's place.”

“If you're not happy with your place here, do something about it.”

He chuckled. “What do you suggest? Should I murder my way to the top of the family? Make sure I'm the last male heir, so he has to depend on me whether he likes it or not?”

“No. But I'm sure there's something…”

“Uh-uh. Dad doesn't like me. That's not going to change.” He smiled a bit at my expression. “I do have a plan, though, and I am doing something to help. I don't stand around all day whining about my place in the family, you know.”

I gave him a searching look, but he didn't elaborate. I changed the subject.

“I don't suppose you have any intention of letting me go back to sleep?”

“Nope.” He focused on me and grinned wolfishly. His horns were back. “One must take these small pleasures as they come. Just try, and I'll empty a lake on your head!”

“You're a sadist!”

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

I gave him a half-hearted glower. “Then how about a towel? And maybe some dry clothes.”

“Well… not just yet, dear brother. I've been ordered to keep you awake, and that's what I'm going to do. I don't want you too comfortable just yet.”

Dripping, cold and miserable and thoroughly wide awake now, I stumbled to one of the dragon-backed chairs, sat heavily, and glared at him. At least the room wasn't moving so much anymore. Maybe there was something to his “Chaos legs” theory. Or the ice-water had shocked the worst of the disorientation from me.

“I am going to kill you, you know,” I promised. “Don't think this is over.”

He gave a thoroughly evil chuckle.

“First you have to catch me,” he said, “and I don't think you're up to it.”

At that remark, I rose and took a step toward him. The room jumped and shook. My skin seemed to be on fire. Winds howled in my ears.

I ignored everything and took another step. No matter what it cost, I wouldn't let him get the better of me. That was the difference between us. No one ever got the better of me.

“You ought to sit down,” he said hastily.

“No.” I gritted my teeth and took another step. Then another.

“You're going to fall.”

“You'd be amazed at what I can do,” I said, “when I put my mind to it.”

One foot at a time. I took another step. Everything around me swayed. That howling noise, like wind but a hundred times louder, filled my ears.

Chaos legs, indeed.

I reached for him.

Aber gulped.

Chapter 3

I don't know if it was the shock of the cold water or just getting up out of bed and moving around, but it came to me suddenly, as I was advancing with malicious intent on my brother, that I had stopped paying so much attention to the strange noises, pulsing colors, and seemingly random movements of the universe around me. Instead, by focusing all my attention on fratricide, I found myself at least beginning to compensate for the distractions around me. With effort, I could stand and walk on my own—if awkwardly and unsteadily. A small improvement, but an important one.

Aber suddenly laughed, then reached into the air, felt around for a second, and plucked a large white towel seemingly from nothingness.

“Here.” He threw the towel in my face. “You're no fun when you're wet.”

“About time you realized it.”

I shook my head like a dog caught in the rain, mindless of the way the room suddenly lurched and dipped, just to spray him with droplets. A petty revenge; I quickly regretted it.

“Hey!” He shielded his face.

That gave me some small satisfaction. Then, as I began to blot myself dry, he flopped down on one of the chairs, watching me like a hunter studying an unfamiliar beast. Somehow, I got the impression he didn't trust me not to keel over dead or unconscious at any moment. Well, he had me up, and now I had no intention of resting. Sick or not, I had to find out what I'd missed. We hadn't come here for me to waste time sleeping.

“How long was I in bed?” I demanded.

“Three days.”

“Three!” I stared at him, scarcely able to believe it. “Impossible!”

He shrugged. “We've been busy. Dad finally decided you weren't going to wake up on your own, so we spent the last three hours talking to you, shaking you, and yelling at you. You only started to respond when he told you some king needed you. Not King Uthor, I guess?”

“King Elnar. I served him in Ilerium.” I shook my head, then winced as it suddenly throbbed; the room whirled around me, then steadied a bit when I stopped moving. “I barely heard you. I was dreaming. I thought I was sailing on a ship.”

“A ship? Why?”

“This room—this place—it all feels like it's moving. It still does. But it's not, is it? It's me?”

“Afraid so, Oberon.”

I sighed. When I stayed still, the room largely stopped jumping around. Turning slowly and carefully, making no sudden movements, I found the floor seemed to glide subtly underfoot, as though trying to shift with or against me depending on which way I turned. Cold and damp and sick and altogether miserable just about summed up my condition. But for now the worst of the dizziness had passed, and with it at least some of my desire to strangle Aber.

Feeling less like a drowned dog, I threw the towel back at his head. He caught it, tossed it aside, and made it disappear with a snap of his fingers as easily as he had appeared it.

“No sleeping,” he warned me again.

“Not much chance of that with you on guard. How about some food?” I felt a yawning emptiness inside. “And wine. Lots of wine.”

“Are you sure that's wise?”

I hesitated. He was probably right.

“Okay, skip the wine. I'm starving. If you can find it, I want something plain. Bread, cheese, maybe a meat pie—whatever you can scrounge up on short notice.”

He hesitated, glancing toward the door. “The dining hall is downstairs. Dinner won't be served for another two or three hours. Do you think you can make it?”

“I… I think I'll eat here.” I wasn't ready for stairs just yet.

He reached into the air and pulled a dinner tray from nothingness, then set it on the table. Bread, cheese, a sharp knife, and a large glass of what looked like cider of some kind.

“Thanks. Join me?”

“Not yet. I—”

He broke off as a bell sounded outside. It rang three times, then grew still. From the way his brow furrowed, I didn't think it was good news.

I said, “What's the alarm for?”

“Visitors.”

“The unwelcome kind?”

“I… don't know.” He rose, took a step toward the door, paused. “Don't go to sleep,” he said ominously, “or else. There's plenty more water where that pitcher came from. I'll be back in a couple of minutes.”

“I won't go back to sleep,” I said with a chuckle, trying to appear innocent. “After three days of it, lying down is the last thing on my mind right now.”

“Hmm.” He gave me a suspicious look, then shut the door. I heard his footsteps receding on the other side.

The food did look good. I carved a large chunk off the cheese and chewed it slowly. Sharp and well aged, with a slightly smoky aftertaste, it was quite delicious. I took another bite. No sense waiting for my brother if he wasn't going to eat.

The bread, warm and crusty, went well with the cheese. The cider didn't appeal to me much—it had always struck me as a child's drink unless properly laced with spirits—but it washed everything down satisfactorily.

I finished everything, then sat back, feeling full and vaguely content. No sounds came from the hall, and the bell did not ring again.

Then I heard a distant banging sound, followed by a couple of softer bangs. Doors? Windows opening to air out some long-unused parlor?

Much as I hoped for a simple, harmless explanation, doubts crept in. What was happening down there? Where had Aber gone? Why hadn't he come back?

As I listened for Aber's returning footsteps outside the door, my apprehension grew. I hated being sick and disoriented. I was used to being in control of every situation, a leader and not some helpless invalid. If anyone attacked us, I would not be able to leave this room, let alone protect Aber or fight my way clear of the building.

I strained to hear over the constant low hiss of wind. No clash of weapons nor screams from dying guards reached me. If we were under attack, wouldn't I hear something! Our visitors had to be friendly. Probably neighbors paying a social call; after all, Dworkin hadn't been here in years. Wouldn't everyone want to stop by, say hello, and catch up on all the gossip for old times' sake? That must be it. As host, Aber couldn't get away. Nor would he want to let them know about my illness. We couldn't reveal our weaknesses to anyone here.

A long silence stretched. The wind rose slightly. I picked at the crumbs on my plate, gulped the dregs of the cider, and waited impatiently. Doing nothing had always been hard for me. The chair creaked slightly as I shifted. Not so much as a whisper came from the outside.

It had been at least half an hour. Aber wouldn't have left me here this long unless something had happened. Who were these mysterious visitors? What did they want?

I heard a crash like that of breaking glass, fairly close, and stood. Guests didn't go around breaking windows. Something was definitely wrong.

It couldn't hurt to take a look outside. After all, nobody had told me I couldn't leave the room—just that I couldn't go back to sleep.

Bracing myself against the arms of the chair, I rose. The room wobbled a bit, but steadied when I remained motionless for a couple of heartbeats. Where was my swordbelt? There—hanging on a peg to the left of the door.

Half walking, half gliding across the shifting floor, I made my way safely to the other side, took my swordbelt down, and fastened it around my waist. The calm before battle settled over me. If I was to die, I would die like a man, with a blade in hand. My sword's cool silvered hilt felt comfortable and reassuring as I rested my palm upon it.

And then everything suddenly began to tilt to the left; I braced myself against the wall and pressed my eyes shut. Stop it, stop it, stop it! Slowly, equilibrium returned.

Like an old man, I eased my way over to the door, straining to hear over the dull distant rush of wind. For a second I thought I heard angry voices, but couldn't be certain.

Lifting the latch, I pulled the door open smoothly. Good; Aber hadn't barred it from outside. Clearly he didn't think I'd be foolish enough to go exploring on my own.

I carefully peeked out into a long stone corridor that seemed to be oozing reds and browns. As with my room, all the angles seemed wrong. Doors opened at irregular intervals on both sides, with what might have been oil lamps burning in sconces every few feet between. Light dribbled in faint golden trails toward the ceiling, where it pooled.

My head swam as I tried to take it in. Aber and my father seemed to have no trouble walking around; what was their trick? Perhaps it had something to do with the Logrus. I felt a rising sense of depression; I didn't think I'd ever get used to this place.

Thankfully, no hordes of hell-creatures rushed to attack me. In fact, I saw no one at all. If that bell had signaled the arrival of guests, they were still downstairs. I listened for a long time, but heard nothing—no banging, no breaking glass, no angry voices. Had I imagined them? I didn't think so, but in this place, I really couldn't be sure.

While the floor tried to push me into the wall, I braced myself and waited for my sense of balance to return. It did, but slowly.

This place was insane. The sooner we left, the better off we would be. I didn't see how I could possibly help anyone here.

The hallway appeared to dead-end thirty or so feet to the right, which meant Aber must have turned left. The passage curved out of sight in that direction.

I hesitated. I needed a plan. What exactly did I hope to accomplish with this little expedition? Did I want to check on Aber and these mysterious visitors?

No, not yet. If my brother had run into trouble, I was in no condition to help him. In fact, I'd probably make things worse by needing rescue myself. And if—as I half suspected—some of our neighbors had dropped in, I did not want to reveal my weakness to them. Better to let everyone wonder what had become of me.

The thing to do was reconnoiter. I wouldn't go far; no sense in getting lost. Perhaps I could find my father's rooms… there might be something there that could help me.

Keeping one hand on the wall, I turned—and found myself face to face with one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. I took a deep breath. Her black hair shimmered with bluish highlights. Her eyes held the honeyed color of molten gold. Her skin, pale as milk, held the faintest of blushes at her cheeks—save for a small beauty mark on the left. From her high, finely drawn cheekbones to her delicate chin to the sensuous fullness of her deep red lips, I had never seen anyone like her.

Where had she come from? One of the other rooms on this floor?

“Hello!” I said.

She looked startled for a second, then dropped her gaze to the floor and curtsied. “You are… Lord Oberon?”

“Yes.” From her demeanor, she had to be a servant. I felt a pang of disappointment. “And you?”

“Rhalla, my lord.”

“Do you know what that bell was about?” I asked.

“Bell?”

“Didn't you hear it?” I said.

“No, my lord.”

“It sounded not long ago—maybe fifteen minutes.”

“I did not hear it, my lord. Perhaps it happened when I was in the wine cellar.”

“So you were just downstairs?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Are there any… problems down there?”

She looked at me strangely. “Problems, my lord?”

“Yes—I heard some odd noises.”

She shook her head. “No, my lord. Everything is fine.”

That was good news. I allowed myself to relax a bit and glanced over my shoulder. Still no sign of Aber, though… probably stuck playing the genial host. For once, I welcomed his absence. Something about Rhalla fascinated me. I could have spent the rest of the day looking at her.

She went on, “You are wet, my lord. Do you need dry clothing? I am sure something can be found—”

“That's all right,” I said with a chuckle and a half shrug. “I'll dry soon enough. Right now, I'm having trouble finding my way around—” A sudden wave of giddiness washed over me. Against my will, I staggered half a step, startling her. I caught myself against the wall, thinking I must look like a clumsy idiot.

“Are you ill, my lord?” she asked.

I sucked in a deep breath, trying to hide my weakness. I wanted her to see me as I saw myself—tall, strong, brave. Not a cripple who couldn't walk ten paces without falling down.

“A bit dizzy, is all,” I said. “I was sick, but I'm over the worse of it.”

“Here. Let me help you.”

She leaned forward to assist me, hand poised, and I caught her scent—a light, sweet musk. The hallway began to spin slowly around me. I breathed her in, deeply, my heart racing. I tried to stay calm.

“Which way,” I said in as smooth a voice as I could manage, “are my father's rooms?”

“Lord Dworkin's?” Her gaze flicked up to my face for a second, and I saw mild surprise there. “Two floors above us, my lord.”

“Show me the way.”

“It is forbidden—”

The floor shifted unexpectedly under my feet, and I staggered again in the other direction, catching my balance on her shoulder.

Her muscles tensed and quivered beneath me, shifting like liquid beneath her skin. It was a very strange sensation, unlike anything I had felt before. It made me regard her more carefully. She looked human—but something made me hesitate. Human bones and muscles do not move that way.

“Is something wrong, Lord?” she asked.

“No.” I shook my head and smiled. It had to be my screwed-up senses playing tricks on me. She was a beautiful woman—nothing more.

The floor tilted. I staggered to the left.

“Lord Oberon?” she cried, seizing my arm and holding me upright. “What's wrong?”

“I am… still a little dizzy. Help me. I need to lean on someone or I'll fall.”

“Shall I take you back to your bedroom—”

“It's not necessary.” I hesitated, polishing the lie. “I just need someone beside me so I won't fall. If you don't want to help—”

“No, my lord,” she said quickly. “Lean on me. I will help you. Where are you going?”

“Up to my father's rooms.”

I leaned on her shoulder as lightly as I could. Again I felt her muscles jump and quiver under my hand. It seemed readily apparent to me that she didn't like my touch, but she put up with it.

Slowly and carefully, she turned around and helped me walk toward the dead end. Just before it, we came to a narrow, spiraling set of wooden steps deep in a shadowed alcove. I had taken it for a doorway. The steps led to upper and lower floors.

“This was the closest way to the upper floors,” she said half apologetically.

“It's fine, Rhalla.”

I paused. From below I heard a distant murmur, like half a dozen voices talking, and a faint clink-clink-clink of pottery being stacked or moved about. “The kitchens?” I asked.

“Yes, Lord Oberon. They are just below us.”

I sniffed, but only caught Rhalla's musky scent. Odd—shouldn't dinner preparations have been well under way? Perhaps smells worked differently here, too. I tried to imagine them pooling on the floor or ceiling, like the light.

That sound of breaking glass must have come from the kitchens, I decided. Some servant dropped a platter… of course the cook's angry voice would have followed, berating him for his clumsiness. There was a simple explanation for everything I had heard.

Turning slightly, I gazed up the stairway into darkness, toward my father's rooms. Only one person at a time could go up or down— if I had to leave fast, this was the way I'd go.

Grasping the hand rail firmly, I began to climb. Rhalla followed.

I concentrated on the steps, taking them one at a time. Every few feet they seemed to twist and shift beneath me, but by keeping one hand on the rail and the other on the wall, I made it safely up to the next floor. When I peeked out, the hallways was empty. Light pooled on the ceiling from a couple of small lamps. Didn't the architect who had designed this place believe in windows?

“What's on this floor?” I asked.

“Personal rooms,” Rhalla said. “Lord Aber is the only noble-born here at the moment… besides Lord Dworkin, of course.”

“Of course.” The rest of my family was either dead or scattered to remote Shadow worlds. The ones that we could account for at all.

Returning to the stairway, I began to climb toward the floor above. The steps ended at a heavy wooden door. The center panel held the carved face of a man with horns, his mouth open as if about to speak.

I knocked for form's sake, knowing my father was out, then pushed it open to reveal a long, dark corridor pungent with the scents of mold, strange herbs, and other things I could not begin to identify. I eased myself inside. Shelves covered with odd looking trophies filled the wall opposite me—huge glass spheres, stuffed animal heads, human skulls, mummified cats, and a jumble of phials, scrolls, tubes, and magical paraphernalia I could not begin to identify. A thick coat of dust lay over everything, though it had been recently disturbed toward the far end by someone's recent passage. Probably Dad checking out his treasures after getting back.

“Nobody cleans in here?” I asked with a chuckle.

“It is not allowed,” Rhalla said in hushed tones. She had not left the steps. “We should not be here, my lord. I will be punished when Lord Dworkin finds out.”

“Nonsense. I'm with you. Since I told you to bring me, there was nothing you could do about it. My father will understand.”

It all reminded me of Dworkin's private rooms in Juniper, only from the odor of decay these had long been neglected. How long had he been away from here? Not just years, but decades from the look of things.

“My lord…” An anxious note crept into Rhalla's voice.

“He's not here,” I said, trying to reassure her, “so there is no reason for us to stay. Let's go back down.” I knew I could find my way back here again, and next time I could do it unassisted.

“Yes, Lord Oberon.” Rhalla seemed relieved. Turning, she led the way back down the stairs. I followed gingerly, breathing deeply of her musk, trying desperately not to call on her for help. And I wanted very much for her to see me as a whole, strong man.

“Thank you,” I told her as I walked unsteadily back into my room. “I… hope I will see you again, Rhalla.”

“I am sure you will, my lord,” she said, with a shy little smile and a half curtsy. “Whenever you need me, call and I will come.”

“Thank you. Oh… about those dry clothes? See if you can find some for me. I'm the same size as my brother Mattus. Look in his room.”

“Yes, my lord.”

As she hurried back upstairs, I sank into my chair and gazed down at the empty food tray. My stomach growled; second helpings were definitely in order. Maybe I should have asked for more food instead of dry clothes.

I glanced at the open door. What had happened to Aber? Never around when you needed him… and I still wanted to find out about those mysterious visitors.

Yawning, I leaned forward on the table, then put my head down on my arms. I couldn't help it; exhaustion washed over me. Although an inner voice screamed warnings, I let my eyes close, and then I found darkness.

Chapter 4

Cold water sluiced over me.

Gasping, sputtering, I leaped to my feet, knocking over my chair. The world jumped and swayed, and I almost fell.

It was Aber. He had poured another pitcher of water on my head and now stood back, grinning at his handiwork.

He said, “I didn't think you'd give me a second chance to do that.”

I glowered. He looked entirely too smug.

“I'm going to strangle you,” I said, and then I began shivering.

“You were warned!” He wagged a finger at me. “Sleep at your own peril, brother.”

I snarled, “I wasn't asleep!”

“Hah! Towel?”

“Please.”

He pulled one from the air and tossed it to me. For the second time that day, I dried myself off and wished him an unpleasant fate. At least Rhalla would be bringing me dry clothing soon.

“Just wait,” I said. “If I ever figure out how to use that Logrus thing…”

“Be my guest.” He picked up the chair I'd knocked over and set it next to me. I sat down again. “But it isn't going to happen, and you know it.”

I sighed; he was right. I accepted it now. Members of our family all had a certain Pattern inside them, some kind of mystical design that allowed them to master the Logrus. Unfortunately, the pattern inside me was so distorted, according to Dworkin, that I would never be able to master the Logrus. Trying would kill me, as it had killed Dworkin's brother and several others in our family.

Suddenly I remembered what had called Aber away.

“What about that bell?” I said. “Did we have company?”

“Company? Of a sort.” He sighed. “A dozen of King Uthor's soldiers stopped by. They're searching the house for something. They should be up here soon.”

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “Searching for what?”

“I don't know. They wouldn't tell me. But it must be pretty important.”

“You should have thrown them out!”

He chuckled. “You don't do that to King Uthor's men if you want to live. It would be… impolite.”

I struggled to my feet. “Get me downstairs. I'll throw them out myself!”

“Sit down. You're being foolish.”

I glared at him. “Is it better to let strangers ransack everything?”

“In this case, yes. That's what Dad would do.”

“And you left them alone? To do whatever they want?”

“Sure. Why not? I have nothing to hide.” He shrugged. “Besides, you're far more important than the house—and it's a good thing I came back here to check up on you, too. No telling how long you were asleep.”

At least he placed as high a value on me as I did on him.

“You said I was unconscious for three days,” I said softly. “Tell me what I've missed.”

“What's the last thing you remember?”

I paused, thinking. “We were in Juniper. Dad drew new Trumps, and everyone left… except the three of us.”

“That's right. Then what?”

In my mind I began to relive our mad exodus from Juniper. There had been a tremendous battle fought outside the castle, with me and two of my half-brothers each commanding a third of the army. I recalled the terrible price we had paid for victory that day… my brothers Davin and Locke had died, and command had fallen on me.

With the army badly outnumbered, I saw the situation was hopeless. It was then that an idea occurred to me. Dworkin claimed the Pattern within me was different than the Logrus-pattern he and everyone else carried. Since everyone's access to the Logrus had been blocked by magical means, I had him draw a magical Trump using the Pattern within me as its starting point.

This new type of Trump worked. We found it could open a path to other Shadow worlds without difficulty. Suddenly we had a way out of Juniper.

I had him scatter my half-brothers and half-sisters to distant Shadows, where no one but he and I would know they had gone. Under the assumption that a spy had been telling our unknown enemy where to find—and kill—us, they were ordered not to come back to Juniper or to the Courts of Chaos. I only hoped they would be all right.

Then, when only Dworkin, Aber, and I were left, Dworkin showed me the last Trump he had made. It showed a nightmare scene that made my skin crawl. I hated the place at first sight, hated the Courts of Chaos and everything like them on some deep level I could not as yet understand… and yet I had agreed to go there. Here. The Beyond.

Dworkin and I would have used the Trump and gone through immediately, but Aber stopped us.

“We can't slink back to Chaos like whipped dogs,” he said, folding his arms stubbornly. “Ours is an ancient family, and we are due respect for our station.”

“What do you expect?” I demanded, half joking. “A parade?”

“Yes!” he snapped back at me. “That's exactly what I expect!”

It wasn't so much a parade as an entourage. It took us less than an hour to round up every servant in the castle, plus two dozen sturdy men-at-arms. Then, another hour to empty his bedroom of everything he wanted—plus Dworkin's rooms, with their experiments, machines, and other weird things he had built or collected through the years.

Finally, with our numbers swollen to more than a hundred strong, Dworkin used the Trump and began sending people through. Aber went first, then the guards, then the servants with their various burdens, until finally only the two of us remained.

“After you,” Dworkin said, waving me forward.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped through quickly, before my unnerving fear of the place could stop me. I remembered nothing of what happened after that. Just a stride forward, a sense of falling, the sound of rushing winds, and then… darkness.

“That's it,” I told Aber. “Dad used the Trump, we all walked through to“ I frowned. “I don't remember.”

Aber clasped my shoulder, growing serious. “You collapsed as soon as you set foot here. Just folded up without a word. I thought you and Dad had been attacked on the other side, and everyone drew their weapons and rushed to help, but then Dad came through and he looked fine. He wasn't even breathing hard. He didn't want to linger outside, so a couple of guards picked you up and carried you into the house. They brought you up here.”

I chewed on my lip, then nodded. It sounded true.

“Go on,” I said.

He shrugged. “At first we thought you were dead, but Dad examined you and said it was more like a very deep sleep. Your heart beat slowly and faintly. You were barely breathing. Sometimes you'd stir and cry out a little, but it was never more than that. Dad thought you were trying to wake yourself up, but couldn't.”

“I don't really remember much,” I said truthfully. I tried to think back to my dreams, but could not summon them now; something about a ship… roaring winds… sailing on a distant sea…

I shivered. No, my dreams were gone now, and I did not want them back. I had not enjoyed them.

“So that's all,” Aber said with a little shrug. “We settled in again at the house. Servants had been keeping everything ready for our return. It was just a matter of picking up where we'd left off twenty years ago.”

“Twenty years!” I echoed in disbelief. The time shocked me. Aber looked no more than twenty-five, and he acted more like sixteen. “How old are you, really?”

“Twenty-three.” He grinned at my bewildered expression. “Time runs differently in Shadows. As far as I'm concerned, I was here seven months ago.”

“I begin to understand,” I said.

If seven months in Juniper equaled twenty years in the Beyond and hence the Courts of Chaos, that explained a lot. For every month of training for our troops, our mysterious enemy had had three years to build his own forces. No wonder we had been outnumbered and outmaneuvered. Despite all our planning, we could never hope to fight off an opponent who had so much more time to prepare. Rather than the series of lightning attacks I had experienced, our enemy had been slowly, carefully, and methodically picking us off at his leisure.

“Go on,” I said to Aber.

“That's about it. We took turns tending you. Dad went out periodically to renew his alliances with other families. Then King Uthor sent for Dad this morning, and before he left he decided we had to try to wake you up.”

“And it worked.”

“Right. And now that he's gone, the king's troops are searching our house.”

“But why!” I wondered. “Why draw Dad away first? What are they looking for?”

“They wouldn't say.” Aber sighed helplessly. “I wish I knew. I'd give it to them.”

“That might be the worst thing we could do.”

“Maybe. Or it might end all this craziness. I'd give a lot just to have my boring old life back again.”

“Me too.” I found I meant it. Much as my newfound family and their magical powers fascinated me, I couldn't remember a single moment of happiness since Dworkin had swept back into my life.

Iron-shod boots thumped down the hallway outside. King Uthor's men had reached this floor, it seemed. I took a deep breath. Doors banged open. I heard furniture being thrown about, then something made of glass shattered noisily.

“Listen carefully,” Aber said, a note of anxiety creeping into his voice. “You must be calm. Stay in your seat. Don't show any fear or weakness. They will report back on anything or anyone who seems odd or out of place. Promise?”

I swallowed, one hand rising to caress my sword where I'd left it on the table. My every impulse told me to stand and fight, to force these intruders out. They had no right to be here. They had no right to search our house. And yet, in my current state, I knew I wouldn't stand a chance against them.

“Promise me!” Aber said again, urgently. He rose, looking at the door. “They will be here any second!”

Gazing up at him, I saw how afraid he was. I felt my own apprehension grow, too. Better to play it safe for now. A foolish death benefited no one.

“Promise me!” he demanded.

I took a deep breath, then nodded. “I'll do as you say. I'll stay in my seat no matter what they say or do.”

“Thank you.” He moved behind me, putting one hand on my shoulder reassuringly. “You made the right decision.”

King Uthor's men were close now. I could hear them just outside, talking softly.

An unpleasant prickling sensation began at the nape of my neck and spread down my back and arms. I couldn't make out the words, but those voices—those guttural tones—I recognized them!

They threw open the door to my room, and my worst fears were confirmed. Two hell-creatures, like the ones who had destroyed Ilerium, like the ones who had destroyed Juniper, swaggered inside.

Chapter 5

They wore beautifully silvered chain mail, the chest emblazoned with a red crown. Their slitted eyes glowed pinkly behind their high-plumed steel helmets. Although nasals and cheek guards concealed most of their features, I spotted a faintly iridescent pattern of scales around their mouths and chins.

Growling in anger, I half rose from my chair. The room began to tilt and slide around me.

“Easy,” Aber said in a calming voice. His hand already on my shoulder pushed me back into my seat.

“Who are you?” one of the hell-creatures demanded of me. His voice was a gravelly croak.

I glared up at him but had a hard time restraining myself. Hell-creatures! Here in the Courts of Chaos… in our own house! They had destroyed my home and slain my king in Ilerium. They had destroyed Castle Juniper and murdered who-knew-how-many family members. And now my brother wanted me to sit here calmly and let them tear this place apart, too!

I glowered and thought hard about going for my sword. Unfortunately, I was in no condition to take them on, and I knew it. They would have cut me down before I made it to my feet.

“This is my brother, Oberon,” Aber said hastily, when I didn't answer.

“He is not listed in your family's genealogy.”

“Not yet,” Aber said quickly. “He will be.”

I did not move, did not speak, only stared in tense silence. My heart pounded; a cold sweat began to trickle down my back.

Dismissing us with a casualness that bordered on contempt, the two hell-creatures turned to my bed. They drew knives and cut through the sheets and blanket, then ripped into the mattress. I leaned forward, watching with interest as they pulled out the goose-down stuffing and throw it into the corner. Then they removed their gauntlets and began sifting through the feathers carefully, feeling for—what? Something small, certainly, if they required bare hands to find it.

“Are you sure you don't know what they're doing here?” I whispered to Aber, studying them carefully.

Aber shook his head. “Like I said, they wouldn't tell me anything downstairs. Just that they were here on King Uthor's orders, and I was to cooperate or I would be arrested.”

“What about Dad? Has he seen King Uthor yet?”

“I don't think so.”

I thought about that for a long moment. It seemed to me we needed to know more.

“Let me try something.” To the hell-creatures, I said in a loud voice: “What are you looking for? Maybe I know where it is.”

They both ignored me.

“See?” Aber said quietly.

“Hey!” I said, more loudly. “Are you deaf?”

The one who had addressed me before turned his head slightly. The pink eyes met my own.

“Shut up, d'nai,” he said. I did not know the word, but from the sneering delivery I recognized it as an insult. “We will tell you when to talk.” Then he turned back to the goose down and continued his search.

Rage billowed through me. Sick or not, I couldn't ignore the slight. Slowly, my hand moved toward my sword, which still lay on the table before me. If I could draw it before they noticed—there were only two of them here—

Aber's hand on my shoulder became a vice, pinning me to my chair. He leaned forward.

“Do nothing,” he said very softly in my left ear. “These are King Uthor's men. If you interfere, they will hurt us both. Maybe even kill us. Don't throw our lives away.”

“They are hell-creatures!” I whispered.

“They are lai she'on.”

I hesitated. “What?”

“An ancient race that has served the Lords of Chaos from the beginning of time. Do not draw your weapon or they will kill us both.”

Gritting my teeth, I withdrew my hand from my sword's hilt. No, I wouldn't throw away both our lives. But when I could stand and hold a weapon properly again, I silently vowed to make this particular hell-creature take back his words.

Aber relaxed his grip on my shoulder.

The hell-creatures—lai she'on—whatever—finished their search of my room by dumping the chamber pot on the floor. They kicked it out of the way, gave a sneering look in our direction, then trooped out into the hall.

“Bastards,” I muttered.

“We're all bastards in the Courts. I think it's a requirement,” Aber said, blithely making light of the situation.

I snorted. “Shouldn't you be with them?” I asked, eying the door uneasily. It sounded like they were doing quite a lot of damage. “Supervising, or something?”

He shrugged. “I gave them the master key to the house. They don't need me. They can get in anywhere they want.”

“I meant to watch what they're doing.”

“I'm sure they wouldn't like that.”

“If they find whatever they're looking for, don't you want to know what it is?”

“Sure.” He drained his wine and refilled his glass. “But they're not going to tell me, and if they find it, for all I know they'd kill me to keep me from seeing it.”

“You do have a point,” I admitted.

“Besides, Dad isn't a fool. If he has something valuable that everyone wants, he knows enough to put it where only he can get to it.”

“How?”

“There are ways,” he said, nodding knowingly.

That wasn't exactly helpful. I sighed, shaking my head. This whole mad family of mine could be infuriating at times. None of them ever gave me a straight answer when I wanted one.

“Lord Aber?” said a familiar voice from the doorway. “Lord Oberon? May we proceed?”

I glanced over and saw Anari, an elderly man in red-and-white livery who had managed our household in Juniper. He had come here with us, I remembered. A half-dozen other servants stood behind him, all armed with mops, buckets, and other cleaning equipment.

“Please,” Aber said.

Anari motioned his forces forward, and everyone hurried inside and began to clean up—gathering the bedding, mopping the floor, straightening the furniture. One of them carried off the empty mattress casing while two more gathered all the goose feathers into new sheets and blanket, then dragged them out into the hallway.

“I guess I'm not going back to sleep anytime soon,” I said wryly. Not that I could sleep with hell-creatures, these lai she'on, loose in the house, even ones who weren't specifically trying to kill me. “What do you think Dad will do when he finds out?”

“Oh, I don't think he'll mind.” Aber nudged me, then gave a pointed glance at Anari and the other cleaners. “We have nothing to hide, after all.”

“True,” I murmured. No sense giving the servants more to worry and gossip about. Lai she'on searching our rooms were bad enough.

My brother said, “I think this calls for a drink.”

For once, I agreed wholeheartedly.

Reaching into the air, he produced a bottle of red wine with a flourish. The label showed a pair of red stags running through a dark green forest. He uncorked it, produced two goblets by similar magical means, handed me one, and poured us both large portions.

“Cheers.” I raised my glass in a toast.

“To mysteries,” he said. Our glasses clinked.

“May there be fewer of them!” I added.

We both downed the wine, grinning at each other, listening to the ongoing noises of destruction from outside. Doors slammed; furniture crashed. Then I heard boots tramping directly over our heads; apparently they had moved upstairs.

Thus, the ransacking of our father's house continued.

By the time the sounds of searching had faded to distant cracks, bangs, and crashes, several hours later, we were on our third bottle of the red stag wine.

“What's directly over us?” I asked. My tongue felt thick; my words slurred slightly.

“Third floor. Living quarters. My room, I think.”

I felt a jolt of alarm. “They're probably going through your Trumps and everything else you brought back from Juniper.”

He smirked. “Oh, I don't think so.”

“Why not?”

“They're tucked away. Safe.”

I chuckled and allowed myself to relax. “Like Dad would have done with whatever they're looking for.”

“Exactly.”

More boots tramped overhead, and porcelain shattered noisily. Then a thump shook the whole house.

“Show me,” I said.

“What?”

“Where your Trumps are.”

“More wine?” he said.

“Sure.”

He refilled my goblet for what seemed the twentieth time. I said, “You're not going to tell me.”

“Nope.”

Silence fell. I found myself straining to hear, anticipating the next noise. It didn't come.

“They must have gone up to the fourth floor,” Aber said finally. “That one is all Dad's. He keeps his old experiments there.”

“Experiments?”

He chuckled. “That's what you'd call it if you want to be kind. It's mostly junk. Bits and pieces of magical stuff. Things he's researched and thrown aside. It will take anyone else years to figure out what most of it does.”

“They'll probably smash it all.”

“Probably,” he agreed.

“Don''t you care?”

He shrugged. “It's no great loss. He'd moved all the good stuff to Juniper, anyway. So it's already in their hands.”

Already in their hands? Did he know more than he was saying?

I asked, “So you think these hell-creatures are the same ones who took Juniper?”

“Lai she'on.” He frowned. “Yes. Maybe… I don't know. Don't you think so?”

I shrugged, recalling our father's magical carriage. Then I thought of all the other devices in his workshop, all the tubes and wires and strange glowing glass balls. It had been a lifetime's accumulation of magical items, and I was certain Dad would feel its loss keenly. When I envisioned the fall of Juniper Castle, with hell-creatures storming into the deserted corridors and rooms, I easily saw them smashing the things he had built.

None of the lai she'on attacking Juniper had worn crown symbols, however. Of course, they could have been disguised… a painted emblem is the easiest thing in the world to hide.

Another, more distant crash sounded.

“Fourth floor?” I asked, eying the ceiling.

“I think so.”

I leaned back and drained the last of my wine. Perhaps the search wouldn't take much longer. I certainly wanted it over and these hell-creatures gone.

“Let me fill your glass.”

Aber produced another bottle of that excellent two-stag red. When I held out my goblet, he poured, and we continued our drinking, a comfortable silence stretching between us.

Every once it a while, a distant thump spoke of the continuing search above us.

“I wonder what Dad is doing right now,” I said at one point. Had he been seen by the king? Been attacked and murdered on the way?

Something worse?

Surely we would have heard if something had happened to him… wouldn't we?

Aber said, “I bet he's having more fun than we are.”

It was probably the wine, but I found that offhanded remark incredibly funny. Somehow, I just couldn't see our father having fun, regardless of the situation.

Where was he now? I hated not knowing.

After that we drank in silence.

Somehow, I had a feeling our father had walked into a trap when he went to that audience with King Uthor. It seemed too convenient. The summons had gotten him out of this house and left Aber and me off guard here.

How long had it been? I had no way of telling time, no reference to day or night in this strange, windowless house in this accursed world. He had certainly been gone for hours… far too long for a simple audience. In Ilerium, King Elnar's audiences seldom lasted more than ten or fifteen minutes… though he sometimes kept petitioners waiting for hours.

What had happened to our father?

I could only hope he was waiting in some antechamber for the King Uthor's nod.

Chapter 6

The time passed with annoying slowness. It felt as though everything and everyone—myself included—had paused it mid-step, in anticipation of something momentous.

At one point Anari returned with two men, who silently restored the now-mended mattress to the bed. A woman followed with fresh sheets and a blanket. When she spoke to Anari, they both used hushed, almost reverential tones. And they kept glancing surreptitiously in our direction.

Neither Aber nor I deigned to notice them. We were both pretty drunk. They left, and an almost eerie silence spread over the house.

“Do you think the hell-creatures… the lai she'on… are gone?” I finally asked.

“No. Anari will tell us.” He sighed. “They must be on the fifth floor.”

“What's there?”

“Servants' quarters.”

After we finished our fifth bottle, I finally decided I had drunk too much. I felt happily numb, and though everything had a comfortably blurry shine, I couldn't tell if it was me or the wine or our location that caused it. My senses had become so screwed up since entering this place that nothing looked or felt or smelled quite right any more. Fortunately, thanks to the wine, I didn't particularly care.

Aber, too, had begun to slur his words, and several times he laughed to himself as though at some private joke. To be good company, I laughed along. Every once in a while we would exchange trivialities:

—“Do the walls look like they're bleeding to you?” (Me.)

—“Not really.” (Him.) “Is that what you see?”

—“Yes.” (A hesitation.) “But they're not bleeding like they were an hour ago.”

—“Oh.”

I sat back, pondering everything around me with the deep sense of wisdom that can only be found in an excess of alcohol.

“You know what we need?” I said.

“What?”

“Windows.”

He actually fell off his chair, he laughed so hard.

“What's so funny?” I demanded.

“Windows. There aren't any.”

“Why not?”

“It's safer.”

“How do you know if it's morning or night?”

“You don't. There's no such thing here.”

“Doesn't it get dark?” I asked.

“Not in the sense it did in Juniper.”

I thought about that for a while. It seemed impossible, but my whole life since leaving Ilerium had seemed that way.

“How late is it?” I finally said, stifling a yawn.

“Very.” With a sigh, he rose. “Come on, I'll show you to your room. I imagine it's been searched and cleaned up by now.”

I looked at him in surprise. “This isn't my room?”

“This little cell?” He chuckled. “What kind of hospitality do you think we offer family members? This is just a spare room where Dad stuck you. You'll have a proper suite on the next floor. Come, I'll show you.”

He rose unsteadily. I did, too.

The room rolled around me, and the sound of wind—which had died down to a murmur like distant surf—rose to deafen me. By leaning on his shoulder, I managed to keep my feet, and together we staggered out into the hall.

“You can have Mattus's rooms,” he grunted, bearing up under my weight. “It's not like he needs them any more.”

That reminded me—what had happened to Rhalla? Probably drafted to help with the cleanup. I didn't blame her for not fetching me dry clothes. Priorities, priorities…

Aber led the way out to the hall, turned left, left again, then twice more left. It should have us put us back where we started, but somehow we found ourselves facing broad stone steps leading both up and down. Sconces held oil lamps whose light bubbled steadily upwards to pool on the ceiling.

I glanced behind us. The corridor seemed to narrow and coil in on itself. All the angles were wrong here, I reminded myself. Corners weren't square. I wouldn't be able to track my position mentally as I moved about.

“Think you can make it?” he asked.

“With you to lean on? Sure!”

With him supporting me, we ascended to the next floor.

Still no windows, I noticed, like Aber had said. For some reason, it began to bother me—though it was probably just as well that I couldn't see outside. I remembered my sister Freda's Trump, which showed the Courts of Chaos. Merely looking at the image had unnerved me. A sky that writhed like a living thing, stars that darted and swirled in seemingly random patterns, and giant stones that moved across the land on their own, while colors pulsed and bled. I should have been happy not to have to gaze out onto such nightmare landscapes.

And yet not having windows made me feel trapped, somehow. It was one of those games you just can't win.

As we climbed, I never lifted my hand from the railing. The steps started to slide out from under me, but I paused a few seconds, pretending I needed to catch my breath, before continuing. Aber, drunk and staggering a bit himself, never even noticed.

Finally, we reached the top. More bleeding walls, more sconces with oil lamps that bubbled their light up to the ceiling. Strangely enough, it had all began to feel normal.

My brother turned left sharply five times, but instead of ending up back where we started, we were suddenly facing a new hallway lined with tall, ornately carved wooden doors.

“Here we are!” he announced with a grand sweep of his arm. “Mattus's suite is ugly, but he never had any sense of style. It ought to do!”

He halted before the first door on the left, then rapped sharply on the wood.

“Hulloo!” he called. “Wake up!”

“Why—” I began.

I had been about to ask why he would knock on a dead man's door, but a large face carved into the central wooden panel began to move. It yawned, blinked twice, and seemed to focus on Aber.

“Greetings!” it said pleasantly. “This room belongs to Lord Mattus. State your business.”

“Just visiting,” Aber said. “Do you remember me?”

“I do believe it's Lord Aber!” the door said, squinting a bit. I wondered if it might be near-sighted. “You have grown since last we spoke. Welcome, welcome, dear boy! I can talk to you, but Mattus left strict instruction that you cannot, under any circumstances, enter his room without permission, or I will be—and he made this quite clear—rendered into toothpicks.”

So Aber wasn't welcome here! Somehow, it didn't surprise me; no one in my family seemed exactly trusting. They were to the last more likely to stab you in the back than put in a kindly word.

“I have bad news,” Aber said in a serious voice, ignoring the slight. “My brother Mattus is dead.”

“No! No!” the face in the door gasped. “It cannot be!”

“I'm afraid so.”

“When? Where?”

“It happened some time ago, and far from here.”

The face gave a wrenching sob. “He did not suffer, I hope?”

“No. It was fast.”

That, actually, was a lie. Mattus had been tortured to death in a tower made of bones. But I saw no sense in correcting Aber's story… the face in the door seemed quite emotional, and I wasn't up to dealing with weeping woodwork right now.

The door sighed, eyes distant, remembering. “He was a good tenant. The sixth generation of your family that I have guarded, in fact, since my installation here... By the way, is there a seventh generation yet? Someone who might, as it were, inhabit these rooms?”

“Not yet,” Aber said. “At least, not that I'm aware of.”

The door finally seemed to notice me. “And who is this? Do I notice a family resemblance?”

Aber motioned me closer, so I took a step forward. The face squinted at me. I examined him just as closely. Large nose, broad lips, high cheekbones—almost a caricature of a man's face. But it had been kindly drawn and had a sympathetic if somewhat sad expression.

Aber said, “This is Oberon, my brother.”

“Oberon… Oberon…” The carved forehead wrinkled. “He has never been through me before.”

“That's right. This will be his room now.”

“So fast they go, so fast…” It actually seemed about to cry. That was something I didn't want to see.

Taking a deep breath, I asked, “Do you have a name?”

“I am but a door. I do not need a name. But if you must call me something, Lord Mattus calls… called me… Port.”

“Port,” I said. It fit admirably well. “Fine. I'll call you that, too.” I turned to Aber. “Anything I should be aware of? Warnings? Special instructions? Useful advice?”

My brother shrugged. “He's just a door. He'll guard your rooms, let you know if anyone wants in, and lock himself—or unlock himself—as instructed.”

“Then, Port, please open up. I'd like to see inside.”

“Sorry, good sir, but I cannot.”

“Why?” I demanded.

“Because,” said the door, a trifle archly, “I have only your word that Lord Mattus is dead. I was not carved yesterday, you know. Lord Mattus warned me not to trust anyone here under any circumstance. After all—and I mean no disrespect, good sirs!—some person or persons might come along, falsely claim that Lord Mattus is dead, state that they are the new tenants, and ask for entrance. You must see the unfortunate situation in which I now find myself placed.”

I scratched my head. “A good point,” I said slowly, looking at my brother. “I don't have an answer.”

“Then,” said the door, “Move along. I don't approve of loitering in the hallway.”

I drew my sword. It had been a long day; my patience was at an end.

“Open up,” I said, “or I'll carve a new entrance through your heart!”

Chapter 7

“I hate to be the voice of reason,” Aber said, “but that won't be necessary, Oberon.”

The door glared at me. “I should say not! There are spells laid upon me to prevent just that sort of trespass!”

“Not only that,” said Aber, “but I have the key.”

He turned over his hand. A large iron key sat there; he hadn't been carrying it a moment before, so he must have pulled it through the Logrus. “You don't need his help, dear brother. You can let yourself in.”

“Thanks!” I said.

“What would you do without me?”

He held out the key, and I accepted it gingerly. It was as long as my hand and as thick around as my index finger, and it was much heavier than it looked. A strong blow with it might well do serious damage to someone's head.

“You're sure it's for this door?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Where do I stick it?” I asked, turning to study Port's features. He didn't have any obvious keyholes. “In his mouth? Up his nose?”

“Certainly not!” Port said, glaring up at me. “Perhaps you ought to stick it in one of your own orifices to see how it feels!”

“I wasn't asking you,” I told him.

“No need to ask,” Aber said. “It's a magic key. Just holding it is enough. Tell him you want inside.”

“That's all?” I asked skeptically. I looked at the door. “Let me in, please.”

“Very good, sir!” Port said unhappily, and I heard a series of clicks as a hidden lock unlocked itself.

Very convenient! I liked the idea of coming home drunk late at night, telling the door to let me inside, and having it lock up after me. Magic definitely had its good points.

“How does it work?” I asked Aber.

“Simple. Whoever holds the key gets inside.”

“It's a rule,” Port added. “All doors have to follow rules, you know.”

“And there's a master key, too?” I asked, remembering what Aber had said. “To all the doors in the house?”

“Yes, but only one. It's Dad's. He keeps it stashed in his bedroom, in a box under his pillow.”

I shook my head. “That doesn't sound very safe.”

“The bed, the box, and the key are all invisible, unless you know how to look.”

“And you know the trick.”

“Yes.”

“Care to share it?”

“Another time.”

Somehow, I didn't think that time would ever come. Clearly he could lay hands on the master key when needed—as, indeed, he had done this afternoon, when he gave it to the hell-creatures so they could search our house.

“And,” Aber added with a chuckle, “if invisibility isn't enough, Dad has certain things keeping an eye on his rooms, too.”

From the way he said “things” I got the sensation they weren't necessarily human. Monsters? Familiars? Even Port could have done the job; I imagined him making gleeful reports on trespassers.

“Then,” I said, “I think I'll leave his rooms alone.”

“Good idea.”

“What now?” I cleared my throat and looked down at the key, which I still held. “Do I carry three pounds of iron with me for the rest of my life, or will Port accept me as his new master now?”

“I am right here,” Port said a bit stiffly. “You don't have to keep talking about me in the third person!”

Ignoring him, Aber said: “He would probably accept you—”

“I do!” said Port.

“—but there is a ritual to go through, just for form's sake. It should make certain.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“Repeat these words: 'I am the holder of this key. I am the master of this room. You will harken and obey.'“

I did this thing.

“Okay,” Port said with a sigh. “Lord Mattus is dead. I formally accept it. Let all present bear witness: I am now Lord Oberon's door, and these are now Lord Oberon's rooms. I will guard him and obey him in all things. So let it be.”

“Thank you, Port,” I said.

His brow furrowed as he gazed up at me. “I am doing my job, Lord Oberon. It's a rule.”

To me, Aber said, “Return your key to Dad when he gets here. He keeps them all locked up in his study for situations like this. You have no idea what a pain it is when you lose a key and have to replace a magical door.”

I chuckled. “Stubborn, I bet, even in the face of reason and axes?”

“That about sums it up.”

“It's a rule,” Port said. “I must obey my master and protect his interests at all times.”

“All right,” I said. “I'll make sure I remember.”

I took a deep breath, and the walls began to wobble. Mattus's suite—my suite now—lay at hand. What would I find? A collection of fine weapons? A store of powerful magical items? Gold, silver, gems—an emperor's treasure trove?

I felt my pulse quicken with excitement. I knew next to nothing about my half-brother Mattus, except we had about the same height and build, and his taste in clothes mostly matched my own. What would his rooms say about him?

Reaching out, I gave the door a push. It swung open easily, revealing a good-sized chamber. The high-canopied bed looked invitingly soft. Two lamps, one by the door and one by the bed, bubbled their golden light toward the ceiling. A small, tidy desk had been pushed up against the wall to the right. To the left sat an intricately carved washstand with basin and pitcher, a full-height looking glass in a white-painted oval frame, and a large wardrobe made of red and black woods decorated in intricate geometric pyramid patterns. Two plain, non-magical doors, one large and one small, both closed, led to other rooms.

A twinge of disappointment went through me. Clean and neat, Mattus's bedroom struck me as singularly uninteresting. Nothing about the place spoke to my brother's likes and dislikes, nor to his own powers or personality. Anyone could have lived here, man or woman, child or doddering elder.

“Were these rooms searched by the hell-creatures… by the lai she'on?” I asked Port. If all of Mattus's furniture had been destroyed, this mismatched assortment could have been thrown together quickly as replacements.

“Yes, Lord Oberon,” Port said. “After their departure, I took the liberty of permitting the household staff to repair the damage. I did not think Mattus would object.”

“Was there much damage?”

“They cut open the bed and tore out both the mattress and pillow stuffing. That was all.”

I nodded; so much for my furniture theory. “The lai she'on were looking for something. Did they find it here?”

“I do not believe so, Lord Oberon. At least, they did not take anything from this room with them. I would not have permitted it.”

“Good for you. Stick up for your beliefs.”

“It is a rule.”

Feeling the floor glide underfoot, I wandered into the room. Everything looked tidy, from the carefully brushed carpets to the well scrubbed floorboards. Yet the furniture had that hand-me-down look of cast-off pieces hastily thrown together. Considering how Aber could pull pretty much anything he wanted from thin air using the Logrus, I was amazed. Mattus should have lived like a prince; apparently, he hadn't cared to do so.

I looked more closely at the desk. The inkwell, made of a clear cut glass, showed no signs of ever having held ink. The spotless blotter and stack of crisp new writing paper both looked as though they had never been touched. I held one sheet of paper up to the bubbling light and noticed an intricate watermark, a rampant lion.

Of course, I reasoned, hell-creatures could have destroyed the inkwell and ruined the paper; these could all be replacements brought in by servants when they cleaned and straightened. And yet I didn't think so. These items felt right, as though they belonged here.

To Port, I said, “Mattus did not spend much time in here, did he?”

“Alas, but no, Lord Oberon. Not since childhood. He spent most of his time off on adventures.”

I nodded, knowing he had gone off exploring the Shadow worlds. That's what I would have done in his place. This room was a place to sleep when he visited family and friends, nothing more. Home, for him, must have been some distant kingdom… just as Juniper had been our father's home and Ilerium had been mine.

“Yes, it's all yours, and congratulations,” Aber said from the doorway, sounding bored. He stifled a yawn. “You seem better. Over whatever caused your attack, or unconsciousness, or whatever it was.”

I agreed. “I'm sure I'll be all right now.”

“Go to sleep. I'd sure Dad would let you now. We're going to have a busy day tomorrow, I think.”

“Soon,” I said.

“Then I'll take my leave, if you don't mind. My suite is across the hall and down a bit. Ask any door for directions, if you need me. They know every room in the house.”

“Not so, Lord Aber!” objected Port. “I only know this floor…”

I chuckled. “I imagine they see a lot.”

“Sir!” said Port sternly. “You are talking about me in the third person again!”

“Sorry.” I sighed; I couldn't believe a door would reprimand me. “No offense meant, Port. I'm used to doors being inanimate objects.”

“Entirely understandable, and thank you, sir.”

“Don't spoil the woodwork,” Aber said. “Next he'll be asking you to wax and polish him.”

“Lord Aber!” Port sounded aghast. “I would never do such a thing!”

I chuckled. “I think Port and I will get along.” I glanced at my door. “You must have quite a few stories to tell, Port!”

“Doors do not gossip, Lord Oberon!” Port protested. “We value our owners' privacy too much.”

“Another rule?”

“Just so.”

“We'll see. Get a few goblets of brandy in you, and I'll bet—”

“Sir! Doors do not drink!”

I gave him a knowing wink. “I won't tell anyone!”

Port continued his protests, to no avail. Aber had to laugh.

I opened a door into a sitting room—containing several sofas, a pair of comfortable looking chairs, and not much else—and a smaller door into what appeared to be a servant's bedchamber. Then, finishing my circuit of the bedroom I joined my brother in the doorway. This suite would do nicely, and I found Port both useful and amusing. All told, quite acceptable.

“Thanks for everything,” I told my brother.

He slapped my shoulder. “Sleep lightly, Oberon.”

“Is there any other way?”

“Not here. And don't forget my warning—”

“Trust no one?”

He grinned. “Right!”

“Present company excepted, of course.”

“Of course.” Suddenly he turned and called out, “Boy!”

My valet from Juniper Castle, Horace—a young man of thirteen or so with close-cropped black hair and a shy demeanor—came bounding over to join us. He must have followed us up the stairs and been watching quietly from the side. I'd been too drunk to notice him before.

“Here, Lord Aber, Lord Oberon!” Horace said in a high squeak of a voice.

Aber said, “Oberon is feeling better, but he needs to be watched closely. Stay up with him tonight. Call me if anything happens. Do you understand?”

“Anything?”

“Anything unusual or dangerous… anything that threatens his life.”

Horace gulped. “Yes, sir.”

“If you fail in your duty,” he went on in a severe voice, “you will be held responsible for anything that happens to your master. By me and by our father.”

“Yes, sir,” he said.

“Nothing will happen,” I told Aber firmly. If not for the wine, I thought I could have walked unaided and mostly kept my balance. “At this rate, I'll be back to my old self in a day or two.”

“I hope so, but I'm not taking any chances,” Aber said firmly. “Dad doesn't like me the way he does you. If anything happens to you, he'll gladly skin me alive. After I skin your valet.”

Horace gulped audibly.

“Stop it,” I said. “You're scaring him.”

“I meant to.”

“He's just a boy.”

“Don't make excuses.” Aber hesitated, looking toward his own room. “Maybe I'd better sit up with you after all. If you think there's any danger—”

“No, no. Go to your own bed.” I made quick shooing motions with my hands. Those movements made the floor tilt alarmingly. “I can tell you're exhausted. More exhausted than me, even. It's been a long day for all of us. Go to bed, I'll do the same, and we'll have breakfast with Dad in the morning. We can all catch up then.”

Still he hesitated.

“I'll be fine,” I assured him. “I'm over the worst of it.”

He finally nodded, gave a last stern look at Horace, and trooped down the hall toward his door.

Turning, I wandered back into my bedroom trailed by Horace, who shut the door behind us. When I glanced over my shoulder, I found Port's face on the inside now, staring at me with a deliberately noncommittal expression. He cleared his throat, and I got the impression I'd forgotten something.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Do you wish to leave instructions for me, sir?”

“Wake me in the morning?”

“I am not a clock,” he said a bit archly. “I am a door. I do not tell time, whistle on the hour, or wake people up. What I meant was who should I let into your rooms?”

“Oh, I don't know.” I hesitated. “Aber, my father, Horace here, servants when they need to clean.” Then I chuckled, thinking of Rhalla and how she would look in my bed. “And, of course, any beautiful half-dressed women who happen along.”

Port smirked. “Except for Aber, whom Mattus did not trust, those were almost exactly the same instructions your brother left with me.”

I cocked my head thoughtfully. “Do you know why he didn't trust Aber?”

“Not exactly, Lord Oberon. I believe it involved a woman, however, though I am not aware of the exact details.”

“Did he leave you any other instructions?”

“Your sister Blaise was allowed in at any time, day or night.”

I found that odd. For some reason I had mentally lumped Mattus into Locke's camp, with the soldiers. My half-sister Blaise, obsessed with spying and wielding household power, struck me as someone who wouldn't have any ready followers in our family.

“Do you know why?” I asked.

“No, sir.”

“What about Freda?” I asked. I liked my sister almost as much as I liked Aber, and I wondered where she stood with Mattus.

“I had no special instructions regarding Freda.”

“Could anyone else come in at will?” I asked.

“No, sir.”

“Was there anyone else deliberately excluded, the way Aber was?”

“No, sir.”

Well, it had been worth a try. Aber and Mattus not getting along… probably it had been nothing more than sibling rivalry. There had been a lot of that before, during, and after my arrival in Juniper. Having two powerful, conceited, and supremely arrogant brothers in love with the same woman would certainly lead to trouble.

Yawning, I unbuckled my swordbelt and set it on the desk. Horace had turned down the bed while I talked to Port. If the mattress and pillows had been ripped apart by the hell-creatures, seamstresses had mended both as good as new; they looked soft and comfortable. I plopped down, feeling soft feathers yield beneath my weight.

Horace hurried forward to help me with my boots.

“What do you think of this place?” I asked him as he pulled off my right boot.

He hesitated, and I could tell he did not want to speak his mind.

“Go on,” I said. “I want the truth.”

“Sir… I do not much like it.”

He bent to his task and got my second boot off as quickly as the first. He carried them to the door and set them outside to be cleaned.

“Why not?”

Hesitantly, he said, “Nothing is quite right.”

I nodded, knowing what he meant; I felt exactly the same way. A vague sense of wrongness permeated everything. Angles that didn't match my mental geometry, stones that oozed colors, lamps that dribbled their light to the ceiling… it was all very strange and quite unsettling.

The large lookingglass, turned slightly toward the bed, caught my eye when I began to unlace my shirt. Finally, when I saw my reflection, I understood everyone's concern. My features were gaunt and pale, my hands trembled, and dark circles lined my eyes. I looked like I'd just been through the worst campaign in the history of warfare. Even so, a few days' rest would fix me up. I always healed quickly.

With a sigh, I pulled off my pants and threw them to Horace—who hung them over the back of the desk chair, along with my shirt—and slid between clean, crisp sheets.

I snuggled in. This was the good life. Soft pillows, a comfortable bed, a roof to keep out the rain… yes, for a soldier like me, even this weird, mixed-up world offered luxuries. All I needed was a beautiful woman beside me—preferably a lusty widow—and my life would be complete.

Horace went into the next room and returned with a three-legged stool. He set it down at the end of the bed and perched on top. With his elbows on his knees and his chin cupped in his hands, he proceeded to stare at me. This would be a long night for him. I saw him give a little sigh.

“Take heart,” I said. “I don't think we'll be here very long.” When our father found out the house had been searched in his absence, I had a feeling he would be angry enough to abandon the Courts of Chaos.

“Yes, Oberon. What should I do if something happens?” he asked. “Should I call Lord Aber, as he said?”

“Nothing will happen.”

I saw him sigh.

“But if it does,” I went on, “try your best to wake me first. Only call Aber as a last resort. After all, I don't want him to skin you alive.”

“Me either!” He looked relieved.

I closed my eyes. It had been a long, difficult day. Between my sickness, the lateness of the hour, and all the alcohol I had drunk, exhaustion overwhelmed me.

I slept.

I dreamed…

… and felt the dream slide away toward madness.

Chapter 8

Movement all around me.

Not a boat this time: a curious sense of drifting in all directions at once, as if I soared, birdlike, high above my body. This sensation had come upon me a number of times before, some distant part of me recalled. It was neither sleep nor dreaming, but a sort of vision… or a visitation… by my spirit to another place. Whatever I saw next would be real, I knew, but happening far away. And I would be powerless to interfere.

With a growing sense of foreboding, I opened my dream-eyes and looked down. I soared high above a land of ever-changing design and color. Large, rounded stones moved like sheep through high green grass. To the left, trees walked on their roots like men, gathering in circles to talk to one other. I saw no signs of human life.

Overhead, a dusky red sky seethed with movement. A dozen moons rolled like balls across the heavens. I saw no sign of a sun, and yet it was not dark.

On I flew, crossing over vast expanses of grass until I came to a tower made of skulls, some human and some clearly not. Here I slowed, drifting like a phantom cloud, unseen and untouchable.

I had been to this place before. Here, in several other such visions, I had witnessed my brothers Taine and Mattus being tortured and (at least in Mattus's case) killed. It hadn't been pleasant.

When I stretched out my hand to touch the tower, once more my fingers passed into the wall of bones as though through fog. It was exactly like the last time. I knew I could be nothing more than an observer here.

Taking a deep breath, I allowed myself to drift through the wall and into the tower. Shadows flickered within. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I made out a familiar looking stairway built from arm bones and leg bones. It circled the inside wall of the tower, climbing into a deeper darkness, descending into a murky, pulsating redness.

I drifted down, and the redness resolved itself into a circle of burning torches. A square slab of rock, shaped like a sacrificial altar, lay in the center of the room. Deep shadows lay before it, and I sensed an unseen presence there, watching and waiting.

My heart began to pound and the breath caught in my throat. Why had I been summoned here this time? What power had brought me to this place?

I tried to wake myself from this nightmare vision, tried to force my eyes open in the real world, but it didn't work. Stubbornly, I remained anchored to this place. Apparently I was not yet done here.

Then I heard the sounds of tramping boots to one side. Four hell-creatures in silvered armor entered through a small doorway. Unlike the ones who had searched our home, these did not have crowns blazed on their chests… but that seemed to be the only difference. Between them they dragged a human—a naked, filthy man with thick iron chains on his legs and arms. Only the slight shuffling movement of his feet as he tried to walk gave any indication of life.

Long, tangled hair and a matted beard obscured his face, and his head hung limp.

I tried to see who it was, but couldn't tell. He appeared half dead, and what I could see of his body through the dirt made my skin crawl. Festering sores and wounds, some old but many more that were recent, covered every inch of his arms, legs, chest, and stomach.

Without saying a word, the four hell-creatures flung him down on the slab of stone. I had to give this fellow credit—when they began to fasten his chains to huge iron rings, he still struggled despite his condition. Unfortunately, he no longer had enough strength to fight much. They shoved him down and finished their job, then stood back at attention.

From the shadows at the far side of the chamber, where I had sensed a presence before, came a huge serpentlike creature that must have been twenty feet long. Though it slithered on its belly, it held its front end erect. Its almost human torso had two scaled, vaguely human arms that ended in broad taloned hands, one of which held a silver-bladed knife.

“Tell me what I want to know,” the creature said softly, its body weaving left and right, left and right. “Spare yourself, son of Dworkin. Earn an easy death…”

The man on the table had the strength to lift his head a bit, but he made no reply. As his hair fell back, I saw sunken blue eyes and a familiar white dueling scar on his left cheek, and only then did I recognized him: my half brother Taine. I had dreamed of Taine twice before, and the last time had been less than a week ago as I reckoned time… but from his appearance, he had been here for months—maybe years.

I swallowed. No, these were not dreams, despite their nightmare quality. These were true visions. This was real. I remembered how Aber told me that time in different Shadow worlds moved at different speeds.

The serpent-creature writhed forward, beginning to chant, the words ancient and powerful. I only half understood them, but they set my skin crawling. Quickly I shut my mind to the sound.

Though I longed to do something to help poor Taine, I knew I had no form here, no arms to take up weapons nor muscles to swing them. I could be nothing more than a silent spectator to whatever horrors unfolded.

The silver blade flashed down, opening new cuts on Taine's arms and legs and chest. Thin blood began to flow, but instead of dripping toward the floor, the drops lifted into the air and hung there, spinning slowly, starting to form an intricate crimson pattern.

I knew that design. I recognized it at once: it matched the Pattern within me, the Pattern that was somehow imprinted on the very essence of my being. I summoned that Pattern to my mind now and compared it to what was being sketched in mid-air.

No, they were not the same. They were cousins. Close, but not quite a match… the Pattern in the air was flawed and broken, possessing several odd turns and twists that did not belong there. And a small section on the left simply fell apart, becoming a random series of drops.

And yet I sensed that, flawed thought it was, an immense power radiated from it. A power which made my whole body tingle with pins and needles.

“Show me the son of Dworkin!” the serpent-creature called again. “Reveal him!”

Taine lay still, probably unconscious. His blood no longer flowed. A thin line of drool fell from his mouth to the altar's stone.

But I knew the serpent had not been speaking to him. It spoke instead to the Pattern in the air.

Slowly the droplets of blood began to spin, around and around, faster and faster. They took on a shimmering, silvery quality, then grew clear, becoming a window.

Drifting forward, I peered through it with the serpent. We gazed into darkness.

No, not darkness, but a dark room… a room where a man lay on a high-canopied bed, deeply asleep. A room where a boy stood over the man, trying desperately to shake him awake.

My room. My body.

The serpent-creature breathed, “Yes-s-s… he is the one…”

An odd prickling sensation spread up my neck. I had to do something. I had to find a way to stop it. If the serpent-creature attacked me while I was lying in bed, I had a feeling I wouldn't be able to get back.

The serpent began to chant again. A strange cloud began to gather in front of the mirror. Tendrils began to reach toward the window.

Could it be some poisonous vapor? Something else entirely? I didn't know, but it could only mean harm for me. It grew darker, more solid. One tendril passed through the spinning window and reached toward the bed.

A jolt of horror and fear went through me. I had to stop it. If I didn't do something, I knew I would not live through this night.

Chapter 9

I looked frantically around the room. Except for the serpent, its guards, my brother, and the altar slab, it was empty. Then my attention suddenly fixed on the Pattern hanging in the air before us. I saw the Pattern's flaws now, and I knew where it went wrong. And, as I stared at it, I saw through the droplets of blood a series of dark threads that seemed to be holding everything together.

Yes—maybe I could destroy the window. If the serpent couldn't see me, its spells wouldn't be able to get through.

Slowly I moved closer, circling the Pattern, studying the threads. Yes … those threads had to be the key. If I could break them and close the window …

Using my spectral form, I reached out and touched the nearest thread. It had a strange texture, not quite solid but not quite liquid, either. My fingers suddenly burned from the contact, as though I'd touched a hot iron, and I jerked them back.

The image of my room grew clearer. The largest part of the mist—its body?—began to ooze forward. It was much larger than the spinning window, and slowly, like water pouring through a drain, it began to squeeze through the opening.

If I didn't act fast, I'd be too late. Reaching out, ignoring the pain, I began seizing threads with both hands and ripping them apart. They broke with surprising easy, though at each touch I felt a sharp shock of pain from my fingertips to my elbows. Ignoring it, I worked as fast as I could.

Half of the mist had entered my room. Fortunately, the serpent still had not noticed me or what I was doing. Its attention remained fixed on my bedroom, its chanting, the mist, and whatever dark sorcery it worked against me.

“No more,” I whispered, half to myself, half to the Pattern, willing this thing to be done. More threads snapped and parted. They came apart more easily now. My hands were numb and I barely felt any pain. “You are undone. You are free. This creature holds no power over you.”

Only a dozen more of the threads remained unbroken. A few spinning droplets of blood came loose from the Pattern. They flew off and struck the walls, splattering silently against the bones. Luckily neither the serpent nor its guards noticed.

Working faster now, I broke the rest of the threads.

When I finished, the window into my room seemed to ripple and churn, and then the image disappeared. The dark mist, sliced in half, began to fly wildly around the room, twisting and writhing like a thing in agony. I heard a high-pitched scream that went on and on and on. It had been alive. And I had hurt it.

“What—” the serpent-creature said, its chanting halted.

Suddenly my brother's blood flew everywhere, striking the serpent-creature and his guards in a red shower. Hissing, they all drew back. The Pattern, bloodless, hung motionless in the air now. It shone with a clear bright light like a powerful lantern.

Reaching out, I redrew its shape. Its lines moved under my fingers, uncoiling where it was wrong, bending and reshaping. Suddenly it came together again, whole and correct. I recognized it as a true representation of the Pattern inside me.

Its glow increased. A clear blue light filled the tower. I could see every bone in the wall distinctly now. Still the blaze grew. Individual scales stood out on the serpent's monstrous body as though etched in stone.

Through the Pattern I saw my room again. Horace bent over me, shaking my shoulders frantically. Don't bother, I thought. Nothing could possibly wake me until I returned to my body.

“Close that window.” I told the Pattern. I didn't want the serpent to see me, in case it had any more tricks. “Don't show my room.”

The image of my bedroom disappeared instantly. I felt a sudden swell of pride. It had worked!

Hissing, dripping with my brother's blood, its long tail lashing, the serpent reared back. It searched the tower with its glowing red eyes.

“Who is here?” it screamed. “Show yourself.”

The four hell-creatures drew their swords and turned, looking for me. But I remained invisible to them.

Brighter and brighter the new Pattern flared, glowing like the sun at noon. I reached out and seized it with my hands. With the black threads gone, it no longer hurt. Instead, a feeling of power and well-being came over me. Blue sparks began to stream up my hands and arms, surrounding me, bathing me in a cool blue light.

Holding the Pattern, I faced my half-brother Taine and the hell-creature guards. Hissing, they shielded their eyes and staggered back.

I hurled the Pattern toward the first of them. The hell-creature stood transfixed, unable to move, unable to run, as the Pattern grew huge.

“Kill!” I shouted. It was half command, half wish.

As though obeying my will, the Pattern touched the nearest hell-creature, and in that instant his skin sagged, his flesh seemed to wither, and his eyes lost their glow. Like a dried leaf, he crumpled to dust.

“Now, the others—”

As if it understood my words, the Pattern moved again. The three remaining guards tried to flee, but didn't get far. It touched them, too, and as it did, they became dust.

I felt a surge of pride and power. Finally I was doing something real. Finally I could deal with a threat against my family and myself.

“Now—the serpent—” I commanded.

The glowing Pattern began to move toward him.

“Son of Dworkin,” the serpent said, in a low and gravelly voice. It was now looking straight at me. A coldness touched my heart. “You are revealed. Your magic is like a child's. Be gone!”

Then it unfolded its hands and made a quick motion, almost like throwing a dart at a dartboard. A wall of darkness raced toward the Pattern—toward me—growing huge. I turned too late, and it seemed to blot out everything.

Gasping, I sat up in bed. For a second, I didn't know where I was or what had happened. My head pounded. I felt feverish and disoriented.

Aber. He was bending over me. I saw concern in his eyes.

“Oberon?” he demanded. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Panting, I lay back. Beneath me, the sheets were soaked with sweat. “I… I think so. I just need to catch my breath.”

“What happened?”

“I had another vision. I saw Taine and the serpent-creature again.”

Horace stood just behind Aber, peering around at me. He was pale, and I saw the scarlet imprint of a hand on his left cheek. Aber must have backhanded him for letting his guard down—or for waiting too long in calling him.

I looked around the room, but saw no sign of that dark mist. It must have been killed or destroyed when the window closed.

“How long has it been?” I asked.

“At least two hours,” Aber said, sitting on the edge of the bed next to me. He folded his arms and sighed. “You started moaning in your sleep, Horace said, so he tried to wake you. Finally, when he couldn't, he came to get me.”

I nodded.

“Leave us,” I said to Horace. “Wait in the next room. Aber and I need to talk privately. If I need you again, I'll call you.”

“Yes, Oberon.” He ran out.

Much as I liked Horace, I did not yet know how far I could trust him to guard my privacy. From certain things that had happened in Juniper, I knew we had spies among us… possibly even a family member. I didn't want servants hearing about these visions. That serpent-creature knew a lot about magic, and I didn't want it to figure out how I had come to its tower.

After the door had shut behind the boy, I turned back to my brother. Quickly I told him all I had seen and done in the tower of bones. When I got to the part about changing the Pattern and using it to kill the hell-creatures, he just sat there with his mouth open, fascinated and, perhaps, more than a little awed.

I felt a surge of pride once more. This time I really had done something to strike against our enemies. If only I knew more about this Pattern and how it worked…

“You did well,” Aber admitted when I finished my story. He had an odd look in his eyes. “This Pattern seems to have a power greater than we realize… perhaps nearing that of the Logrus.”

“And Taine is still alive, though I don't think he's going to last much longer,” I said. “He looked terrible. He's really been abused. Do you think we can rescue him? Is there anything you can do to find out the location of this tower?”

“I hope so. I'll try contacting him with a Trump as soon as I get back to my room. Maybe I'll be able to reach him now that we're home. I don't think he's very far from here.”

“That's what Dad said the last time.” Taking a deep breath, I sat up, remembering. “Dad's audience with King Uthor—what happened? Is he back yet?”

“Not yet.”

I chewed my lip. “It's been too long. Something's wrong.”

“We don't know that. Maybe he's still talking with the king. Or…”

“Or what?”

Aber swallowed. “Maybe he's been arrested.”

“If so, wouldn't someone tell us?” I said. “Besides, why should he be arrested? As far as we know, he hasn't done anything.”

“I suppose you're right. But I've never heard of the King's guards searching someone's house… especially not a Lord of Chaos's house. They wouldn't do it without cause.”

“No, they wouldn't.” I mulled that over. “There must be a reason. But what?”

“Something Dad's done—”

“Or something he's suspected of,” I said.

We looked at each other.

Neither of us had an answer.

Chapter 10

We talked for another hour, trying to work out what Dad might have done to incur the king's wrath, but we made no real progress. It could have been anything… from insulting the wrong woman at a dinner party to swiping King Uthor's wooden leg (assuming he had a wooden leg, which I very much doubted—but we had a good laugh over it).

Despite all our theories, we both kept coming back to the guards who had searched our house. What had they been looking for? Something small… something easily hidden… something Dad shouldn't have had. What could it be?

My instincts told me the answer was important. It might well be the key to understanding everything that had happened to our family, from the murders of so many of our brothers and sisters to the attack on Juniper Castle.

“We might as well sleep on it,” I finally told Aber, since we didn't seem to be making any progress. “Maybe the answer will come to us.”

“I guess.”

“And you'll try to reach Taine with his Trump?”

“Right away. And what about you?” he asked. “Will you be safe now?”

“I think so.” I sighed, eyes distant. “I don't think the serpent-creature will try anything else tonight.”

“I'm sure he won't. He'll deal more cautiously with you from now on. After all, you might surprise him with another magical attack, and next time you might kill him.”

“It wasn't anything deliberate. I was lucky.”

“Luck is all it takes.” He gave a shrug. “Sometimes it's better to be lucky than skilled. Something is still troubling me, though.”

I nodded. “Our enemies know too much about us. And I don't like that serpent spying on me in my own bed in my own room in this house. How long has it been doing that? Does it know everything we've been talking about?”

“I don't like it, either,” he admitted. “It doesn't make me feel safe here.”

I stood and began to pace like a caged tiger. “Is there something you can do to protect us? Some charm or spell to keep prying eyes out?”

“Spells can be set up to shield us. I'm sure Dad could do it, and easily. Freda, too.”

I chewed my lower lip thoughtfully. He hadn't volunteered his own magical talents to protect us. What did that imply? Uncertainty… or weakness?

“That's no help,” I said. “Dad and Freda aren't here, and we need protection immediately. For all we know, that serpent is watching us right now and plotting his next attack.”

“If so…” He made a rude gesture toward the ceiling.

I couldn't help myself; despite the gravity of the situation, I chuckled. But it still didn't change the situation.

I asked, “What about you? Can you do anything to protect us?”

Aber hesitated. “It's not the sort of thing at which I'm skilled.”

“Give it a try,” I urged. “It can't hurt.”

He sighed. “All right.”

“Will it take long?”

“Maybe an hour to prepare everything, set up the spells, and lay them over the house. Maybe a little more if I run into problems.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” For some reason, I longed to see more real magic… perhaps because I had managed to use some myself. If I could learn to control this Pattern, to master its power the way the serpent in the tower had mastered the Logrus, I might stand a fighting chance against it.

“No. It's fairly delicate work, and it will require all my concentration.”

“So I'd be in the way,” I said, with a twinge of disappointment. “All right. I'll stay here.”

“That's probably for the best.” He said it with clear relief, as though I might inadvertently mess up his work. “Better for you that way. It's fairly meticulous Logrus manipulation—setting up magical trip-wires, in case we have magical prowlers. That way we'll be alerted if someone comes snooping.”

“Let me know when you're done. If you run into problems or need my help, don't hesitate to call.” I grinned and gave a wry attempt at humor. “I might not be able to use the Logrus, but I have a strong back. Give me a heavy box and I'll carry it for you.”

“No boxes involved, I'm afraid.”

He seemed distracted—probably already laying out the spells in his mind—and when he gave a curt nod and stood, I did not object. Best to get the spells in place before the serpent tried again to kill me—or any of us. I knew it would be back if we didn't act swiftly.

Aber headed for the door, paused, looked back.

“Don't forget—have your valet watch you while you sleep,” he said, “just in case.”

“All right.”

After the door closed, I turned to the desk and sat heavily, mentally reviewing everything that had happened in the tower of skulls. What else should I have done? What else could I have done?

I hadn't told Aber this, but the Pattern I'd reshaped had obeyed my commands… as though it understood what I'd told it to do.

How could that be possible?

It had almost seemed alive. And, when I touched it, it made me feel whole and strong, better than I'd felt in years. I still felt that way, I realized, flexing my fingers and staring down at my hands, remembering the feeling of power that had surged through me. Even the slight stiffness in my left thumb, due to a months-old battle injury, had disappeared.

Not only that, but the floors and walls no longer seemed to be moving. Everything around me seemed normal… or as normal as it could be, in a world where nothing obeyed the laws of nature I had grown up with.

Rising, I began to pace the length of my room again. I felt trapped and restless. Clearly, I wasn't ready to go back to sleep.

Opening the door to the next room, I checked on Horace and found him curled up on a small bed in the corner, still fully dressed. He was already asleep, poor kid. Easing the door shut, I went back to the door to the hallway.

“Shouldn't you be in bed, Lord Oberon?” said Port, gazing up at me. “The hour is late and you look terrible.”

“I thought you were a door, not a doctor.”

“I am allowed to offer commentary and advice as needed. You ought to rest.”

With a sigh, I said, “Thanks. I don't need advice right now, though.”

“Very good, Lord Oberon.” He had a slightly snippy tone. “Henceforth I will keep my advice to myself.” His face disappeared, leaving an empty wooden panel in the door.

“I didn't mean to offend you,” I said. But he didn't reappear. Well, screw him and his opinion—I didn't need to get into arguments with inanimate objects.

I had thirty minutes to kill while Aber set up his magical tripwires. I didn't want to fall asleep and miss the results, so I dressed, pulled on my boots, and went out into the hallway. Might as well explore some more, I thought.

I prowled the length of the hall. Each door had a different face carved into its middle, all with eyes closed, seemingly asleep. I did not knock on any of the doors. Port had been loud and talkative. I didn't want to mess up Aber's work by distracting him.

The hallway dead-ended. To the left, in a small dark alcove, a narrow servant's stairs wound up and down. It had to be the same one I'd explored earlier with Rhalla.

I headed down. What I really needed now was a drink—and something stronger than wine. With a house this big, at least one of the rooms ought to have an ample supply of liquor.

Two floors down, I went to the end of the corridor, turned right, then right again, then a third and a fourth time. My mind told me I had come full circle and back to my starting point, but I found myself in a cavernous hall at the foot of a broad set of marble stairs.

Two guards, both of whom I recognized as men we'd brought from Juniper, snapped to attention as soon as they spotted me. They stood by a pair of huge iron-shod doors at the far end of the hall. Not much chance of an attack coming from that direction, but it never hurt to be prepared. While I didn't know either one of them by name, I gave a quick wave. They grinned and saluted. My presence definitely seemed to raise their spirits—the hero of Juniper, the only son of Lord Dworkin who had been able to defeat the hell-creatures and drive them back. Yes, I would definitely be a rallying point for our troops.

“Any idea where they keep the drinks around here?” I asked as I approached them.

“Do you mean the wine cellar, sir?” one of them asked.

“I was hoping for something stronger.”

“Try this.” He pulled out a small metal flask and offered it to me.

I unstoppered it, and the smells of a strong sour mash rose. I took a tentative sip.

Whatever it was, it burned going down. I gasped, eyes watering. I'd only tasted rotgut this bad a couple of times. If it didn't cause blindness and insanity, it sure felt like it ought to.

“Do you like it, sir?” the guard asked, grinning. I noticed his two upper front teeth were missing.

“Awful! Simply awful!” I grinned back, then took a bigger swallow. It went down a bit easier this time. “Quite a kick. What's in it?”

“You don't want to know.”

“Thanks. Here you go.” I held out the flask.

“Keep it, sir. I'll have plenty more in a few days.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You make it yourself?”

“Yes, sir! Two weeks old, and that's as good as it gets!”

I laughed. “Thanks, I will keep it.” I gave an approving nod. “I'll return the flask when it's gone.”

“Much appreciated, sir.”

After that, I wandered off down the hall, opening doors and taking small sips. I discovered a salon with comfortable looking couches and chairs, a library filled with racks of scrolls and shelves of books, a map room, and several closets. A couple of narrow corridors seemed designed for servants. No one except those two guards seemed up and about at this hour.

Aber had to be nearly done with his magic by now, I figured, so I climbed the marble steps back up to the third floor, found my bedroom door, and Port let me in without my having to ask. My valet was nowhere in sight—still sound asleep, I assumed—so I sat down at the desk to wait for Aber. Idly I opened both drawers, but except for quills and a small blade for sharpening them, they were empty.

After a few minutes had passed, Port's voice interrupted:

“Sir. Lord Aber is here.”

“Thanks.” I rose and went out to the hall to join him.

“It's done,” he said. He looked exhausted; the spells seemed to have taken a lot out of him. “I don't think anyone will be able to spy on us now without setting off alarm bells.”

“Good. And Taine?”

“I tried, but…” He shrugged. “No answer.”

“He might still be unconscious,” I said. “He wasn't in good shape.” He might also be dead… those injuries were enough to kill any lesser man.

“I'll try again tomorrow morning.”

I nodded. “Good.”

“We both might as well turn in,” he said. “We've had enough excitement for one night. The guards are supposed to call me if Dad comes back. Do you want me to wake you if he does?”

“Yes.”

“All right. And,” he went on, “don't forget to have Horace watch over you while you sleep, just in case.”

“All right. I'll wake him,” I promised.

He bade me good night and returned to his room. I went back into mine, found Horace sleeping in his little room off mine, and shook him awake. Then I told him he needed to watch me again while I slept. To his credit, the boy didn't protest, but immediately went out and took his seat on the stool.

I stripped and climbed into bed, and the second my head touched the pillow, I slept.

This time I dreamed strangely. There was a chanting voice saying something in a language I almost but not quite understood. Shadows moved around me. Someone—a dim figure, but I had the impression of unblinking round eyes—sat on my chest, making it hard for me to breathe.

“Hell-creature!” I heard myself snarl, and I reached instinctively for a sword that wasn't there.

“Shh, my lord,” a familiar woman's voice said.

“Helda?” I asked.

“Sleep, Lord Oberon,” the voice said.

I groaned. My head hurt. The pressure on my chest grew. I couldn't tell if I was dreaming or awake. Could this be another vision? Some premonition of danger to come?

A face loomed out of the twisting shadows. I blinked rapidly, trying to focus my eyes. Black hair, pale skin, perfect white teeth, a grave expression—

“Rhalla?” I whispered.

“Lie back,” she said. Soft hands pushed me down onto the bed. “You are still sick,” she said, and she began to rub my chest. Her hands were warm as blood. I felt myself relaxing, sliding back toward sleep.

“It's this place…” I whispered.

“Yes,” she said, “it is.” Then she pressed a small goblet to my lips and poured. “Drink this, my lord. It will make you feel better.”

It was warm brandy, and it had been spiced with something like cinnamon. The taste did not excite me, but liquor was liquor so I gulped anyway. What the hell. If I had to dream, I might as well enjoy it.

The brandy had a bitter aftertaste. She had added something else to it. An herb? Some medicine? I didn't know, but almost immediately I felt its effects. My vision clouded, and I felt myself sinking down, down, down, borne away on a river of darkness.

I slept the sleep of the dead.

The next time I awakened, I felt… different. Weak and lightheaded. That was the first thing. And the second… complete disorientation.

I lay on my side, staring at the wall and the desk. All the confidence and strength I had felt the night before had fled, and now the world drifted around me. The bed seemed to be rocking like the deck of a ship at sea. The walls slowly oozed colors, and the faint light from the lamp on the desk, its wick turned low, dribbled up to pool on the ceiling.

I blinked and tried to sit up, but I couldn't do it. With a sigh, I fell back on the pillow. A gentle touch steadied my arm, then moved to caress my cheek.

“Horace?” I asked, voice rough from sleep. What would he be doing in my bed?

“Do I look like a boy?” asked a woman's soft voice from beside me.

Chapter 11

I sat up suddenly, then gulped as the room pitched unexpectedly to one side. My head swam. Moving only my eyes, I followed a pale hand to a slender arm, white as alabaster, which led to a shapely elbow, then to the soft curve of a shoulder, then to a delicate neck, and finally to a face so beautiful it still took my breath away.

I knew her. The woman who, only yesterday, had shown me the way to Dworkin's floor…

It took a moment for the fuzziness of my thoughts to clear. I never forgot a beautiful woman's name, and hers finally came to me.

“Rhalla?” I said.

“Yes, Lord Oberon.” She smiled and stroked the line of my jaw with her fingertips. Her scent, strange and spicy, made my heart begin to race.

She lay next to me under the covers. Her gold eyes met and held mine for a heartbeat, then coyly turned downward. I noticed her slightly parted lips, behind which lay perfect pearls of teeth, her delicate nose, slightly upturned, and high pale cheekbones, which accentuated the lines of her face. I had seen few women who equaled her beauty.

“What are you doing here?” I asked softly, dumbfounded. A beautiful woman was the last thing I would have expected to find next to me when I awoke.

“I would have thought that obvious,” she said, snuggling closer and laying her head on my chest. “After all, you did want me here… didn't you?”

“Yes,” I whispered. It was true. I had wanted her since the moment I saw her in the hallway.

I peeked under the sheet. She was naked, as I expected—and, if it was possible, even more beautiful from the neck down. I lowered the sheet and grinned back at her. I had awakened to many worse things over the years.

“So…” she giggled. “Here I am.”

“Then you must be a goddess…” I began with a smile.

“I am no goddess, Lord.”

“Then you're here in disguise?”

That line usually made a woman blush, and with Rhalla it did the same, a rose color blossoming across her cheeks and neck. I saw the twist of a smile at the corners of her perfect red lips.

“You are sweet, my lord.”

“Call me Oberon.”

“As you wish, Oberon.”

I swallowed hard, trying to think back to what had happened last night. Had we done anything? I remembered lying down alone; Rhalla certainly hadn't been here. The last thing I'd seen was Horace as he sat on his stool at the foot of the bed, watching me.

Surreptitiously, I glanced around the room, but I didn't see the boy anywhere. Where had he gone? Probably back to his room as soon as Rhalla got here. He had enough sense to know when he wasn't wanted or needed.

But… more pressing… why didn't I remember anything of last night?

I frowned, thinking back. Maybe I did remember. Somehow, I had a vague impression of her having been here with me… of her body pressing tightly against mine… her lips hot on my mouth and chest…

And then the ghost of last night fled. I knew nothing more about it… could not even be sure she had actually been here with at all. Everything had a distant, confused quality, like a half-remembered dream.

Could I have been asleep when we made love? Or maybe I had been drunk. Vaguely, I remembered sipping brandy from a cup in her hand…

And then the memory passed and it was just the two of us in bed again. She continued to stroke my face and nuzzle against my chest. Putting my arm around her shoulders, I drew her close. I felt warm and comfortable, and I hoped this moment would never end.

“You are not like the rest of your family, Oberon,” she told me. “There is a kindness in you… a warmth… mmm. I do like it, very much.”

“About last night, Rhalla…” I said, brow furrowing.

“You do not remember it,” she said with a light laugh. “I know. Do not worry.”

“Was I that drunk?”

“A little drunk, perhaps… but I gave you a sleeping draught. Before, when I first came to you, demons plagued your sleep. You moaned that the room was moving, and you cried out that we were being attacked—”

“Nightmares,” I guessed. “Hallucinations.”

“Yes, Oberon.” She sighed. “You said hell-creatures were attacking us… and you called me Helda.”

“Helda!” The name went through my with a jolt. Helda… my lovely Helda, who had been murdered by hell-creatures in Ilerium. She had been an innocent victim. If not for me, she would still be alive today.

“That is right.”

“I'm sorry, Rhalla,” I said, trying to remember. Very little of it came back to me. “I don't remember…”

“Shh, it's not important.” She gave a little shudder. “Let us talk of more pleasant things.”

“Of course.” I gave her a light kiss on the forehead. “Thank you.”

“It was nothing.” With a long, sharp fingernail, she traced a pattern in the bristle of hairs on my chest. I found her touch sensuous. The smell of her, the musk she exuded, surrounded me like perfume. I breathed deeply, head swimming. “I was told to watch over you,” she continued, “in case you… needed anything.”

“Anything at all?”

She smiled in reply, and reading an invitation in that smile, I kissed her lips, her cheeks, and then her eyelids. Her long lashes fluttered against my skin like the wings of a trapped butterfly.

“And now?” I asked. “What do you think I need most?”

“This.”

Without warning, she leaned over and kissed me, long and hard and passionately. I responded without hesitation, pulling her closer. The world and my family and the Courts of Chaos be damned, right now I wanted her as much as she seemed to want me, and nothing else mattered.

Some time later, as we lay exhausted atop a tangled mess of bedding, I felt a deep contentment spreading through me. Rhalla still nestled against my shoulder, her breath warm and soft on my cheek, and I realized how much I had missed a woman's touch and companionship. It made me feel less alone in this world, more a part of something greater than myself. I sighed, sated, happy on some deep level.

“You are more than well, I think,” Rhalla said finally. She slipped like water from my grasp and left the bed.

Rolling over, I propped myself up on one elbow to watch. She had draped her robe and undergarments across the desk's chair, and now she reached for them.

“Not so fast!” I said.

“What, Oberon?” she asked, puzzled.

Swinging my legs to the floor, I leaped forward, caught her arm, and pulling her gently back to the bed. I kissed the insides of her wrists and elbows, gazing up at her beautiful face.

Smiling, she swayed closer, breasts at my eye level, enticing, teasing me, her scent filling my nose and throat with a heady perfume.

Inhaling deeply, I pulled her down on top of me. I had to have her, could not live or think or breathe without her, and for a second time we became a tangle of hands and tongues, fingers and mouths.

This time we made love slowly, the haste of first-time lovers satisfied. She was even better when we could relax and explore each other's bodies fully. Few women had ever excited me as she did, not even my beloved Helda. I never wanted to leave Rhalla's arms again.

At last, breathless, she pushed me away with a happy laugh, gave me a final kiss on the cheek, and began to dress. I admired her from the bed, counting myself lucky she had been the one chosen to look after me. My father had good taste in women, it seemed.

And, I guessed, Dad must have returned if he'd sent her to me. Sucking in a big, contented breath, I sprawled back on the pillows. A glow of happiness filled me. With Dad back, a beautiful new lover, and my health almost completely restored… yes, things were definitely looking up.

When she finished dressing, Rhalla blew me a kiss, then started for the door.

“Must you go?” I asked, watching her. She might have come to me as a nurse, but she was more than that now. I did not surrender my lovers willingly.

“You are an animal!” she said with a laugh. “Are you never satisfied, my lord?”

I chuckled, then patted the mattress beside me. “Come back and see!”

“I cannot. The morning is here. I have many duties.”

“Who cares? Stay with me! I'll make it all right.” I gave her a wink. “I do have some influence here, you know.”

“I know, Oberon. But even so…”

Standing, I took her in my arms and kissed her long and passionately. She responded, and we stayed that way for a long minute.

Finally she broke away.

“I will come back tonight, if you wish… now please, Oberon. I must go.” Smiling a bit wistfully, she pulled free from my arms. “It is long past time.”

“If you must…”

With a reluctant sigh, I let her go. It had been too long since I had been with a woman like her, a woman I could grow to care about… even to love. And, somehow, I knew we would never again capture a moment this peaceful, this perfect. They were far too few in my life.

She hesitated in the doorway, gazing back at me. “Until tonight,” she said.

I took her delicate white hand and gave it a lingering kiss. “I need extra care. You can tell my father that.”

“There is no need to lie, Oberon. You are as fit as any man here. I will return soon… as long and as often as you will have me.”

“I would… I will!”

She smiled again, then eased the door closed. I caught a glimpse of Port's disapproving face in the woodwork, but he quickly vanished. An unwilling voyeur, no doubt—he could hardly leave when our lovemaking grew noisy, after all.

I felt more amused than anything else.

“Port?” I said.

His face appeared, the expression still reproving.

“Yes, Lord Oberon?” he said.

“You are to say nothing about Rhalla's visit here to anyone, and especially not to my brother or father. Is that understood?”

“Are you sure that is wise, Lord Oberon?”

“Oh, yes.” I chuckled to myself. It was more than wise, it was beneficial… I knew my father and brother wouldn't approve of my bedding the servants. Rhalla's and my relationship would have to remain private, at least for now. That seemed the wisest course.

“Very good, Lord,” Port said unhappily. “Was there anything else?”

“Do you know if my father returned last night?”

“No, Lord. He does not sleep on this floor.”

“Very good. That will be all.”

With a frown, Port's face vanished into the wood again. I had no doubt that he would follow my instructions to the letter.

Yawning and scratching, I turned to the looking glass and studied my reflection. The first thing I noticed was a strange red welt on my chest, just above my heart. Odd… I hadn't noticed it last night before bed, nor had Rhalla or Horace commented on it.

Frowning, I leaning closer for a better look. It had a single blood-red dot in its center, like the mark a bee's stinger would leave. When I touched the welt, it felt hot, but not painful. An insect bite? It had to be. But what kind of insect would leave a mark like that… or that large?

Though no more color had come back into my cheeks and my skin remained a pasty white, overall I felt stronger today than yesterday, and much less like a man on his deathbed. My hands barely shook, and when I walked about, the floors and walls no longer seemed to move against me. Yes, I was definitely doing better.

As for the bite mark on my chest—well, I wasn't in Ilerium any more. Who knew what sort of insects lived in the Courts of Chaos? If the welt bothered me later, I'd ask Anari to find a poultice for it.

At the wash stand, I filled the basin with tepid water from the pitcher, made a lather with the block of soap, and scrubbed myself clean from head to heels. When I toweled dry, I felt a lot better, more like a civilized person again. A straight razor sat next to the wash basin, and I stropped it on a little leather strap hanging from the right side of the stand. Then I made a second lather with the soap and shaved off my four-days' growth of beard with minimal blood loss. After my experiences in Juniper, where a demon disguised as the castle barber tried to slit my throat, I planned on doing my own shaving.

Next I opened my wardrobe and explored the contents. Several dozen suits of clothing hung inside, and boots, shoes, and neatly folded undergarments sat on the floor. He seemed to favor dusty blues and grays. Finally, after much thought, I selected a pair of soft gray deerskin pants with a matching shirt embroidered with a gold phoenix on the chest. That's how I felt right now, reborn from the ashes of my old self. Gold braid decorated the cuffs and collar, and I thought it added a distinguished look.

As with the last set of Mattus's clothes I'd appropriated, this one fit me admirably well, as though it had been made to my exact measurements. When I examined my reflection in the looking glass, I gave a nod of satisfaction. Rhalla had me interested in my appearance again, and biased though I might be, I had to admit I cut quite a handsome figure.

Satisfied, I went to Horace's little room and found him snoring softly in his own bed. So much for watching over me last night. Aber would skin him alive if he found out the boy had deserted his post. Just as well Horace had—I didn't particularly need or want an audience for my love-making.

“Time to get up,” I told him. “Horace? Horace?”

He snored on, oblivious. Poor kid, he was completely exhausted. He'd probably been up most of the night looking after me. Good thing Rhalla had come along to relieve him.

Even so, I needed him up now. Duty called, and he had to learn what that meant. In the army, I'd missed more than my fair share of sleep. You got used to it.

I bent and shook his shoulder.

“Horace!” I called. “Wake up!”

It took a minute, but finally he opened his eyes and sat up, looking groggy and confused. He yawned widely.

“Sorry, Oberon!” he said, staring up at me through bleary, dark-rimmed eyes. “I must have fallen asleep.”

“Are you sick?” I demanded. “I couldn't wake you.”

“No, Oberon,” he said with another yawn. “I tried to stay up with you last night to make sure nothing happened, like Lord Aber said.” Then he gulped, and I knew he remembered my brother's threats.

“I appreciate your effort,” I said, “but it wasn't necessary for you to stay up all night. I didn't have any more problems, and I feel much better today.”

“If I may say so, sir, you still look sick.”

“It's not how I look, it's how I feel.”

“Yes, sir.” He hesitated. “Did you carry me in here? I do not remember falling asleep. The last thing I remember, I was sitting on the stool, watching you…”

“Don't worry about it.” I smiled to myself, realizing the truth: Rhalla must have carried him to his bed before waking me. Good thing he did fall asleep; I didn't need to be guarded from beautiful women. “You did fine,” I told him. “I'm more than satisfied.”

“Thank you, sir!” He seemed greatly relieved.

“Have you explored the house yet? Do you know the way to the dining hall?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get dressed. You have five minutes. Then you can show me the way.”

Happily, breakfast here seemed to be quite a subdued affair, in a relatively normal room and with relatively normal food. From the lamps flowed a thick golden stream of light that covered the ceiling, but I was rapidly becoming used to it. It seemed as much a part of this place as the angles that did not quite mesh with my perceptions.

Apparently I was the first one up today; though large trays of food sat ready on the sideboard, they hadn't been touched yet. Lifting the lids, I peeked into each. About half the food was recognizable. I helped myself to eggs, chops of some kind, and small honeyed rolls. To drink, pitchers of iced juices sat to one side, but I motioned a serving girl over and instructed her to find me a bottle of red wine, and this she did immediately.

Just as I was settling in at the head of the table, Aber strolled through the door.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Hi,” he said. “Bad night?”

“Why does everyone keep asking that?” I said, thinking of both Horace and Port. “I couldn't have slept better.”

“You look awful.”

“I feel better, though.”

“That's good.”

I thought of Rhalla and hid my smile behind a bite of a honeyed roll. She, more than anything else, had to be responsible for my quick recovery. Nothing like love to raise a man's spirits.

Licking my fingers, I changed the subject. “Have you seen Dad this morning?”

“He's not back yet,” Aber said. He began heaping his plate with egg-shaped purple fruits, tiny pink berries, and some kind of stringy cheeselike dish.

“What! Are you sure?”

“I'm quite sure.”

I couldn't believe it. He must have returned—hadn't he sent Rhalla last night to tend to me?

And if he hadn't… who had?

Aber joined me at the table, taking the opposite seat. He seemed his usual cheerful self.

“He must be here,” I said firmly. “You missed him.” That had to be the answer.

“I checked this morning. I thought he might have used a Trump to get back late last night, but his bed hasn't been slept in, and neither the doors nor the guards saw him come or go. He hasn't come back.”

No audience with a king would last so long, I knew. Something had happened. Something had gone wrong.

Chapter 12

“I took a deep breath. “He's been gone too long.”

“Probably.”

“Aren't you concerned?”

“I am,” he said. “At least, a little.” He looked at me seriously. “You don't think he'd abandon us here, do you? I know he's not particularly fond of me, and I forced myself on you both for the trip here. But if he saw things going badly, do you think he'd run off into the Shadows and leave us here?”

“I don't know,” I admitted. After all, everything I'd grown up believing had been an elaborate lie. And he had lied to me repeatedly in Juniper. I thought he cared about me—about us all—to try to protect us. But would he abandon us if it was the only way to save himself?

I took another bite of my honeyed roll, trying to work through the problem. Our father had powers I couldn't as yet even imagine. He might be anywhere now, from just outside the dining room door to hidden in a secret castle a thousand miles away… or he might not even be on this world. He could just as easily be hiding on a different Shadow where no one would ever find him.

Would he abandon us? If things went badly, would he leave us sitting here, alone and unknowing, while he struck off on his own for safety?

I remembered all the trouble he had gone through to rescue me in Ilerium. It would have been safer to leave me there, to let me die at the hands of the hell-creatures. And yet he had risked his own life to rescue me—and the life of his favorite daughter, my half-sister Freda. Those were not the actions of a man who would abandon his offspring.

And yet, pressed for time, feeling threatened, I could also see him dumping Aber and me here. If he convinced himself we'd be safe in the Beyond—why not leave us here? He might be my father, and he might be a powerful sorcerer, but he had lied to me for the last twenty years about my life. Everything I'd ever believed about the universe had been wrong. I realized now that I didn't know him, not really, nor could I predict his actions.

Could he abandon us? Yes.

Would he abandon us? I didn't know.

“Besides,” Aber went on between bites as he dug into a plate of steak and eggs a servant set before him, “we don't know that anything happened to him.”

I said, “Then where is he?”

“Maybe he's visiting with friends at the court.”

“I thought he didn't have any.”

“Oh, he must have a few… even if they aren't openly supportive. Maybe he's trying to rekindle old alliances.”

“Did you try his Trump?”

“Are you crazy? The last time I did, he nearly bit my head off. I ruined some sort of delicate experiment. He made he swear I'd never do it again.”

I chuckled. “I made no such promises. After breakfast, I'll try to reach him.”

“Better you than me.”

“Maybe he found an old girlfriend after his audience…”

“More likely an old wife.”

I raised my eyebrows. “How many has he had?”

“By my count,” Aber said, “at last six from the Courts and two from the Beyond… though I've heard at least one wife didn't last out the wedding night, so perhaps she shouldn't count. And who knows how many in Shadows. Your mother among them, I assume?”

“Nope.”

“Bastard.”

I didn't ask which one of us; it was literally true in my case, figuratively true in Dad's, and on occasion entirely true of us both.

“When he gets back,” Aber said, “you can ask him for an exact count. Assuming he's kept track.”

I gave a snort. “He's lied to me my whole life. He's still lying to me, as far as I can tell. I can't trust anything he says.”

“True.” Aber shrugged. “Everyone in the family knows his hold on the truth is slippery at best. It's part of his charm.”

I sighed. “So we're back where we started. We don't know where he is, what happened during his audience with King Uthor, or when he might come home.”

He shrugged again. “That about sums it up. I don't think you ought to try to contact him yet, though.”

“If you have a better plan,” I said, “I'd like to hear it.”

“Unfortunately, I don't.”

After that, we ate in silence. I noticed Aber studying me from the corners of his eyes, and I began to shift uneasily in my seat. I had never enjoyed close scrutiny. It always made me nervous.

“All right,” I finally said, after putting up with it as long as I could. I set down my fork and looked straight at him. “You've been staring at me for ten minutes. What's wrong?” I patted the top of my head. “Am I sprouting antlers or something?”

“I keep thinking about that vision you had yesterday,” he said, “and how you killed the lai she'on guards. That sounds like a Logrus trick. And when the serpent knocked you back to your own body—he used primal Chaos.”

“What's that?”

“An essential force. It's dangerous to summon and hard to control, without practice and patience. It's something he would not have done except as a last resort.”

“Dangerous—how?”

“You can control it, up to a point, but it almost has a power and a will of its own.”

“Treacherous?”

“Yes. If it gets away from you, it will destroy everything and everyone it touches, feeding on death, growing larger all the while. If it gets big enough, it can destroy an entire Shadow.”

I gulped. “And the serpent threw this stuff at me?”

“Luckily your physical form wasn't there. You would be dead now.” He studied my face. “Clearly he fears you. That trick with the Pattern… what other powers might you have, I wonder?”

I gave a dismissive wave. “None that I know of.”

“Maybe you should try to master the Logrus,” he mused. “If you could control it…”

“Thanks, but no.” I shook my head. I knew without doubt that the Logrus wouldn't work for me. “I think Dad told the truth when he said the Logrus would kill me if I tried to enter it. I'm not willing to risk it.”

“I could speak with the keeper on your behalf. Maybe he has a different test. If he thinks you can safely enter the Logrus, why not try it? After all, you said Dad lied to you about everything. Maybe he lied to you about the Logrus, too.”

“I'm not ready to try it.”

He shrugged. “It was just an idea.”

“Don't get me wrong, I appreciate it. I'm just not ready to risk my life yet.”

“Fair enough.” Wiping his mouth on a napkin, he pushed his plate to the side. A serving girl whisked it away. “You look better. Are you up for a trip outside?”

“You mean here? Or a visit to King Uthor's court?”

“Here. We'll take it slowly. What do you say?”

I hesitated. Something made me want to say “No,” but I finally nodded.

“I'll give it a try.”

After all, I couldn't hide indoors for the rest of my life. If Chaos was to be my new home, I'd have to get over my fears. How bad could it be?

He gave a nod. “Good.”

I finished my own meal in a few bites, but Aber seemed in no hurry to leave. I sat back, and all the questions in the back of my mind began to pour out. I actually felt sorry for my brother as I began to grill him about the house (five floors, 186 rooms at last count—though apparently it fluctuated according to the season), what had happened those three days I'd been unconscious (not much—our father had gone out periodically to meet with friends and allies, returning only to check on me and grab a few hours of sleep), and the nature of Chaos (which seemed even more confusing the longer he talked about it).

“Maybe we should pay King Uthor a visit…” I suggested, as my questions ran out.

“He would never grant the likes of us an audience.”

“You never know. And even if we don't get to see him, we might learn something… like where Dad's being held.”

He looked surprised. “Do you think he's been arrested?”

“I don't know. We ought to find out, though. Even if he hasn't been arrested, he might be in danger. I don't think he'd abandon us here willingly.”

“King Uthor might arrest us if we go poking around.”

“Why? We don't know anything, nor have we done anything wrong.” Suddenly I grinned. “Or have you been holding out on me? Are you and Dad involved in a conspiracy against the crown?”

He pulled a sour face. “You know better than that.”

“I didn't think so. But it would have made things simpler. I could turn you both in, claim my reward, and take over the family lands and titles.”

“Spoken,” Aber said bitterly, “like a true member of our family. Unfortunately, it's never going to happen. Dad knows better than to trust me with a conspiracy. I'd end up spilling the whole plan to the first person who asked.” He shook his head. “I've never been terribly good at keeping secrets. That's more Freda's department.”

“Freda? I would have guessed Blaise…”

“Blaise likes to brag too much to keep secrets well. Freda, though…”

“What about her?”

“She used to help Dad with his experiments. She'd never say what they were doing together. It drove Locke and Blaise crazy!” He chuckled, eyes distant, as he remembered happier times. “They both thought they were missing out on something grand. But no matter how much they begged, Dad wouldn't let them into his workshop.”

I smiled at my mental image of a frustrated Locke and Blaise. They, along with Freda, had been locked in a struggle for top position in our family. All three of them thought much too highly of themselves, as far as I was concerned.

“And you loved it,” I said.

“Yes!” He laughed. “You would have, too, I think.”

“Oh, I know I would have.”

He cleared his throat. “Getting back to the problem at hand… Even if we knew what illicit activities Dad was involved in, I don't think turning him in would help us at this point. Our enemies want us dead… dead to the last member of our family.”

“True,” I admitted. “But we're not really in a position of strength now. With strong allies, we might be.”

“Well,” Aber said after a thoughtful pause, “if I wanted to ally myself with someone strong, I'd start with King Uthor.”

“You're assuming he's not behind the attacks.”

“Do you think he might be?” he asked in surprise.

I shrugged. “I don't know enough to decide one way or another. I can only say the hell-creatures—”

“Lai she'on,” he said.

“—who searched our house looked a lot like the ones guarding Taine in my vision. And they looked like the hell-creatures who invaded Juniper and Ilerium.”

He gave a dismissive wave of his arm. “All the lai she'on look much the same. They are bred for it.”

“We aren't talking about facts, we're talking about possibilities. Just take it for granted that King Uthor is behind the attacks on our family for a minute. Where does that leave us?”

“If that's true,” he said, “we're really screwed. King Uthor is the most powerful man anywhere. If he's our enemy, we might as well line up and let him slit our throats.”

“Don't be fatalistic.”

“Easy for you to say. You don't know what you're talking about. Or what we would be up against. On the other hand, I don't believe he's behind the attacks.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because he wouldn't need to be sneaky about them. He could simply proclaim us enemies and order our deaths. Chaos is more than a place… it is a power. Unleashed it in its primal form, it can devour whole worlds.”

I shrugged; it sounded like an exaggeration to me, but I had no way to judge. “All right. Let's consider the other possibility… what if it isn't King Uthor behind the attacks?”

“Then he'd have every reason to protect us. We are, after all, loyal subjects.”

“Exactly! Now, what if—by not firming up our alliance with him—we miss the chance to save our family and ourselves?”

“You argue too well,” Aber complained. “You almost make it sound possible.”

“It is possible.”

He sighed. “King Uthor would take one look at me and either burst out laughing or eat me alive. He doesn't need allies… allies need him.”

“You never know until you try.”

“I think we're better off staying away from court.”

“Any particular reason?”

“No… it's just a feeling I have.”

“King Uthor has no cause to arrest us,” I pointed out. “Neither you nor I have done nothing wrong. And we have a good reason for going—to look for our father. Who can argue with that?”

“I can,” he said. “Think about it. What if the attacks have all been part of a blood feud? In which case, he'd have every right to kill us out of hand just for showing up and annoying him.”

I mulled that over. “It can't be so easy for him to kill people. Kings don't slaughter nobility. They wouldn't be kings very long if they did.”

He shifted uneasily. “Well, no. Technically, he'd have to follow court etiquette. You'd be insulted, then challenged to a duel by one of his champions.”

“And killed?”

“How good are you with a trisp?”

“A what?”

He chuckled. “I thought so. It's a traditional weapon, kind of like a cat's claw, but larger, and its blades extend. You attack with a trisp and defend with a fandon—which, I assume, you've also never used?”

“A fandon? No, I've never seen or heard of it.”

“You haven't missed much. Except for tradition, I think everyone would have abandoned them centuries ago in favor of swords.”

“So I'd be killed with a trisp?”

“Sliced to bits.” He chuckled grimly. “Me too, for that matter. I can never keep my fandon up properly. The way the stones move—”

“Wait!” I said. “Stones? That move?”

“Right. You stand on them. They float, but they respond to subtle movements of your feet. Up, down, left, right—you keep your stone moving and keep your opponent off balance.”

“You're making all this up,” I said accusingly. Weapons I'd never heard of—and now we had to fight on floating stones?

He shrugged. “It's true. There are traditional ways of doing everything here. Dueling with trisp and fandon is the recognized way to settle disputes.”

Despite my skepticism, he did not seem to be joking with me. Maybe these weapons were real after all. I mulled over the possibilities. Fighting in mid-air with weapons I'd never used before… I wouldn't stand a chance. Maybe a visit to King Uthor's court should be held back as a last resort.

I remembered our father's phenomenal skills with a blade, then Locke's offhand comment that Dad wasn't terribly good by Chaos standards. What tremendous fighters must these Lords of Chaos be!

“Come on,” Aber said, rising. “First let's see what happens when you go outside. I'm tired of being locked indoors. Fresh air will do us both some good. And maybe Dad will show up in the meantime.”

I had no choice but to agree, so I rose and followed him. With an unerring sense of direction, he passed through a maze of hallways that seemed to twist in upon themselves. Finally our passage dead-ended at a heavy wooden door, which he pushed open.

I stared through the doorway at a broad, sand-covered courtyard. On the other side, a hundred yards away, rose a stone wall perhaps thirty feet high. The wall extended to either side as far as I could see, apparently circling the house. Guards in uniform patrolled the top of the wall, and more guards drilled with swords and shields fifty yards to the right, at the far edge of the courtyard. The steady tramp of boots and the ring of steel on steel, of sword on sword, made it a familiar, welcome sound.

Then I made the mistake of looking up. Ye gods! The sky unnerved me—if sky you could call something that churned like a storm-tossed sea. Twisting colors, a splash of drifting stars, sudden spikes of blue lightning, and half a dozen moons all moving in different directions made my head swim. Gazing upon it sent waves of nausea and dizziness through me, and against my will I felt my body start to drift. The roar of phantom winds rose to fill my ears.

“Hey!” I heard a distant voice shouting. “Oberon! Look at me! Oberon!”

It was Aber. I forced my attention to him and focused on his concerned face. Grabbing his arm, I steadied myself. I felt sick, off balance, disoriented.

“I hear you,” I said. “The sky…”

“If it's too much for you, say so!” he said. “We don't have to stay outside long. But I think it's important for you to get used to it.”

“Yes.” I nodded; that made a lot of sense.

Pointedly, I did not look up. The universe grew steady once more and the roar of wind in my ears lessened.

Aber started forward briskly, out of the house, into the courtyard. I followed. Sand crunched under my boots, and the air carried strange spicy scents like nothing I could identify.

“What do you think?” he asked, indicating the whole of the house and sky with a sweep of his arm.

Gulping, I lowered my eyes and concentrated on the ground at my feet. Out here, what had looked like sand turned out to be something else. The whole courtyard seethed with movement underfoot, as sand and stone shifted constantly, like a mass of crawling insects. And yet neither Aber nor I sank into the ground. We walked normally, as though we stood on solid land.

Aber, grinning like a madman, threw wide his arms.

“What do you think?” he cried again, gazing up at the sky. “Isn't it splendid? Doesn't it make your heart race and your senses quicken? Can you feel it around us?”

“You're insane!” I gasped out. “It's a nightmare!”

Chapter 13

Aber laughed at me.

“So—this is—what the Courts of Chaos—are like?”

“Just about,” he said. “In the Beyond, we're quite close… I can feel the pull of Chaos, like a current moving through the air. You should be able to sense it, too.”

I just stared at him, bewildered. “What do you mean, sense it? I don't quite understand.”

“Close your eyes.”

I did so. I felt myself swaying, and the ground seemed to slide down and away from me.

“Ignore your senses,” he said. “No sight, no sound, no smell nor touch nor taste. You should feel a slight tugging inside… as though you're standing in a river while the waters push through your body.”

I remained still, scarcely breathing. My heart beat in my chest. Air whispered through my nose and throat. That low, throaty roar of phantom winds sounded distantly in my ears.

Then, gradually, I became aware of a curious sensation… a gentle pull not so much on my body as on my spirit, as though some unknown force tried to draw me closer.

I turned with it, trying to find the direction it wanted me to go. Yes—I had it now. It was unmistakable.

I opened my eyes and pointed toward the gate.

“That way.”

Aber looked startled.

“No,” he said. “That's not right.”

“What do you mean?” I demanded. “I can feel it! It's pulling me.”

“You have it backwards.” He pointed in the opposite direction. “The pull toward the Courts of Chaos goes that way.”

I turned and stared in the direction he indicated, back toward our family's towering house. No, I was certain I didn't want to go back there. Turning, trying to find where the pull was strongest, I found myself facing the gate again. The Courts of Chaos definitely held no pull for me. Clearly this psychic tug came from something else… something in the other direction.

I told him as much.

“I don't understand,” he said, frowning. “But then, there's a lot I don't understand about you, Brother.”

Shrugging, I said, “Sorry. What you see is all there is.”

“I think not.” His eyes narrowed, studying me. “There is more to you, I think, than you even know yourself. But let's talk of other things now. Come on, I'll show you around the grounds. The gardens are nice.”

“Nice?”

“If you like rocks.”

Chuckling, he led the way, and I had a feeling he was about to play another of his famous practical jokes on me. We followed the wall to the right, away from the drilling men-at-arms. The house loomed over us, huge and windowless, oozing bright colors from every seam and joint.

A few blackened, twisted treelike plants grew from the soil, and their branches moved even though no wind blew. They seemed to sense our passage, and several times I jumped when branches whipped close to my face. Aber just ignored them and kept walking.

Rounding a corner of the house, we came into sight of the “garden”—a penned area where rocks roamed through knee-high grass at will, looking like petrified sheep. The rocks ranged from head-sized to bigger than a man, and now and again they banged into one another with loud crashing sounds. Benches set around the pen made it seem like rock-watching might be considered pleasurable here.

Aber went right up to the fence and leaned on it, staring out across the field. He seemed to recognize some of the rocks and actually began pointing out his favorites:

“That's Jasmine. And that one's Teal.”

“You've named them?” I stared at him like he'd lost his mind. He had to be playing a joke on me. Who had time for such nonsense with our family being murdered and our father gone missing?

He seemed to realize how I felt, since he sighed and shrugged and wouldn't look me in the eye.

“It's not for everyone,” he said. “You have to be sensitive to their presence to appreciate the beauty. It's like… it's like poetry!”

I rolled my eyes. “Then it must be an acquired taste,” I said. “But don't feel bad. I only have one use for poetry, and that's to help get beautiful women into my bed.”

“You're just like Locke.” Sighing again, Aber turned and walked on alongside the fence.

“No need to be insulting!” I hurried to catch up. “Or should I take that as a compliment?”

Flatly, he replied, “There's more to see ahead, around the corner.”

“Not more rocks?”

“No… fountains, Pella's flower garden, a petrified dragon.”

“A dragon!” I felt my heart quicken. They were creatures of legend. I'd heard stories of them my whole life.

“Yes, Locke killed it years ago. It took twenty mules and twice that many men to cart it back here. But it's a trophy worth keeping.”

“How did Locke kill it?”

“He showed it a medusa's head.”

Awed, my estimation of Locke went up yet another notch. I'd known my brother was an able military officer and a skilled swordsman, but I'd had no idea he'd gone adventuring.

“All right,” I said. “I have to know. How did he get a medusa's head?”

“I'm not really sure… he said something about a labyrinth and a golden fleece.”

I shrugged.

Aber went on, “Want to see what my mother looked like? There's a statue of her there, too. I'm told it's a good resemblance.”

“Sure.” Statues, at least, I could appreciate. But a dragon, even a petrified one, couldn't be missed.

My sudden enthusiasm seemed to cheer him up. As we walked, he kept gazing into the rock pen. Boulders small and large drifted in an intricate dance. He honestly seemed to enjoy them, like a falconer admiring his birds or a hunter showing off his hounds. And why shouldn't he? In Juniper he had been trapped in a house filled with squabbling siblings and a paranoid drunkard of a father, a mysterious enemy had been systematically murdering family members, and we were under siege from an army determined to slaughter us all to the last one. Here, at least for the moment, we appeared safe. He could relax and be himself.

“Hey! Look at that!” He stopped short and pointed at the two largest hump-backed rocks, which now circled each other like wolves in the center of the pen. “They're going to fight!”

“A fight?” I stopped and regarded them. “How can you tell?”

“Experience! Watch!”

Sighing, I leaned on the fence beside him. The two boulders wheeled and spun and circled in an intricate dance, drew apart, then suddenly raced towards each other faster than a man could run. When they struck with a loud crack!, rock chips and dust flew into the air. Then, as they drew apart, I noticed that the larger of the two had a crack running down its middle. It split in two, and each half moved off in a different direction.

Aber groaned in disappointment. “They don't usually hit that hard,” he said. “One usually backs down.”

“They look dangerous,” I said.

“Not really. If you're careful. You can even ride them, if you want. It's fun.”

I shook my head. Strange as the house seemed, everything inside looked normal by comparison. A deep sense of melancholy spread through me. I longed for Ilerium or Juniper, where I knew the rules and nothing fantastic waited around each corner to jump out at me.

Deep-blue lightning flickered overhead, bright enough to draw my attention. Then bright tongues of blue light split the sky, and a growl of thunder rumbled close at hand.

“A storm?” I asked.

He hesitated, looking up. “I don't know. I've never seen anything quite like this before.”

“Maybe we'd better get inside,” I suggested. The dragon could wait; since it was petrified, it wouldn't be going anywhere. Besides, I remembered the attack on our forces in Juniper. It had started with a storm. Our enemies had directed lightning bolts down on top of us, shattering the upper floors of Juniper Castle and killing dozens of people.

“I think we'd better,” Aber said. Turning, he headed back toward the courtyard. I hurried to keep up.

Then a finger of lightning lanced down from the sky, hitting the ground twenty feet away. Sand peppered my face and hands. I threw up my arms to protect my eyes.

“Run!” Aber screamed.

I turned and found him sprawled on the ground. The force of the lightning had knocked him down. “We're being attacked! We have to get inside!”

I hurried to him. “Attacked—here?”

“Yes! Now go on, get inside!”

“Not without you.” Instead, I pulled him to his feet. Together we sprinted for the door.

More lightning flickered over head. Thunder growled in warning. One bolt lashed down at us, but it struck the rock-pen, splintering the little wooden fence. As though sensing their chance to escape, the rocks inside began to drift toward the opening.

Side by side now, we pounded past them, circling the house. The doorway came into sight.

I let Aber pull ahead, then darted to the side. My instincts and military training told me to spread out the distance between us and move unexpectedly. That would make it harder for whoever was aiming the lightning bolts to get us both. And if he did manage to strike home, better to kill just one of us.

Before I'd taken half a dozen steps, blue lightning leaped down from the heavens. It moved faster than I could react, crackling with energy, and it struck me with a blow like a hammer to the head. Surrounding me, burning across my skin, filling my eyes with a shining blue light, I reeled to the side. Everything around me looked weird and distant.

Then I sucked in a breath—and felt the flames coil and burn inside my chest.

Chapter 14

Pain-nothing but pain—pain wrapped in more pain—

I thought my lungs would burst. I couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't think. I tried to scream, but no sound came out.

—fires searing me, burning into my flesh—

Just ahead, I saw Aber starting to look back. He began to turn, but it happened so slowly, it almost seemed as though he wasn't moving at all.

Gods, the pain! Make it stop!

Aber's mouth gaped open as he shouted something to me. Crackling thunder filled my ears; I couldn't hear a word he said.

My arms, my head, my eyes.

Everything glowed from a crisp blue light that seemed to radiate away from inside me. Shadows, sharp and black, stretched dark fingers away in all directions. A sense of inevitable doom pervaded everything and everyone around me.

Pain!

My sight began to dim. I couldn't be dying here, not now… It wasn't fair—I wasn't done yet—

Dark.

Consciousness returned slowly.

A hush had fallen over everything and everyone. I had a sense of dislocation, as though I watched myself from a great distance, and yet I could see nothing but white in every direction. Detached from my body, like an observer looking through someone else's eyes, I peered into the whiteness for answers.

Though my life might be nothing more than a speck of dust on a game-board of cosmic proportions, my thoughts remained clear and sharp. I remembered the lightning. I remembered the pain, though it had vanished. An eerie calmness, like nothing I had ever felt before, began to settle over me.

A laugh, high and musical, broke the silence.

“Who's there?” I called.

A blur of white passed a hand-breadth from my eyes, then a brilliant light dazzled me. I blinked furiously and shaded my face with my hand.

That light—it moved and breathed, it ate and drank with me. Yes, it had eyes, whatever it was. But no human ever gazed out through them, these windows to the soul, so pure and perfect they made my heart ache just to be near.

“Why are you here?” the voice said. It seemed to come from below, then above, then below again.

“First, tell me where I am,” I said.

“Here, with me,” said the voice.

I licked my lips. “Am I the first one?”

Again, the laughter. “No. There have been others.”

“Where am I?”

“With your mother.”

“Then I am dead?” I licked my lips. “These are the Seven Heavens? My just reward?”

I sensed puzzlement.

“Where am I?” I asked again.

“Good-bye“ said the voice. “Good-bye“

“No!” I called. “Wait! Mother, I“

Somehow, the world shifted. Suddenly everything was different. Sounds rose—the rumble of thunder—shouts of men—

I lay facedown, my left cheek pressed into the sand. I felt it moving, crawling about like something alive.

Opening my eyes, I blinked at a sudden rush of color. Blues and browns and reds and greens blurred together like paints in a rainstorm.

My eyes did not want to focus, so I concentrated on a couple of pebbles a few inches in front of my eyes. They whirled and danced in intricate patterns. As I stared, they slowly grew sharp and distinct once more.

Not dead… that was the first and most important thing.

An acrid, unpleasant odor surrounded me, like burning flesh. I coughed a bit.

“Lord Aber?” distant voices called. “Get him up! Hurry! Inside!”

When I tried to push myself up, though, I found my arms didn't want to obey. I fumbled, didn't have the strength to continue.

What had happened?

Lightning… lightning had struck me.

Somehow, I had lived through it. I blinked again, took a deep breath, and sat up in a single motion. Coughing wracked my body.

Boots crunched on the sand in front of me. Hands seized me, lifted me, began to carry me.

“He's alive!” someone called.

I wondered—did he mean me or Aber?

It took every ounce of strength, but I raised my head and tried to see what was happening. Tears blurred my vision. I couldn't see anything much.

“Aber?” I croaked.

A dark, unmoving shape a few yards ahead might have been him.

No, he couldn't be dead. Moaning, I longed to crawl into a hole and pull the opening shut behind me. No, not Aber—my one friend here—

I began to crawl. Sharp, knifelike pains stabbed my knees and hands. My back ached terribly, and my chest burned. My eyes watered so much I could barely see, and my tears streamed onto the ground.

The dark shape ahead of me wasn't moving. If anything had happened to my brother, I didn't know what I'd do.

I had to pause to catch my breath. Spots jumped and flitted before my eyes. My ears rang.

But I was alive.

Just a few more feet and I'd reach my brother. Had he been hit, too, or had the lightning bolt jumped to him from me?

An acrid smell, like burnt flesh and clothing, suffused everything. I prayed it wasn't coming from him.

Suddenly the guards who had been exercising across the yard reached me, running full tilt. Without asking, four of them picked me up and carried me toward the house at a trot.

“Aber—” My voice came out a feeble croak. “Get Aber—”

“They have him, Lord Oberon.” The voice sounded distant, as though he stood at the far end of a long tunnel.

Somehow, I managed to focus on the speaker, a young officer with close-cropped blond hair and a slightly hooked nose. He supported my left shoulder as they carried me toward the house at a trot.

“Dead?” I whispered.

His lips moved, but I couldn't hear the words this time. My hearing seemed to be cutting in and out.

Then I started coughing and couldn't stop.

“—lightning hit you, sir,” he was saying. “Jace went for the company doctor. Don't try to talk, sir. You're both safe.”

“Aber—” I said.

“Can you hear me—Lord Oberon? Lord Oberon?”

“Yes…” My voice sounded like a frog's croak. “Is Aber—is he dead?”

His voice sounded louder this time. “Alive. Don't try to talk, sir. He hit his head. He's going to need stitches, but he should be all right.”

“Thanks.”

My brother still lived—that was all I needed to know. I allowed myself to relax.

They reached the door to the house and carried me inside. I hated feeling like a cripple, but didn't have the strength to object.

The young officer and his men set me down carefully on the floor next to the wall. They all crowded inside, out of the storm, out of harm's way.

My hearing definitely seemed to be returning. I heard crashes of thunder now, though it still sounded flat and far away.

Stripping off his jacket, the young officer folded it into a makeshift pillow and slipped it under my head.

“What's your name?” I asked him.

“Captain Neole.”

I began coughing again. The smells of burnt flesh and fabric grew stronger in the close, confined space. After a minute, I realized the smells came from me.

When I turned my head, I saw that Aber now lay beside me. Blood slicked the right-hand side of his face and pooled on the floor under him. A cold panic swept through me. He wasn't moving. Maybe Neole had made a mistake—

I pressed my eyes shut as a coughing fit struck.

The next thing I knew, a white-haired old man was bending over me, his weathered face creased with worry. I must have blacked out again; he hadn't been there a second ago.

He was the castle doctor—I recognized him from Juniper. I had seen him after the first great battle, the one in which Locke and Davin had fallen.

“Lord Oberon? Can you hear me?” he demanded, clapping his hands in front of my face to get my attention.

“Yes…” I whispered.

He held up a pair of fingers.

“How many?” he demanded.

“Two.” I began a new round of coughing.

“You'll live, I think.”

He moved over to Aber, knelt, and felt my brother's pulse.

“Well?” I demanded.

“Unconscious,” he said without looking at me. Leaning forward, he probed Aber's head with his fingers. “A shallow scalp wound. It looks worse than it really is. Unless he has some other injuries I can't see, he should be fine in a few days. Your family heals fast.”

Suddenly Aber stirred and moaned and tried to sit up. One hand went up to his head, but the doctor caught it and pressed it down at his side.

“Lie still,” he said to my brother. “You need stitches.”

“Wha—” Aber muttered.

The doctor called for needle and thread, and his assistant produced both. Then, as I watched, he peeled back a loose flap of Aber's scalp and plucked dirt and sand from the wound. It must have hurt; Aber began to thrash. At the doctor's command, six soldiers sit on my brother to keep him down. Two more held his head in place.

“Healing salve!” the doctor called.

He accepted a small jar from his assistant and smeared a greasy yellow-gray concoction liberally onto the wound. Without a second's pause, he began sewing the piece of scalp back in place. His stitches, I noticed, were small and neat.

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.

“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.

Chapter 15

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 repeated. “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.

“How did you come to know so much about magic and Shadows?” I asked him at one point. “Dad doesn't seem to be the best teacher…”

Aber gave a derisive snort. “The only thing I learned from him was how to make Trumps—and I mostly taught myself after watching him make one. I used trial-and-error until I got it to work. It was my Aunt Lanara who taught me the most, though. A true Lady of Chaos. Very strong, though she didn't approve of Shadow worlds, or of Dad. Still doesn't, I suppose.”

“I thought only Locke's mother came from Chaos—”

“That sounds like Locke, all right,” he said sarcastically. “He thought that only his mother was good enough. She is a first cousin to King Uthor, you know. It broke her heart when Locke sided with Dad and ran off to have adventures in Shadow.”

“And your mother?” I asked. “What about her?”

“Not nearly so grand or well connected as Locke's. But she loved Dad, though he tossed her aside and vanished into Shadow shortly after I was born. She's dead now, and I don't remember much of her.”

“What happened?”

“She tried to follow Dad into Shadow, and she couldn't handle it…” His voice broke a little. “They found her dead. Strangled. For a while everyone thought Dad did it, but it turned out to be a cult of volcano-worshippers. They made her a sacrifice.”

“I'm sorry,” I said, nodding sympathetically. Her end must not have been a pretty one. I remembered how, on my first trip to Juniper, Dad had laid traps—ranging from tornadoes to giant carnivorous bats—for anyone following us. If Aber's mother had run into one of those, I didn't wonder that she had lost her life.

He sighed philosophically. “It was a long time ago. Shadows were new back then. People weren't as experienced with them as they are now, nor as wary.”

“What do you mean?” I said. “Shadows were new? What are you talking about?”

He looked at me oddly. “Just what I said.”

“How can they be new?”

“Well… they just suddenly appeared one day. All these Shadow worlds… Juniper, your Ilerium, all the others… they haven't existed long. One day, they simply sprang into existence. I thought everyone knew that.”

“Not me,” I said. Once more I found myself rearranging my mental view of the universe. “I assumed they always existed. Everyone kept calling them Shadows… I thought they were shadows cast by the Courts of Chaos. At least, that's what Freda told me, I think…”

“It's one theory,” he said with a shrug. “Chaos does cast Shadows. We're in one now—the Beyond. It's the closest shadow to the Courts, and it's always been here, as far as I know. It's so close it's considered part of the Courts of Chaos. But the other Shadows… the nice ones, where Dad and everyone else likes to roam… they didn't exist when my mother was young.”

“When did they appear?”

He thought for a minute. “I don't quite know. Maybe fifty years ago, as Chaos counts time. Maybe a little more.”

“And they just suddenly appeared?”

“Well… it wasn't quite that simple, or so I'm told. I wasn't there, after all. According to my grandmother, a huge storm descended on the Courts of Chaos. No one had ever seen anything like it before. The sky went black and quiet. The stars disappeared. Then the ground began to shake and split apart, and whole cities were destroyed. Thousands died. Only afterward did things begin to return to normal… though—at least according to my grandmother—nothing was ever quite as good as it had been before.”

“How old is our father?” I asked, feeling a strange prickling sense of foreboding.

He shrugged. “I'm not sure anymore. Time runs differently in Shadows. He's been out there a long time. But his oldest child—as Chaos reckons time—must be thirty-five or forty now.”

“Then he's old enough to have lived through that storm—the one that came before these new Shadows appeared?”

“Sure. I know he is. Why?”

“Oh… no reason. Just curious.”

I did not voice my sudden suspicion. He was old enough. He was interested in science and experiments. What if our father not only enjoyed these new Shadows… but had actually done something to create them?

No, that was impossible—how could one man create thousands upon thousands of worlds? No single person could possibly wield so much power. He would be like a god. And if our father did have godlike powers, he certainly hadn't shown them. He had allowed us all to be trapped in Juniper. He had let his children die at the hands of unknown enemies. No, it was a crazy idea, and I pushed it to the back of my mind.

And yet, some distant part of me noted, such power would make him a man to be feared. It would explain why someone was trying to kill him… and the rest of us too… wouldn't it?

Chapter 16

Several hours later, the storm still raged outside, and it seemed to be growing worse. I heard wind constantly now, howling like a wild animal. This time at least I knew it was real, not something imagined or hallucinated. Thunder growled constantly, too, a low, steady rumble.

Twice Aber and I walked back to the courtyard door and looked out, and the last time we saw three distant tornadoes over the wall, their funnels black as night as they twisted and turned. And yet they did not seem to be gliding across the land, the way tornadoes did in Ilerium… these seemed rooted in place, swaying back and forth like the pendulums of some enormous clock.

“Have you ever seen tornadoes here before?” I asked Aber.

“No,” he said, “and I don't think it's a good sign.”

“Can you do anything about them?”

He gave me a funny look. “I think you have an exaggerated idea of my magical abilities.”

At that, I laughed. “It seems I've always underestimated people. About time I started overestimating them!”

He laughed too, but uncertainly.

After a long break, when it seemed they wouldn't be able to go back outside because of the storms, the guards asked for permission to resume their exercises in the front entry hall.

“Go ahead,” I told Captain Neole, looking at Aber for guidance. As I expected, he gave a subtle half nod. “Just don't break anything.”

They made room by moving the lamps, braziers, and odd bits of furniture to one side. I had to admit the chamber was big enough, and as long as they watched out for the rows of tall stone columns running down the center, they seemed in no immediate danger.

They worked through a series of exercises, then began pairing up to practice swordplay. I found myself watching from the library door, a bit enviously. Part of me longed to join them, to forget myself for at least the next few hours in grueling physical exertion, but I didn't feel up to it. Tired and sore, with a headache that threatened to split my skull, I wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep for the next few days.

“That's it,” I told Aber. “I'm going to bed.”

He seemed surprised. “Already?”

“I've had it,” I said. “Between visions and lightning bolts, my head feels like it's going to explode. Wake me if we're being attacked and slaughtered, or if Dad shows up. If it's anything else, solve the problem yourself!”

“Can you find your way back to your room?”

“Sure.” I felt certain I could, at least from the main staircase. I'd been up it often enough to get my bearings. “What about you? Your day has been just as hard.”

“True. But I have some work to do first,” he said.

“Oh?”

He laughed. “Nothing you'd find exciting or interesting. Just some letters to write.”

“To anyone I know?”

“Distant cousins, whom I'm hoping will prove sympathetic to our situation.”

“Good idea,” I said. For once, he was thinking like a soldier: find allies and bring them into the fight on your side. If I knew anyone here, I wouldn't have hesitated to summon their help.

He went to the desk and retrieved quills, a short-bladed knife for cutting down the point, and writing paper, all of which he arranged within easy reach.

I left him there bent over the table, pen in hand, and the scritch-scratch noises followed me out into the hall.

Safely back in my room, I undressed and gave my clothes to Horace, who made as if to leave with them. Then he paused.

“Sir?”

“What is it?”

“Do you need me to watch your sleep tonight?”

I thought about it, then shook my head.

“No need. I'll be fine. Go to bed and catch up on your own rest.”

“Yes, sir!” I didn't have to tell him twice—he hurried into his room and shut the door before I could change my mind.

Then I turned toward my bed. A subtle movement of the bedclothes warned me that they weren't empty. An assassin? Or was it another trick of this accursed place, where down was up and everything moved on its own?

I couldn't take any chances. Softly I crept over to the chair where I'd so carelessly hung my swordbelt moments before. Drawing the blade slowly and silently, I inched closer to the bed, reached out, and flipped back the covers.

A familiar and quite beautiful face peeked out at me.

“Rhalla!” I said with delight, relaxing.

“A sword?” She lowered her eyes, then smiled up at me. “Is this the way you welcome lovers to your bed, Lord Oberon?”

“Not usually.”

I returned my sword to its scabbard at the desk. Then I joined her in bed. We kissed, and made love frantically, as though it might be the last thing either one of us did.

Far too early the next morning—at least, I assumed it was morning—I awakened from a deep and dreamless sleep to Aber's annoyingly chipper voice.

“Wake up, Oberon. Too many hours in bed will make you weak!”

“Go away!”

“I'm hungry, and I see no reason to eat alone with you in the house. Time to get up.”

I groaned, then closed my eyes again.

“Port, throw him out!” I called.

“Sorry, Oberon,” my door replied. “I am not a bouncer. You will have to throw him out yourself.”

“Don't be a slug-a-bed!” he told me. I heard him open the ward-robe's doors and rummage around inside. “You've got plenty of clothes here. Pick something or I'll pick it for you.”

I sighed. So much for a quiet morning in bed. All I wanted to do was go back to sleep. After making love to Rhalla half the night, exhaustion threatened to overwhelm me.

“Is Dad back yet?” I asked, eyes still closed.

“No.”

“How about the hell-creatures?”

“No sign of them, either.”

“Then what's the rush?”

“I'm hungry!”

I rolled over, opening one eye. Golden light bubbled up from the lamp by the door. He stood before me with arms folded, tapping one foot impatiently. He had gray silk pants and shirt tucked under his arm.

“Ready to get dressed?” he said. “Where's your valet?”

“Sleeping, like any sensible person!” I told him. “Now, go back to bed. I need my sleep. I'll have lunch with you later.”

“Afraid not. We have too much to do today. I'm expecting replies to my letters. And don't you want to try Dad's Trump again?”

I gave a huge sigh. Clearly he wasn't taking no for an answer. Sitting up, I swung my legs over the side of the bed, then pulled the sheet across my lap to cover my nakedness.

“All right, pest. Give me the clothes.”

“Here.” He held them out, and I took them.

Behind me, still buried in the covers, Rhalla stirred and murmured a sleepy question.

“It's just my brother Aber,” I told her. I rubbed her back through the quilt. “Go to sleep.”

“Who's that—” Aber began, leaning forward to see.

“Don't be nosy,” I told him. “I know you won't approve, but I couldn't help myself. She's beautiful and smart…”

Without warning, my brother sucked in a panicked breath and leaped back, looking desperately around the room. He motioned frantically for me to stay silent and get out of bed. Running to the desk, he began to fumble with my swordbelt.

“What is it?” I said impatiently, yawning.

“Oberon,” he said. Something in the quiet tone he used set my nerves on edge. “Get away from the bed. Don't argue. Do it quickly. You're in danger.”

My breath caught in my throat. Danger? What had he seen?

Suddenly wide awake, I stood and took two quick steps toward the door. Port's face appeared there, staring at us with concern.

“What is it?” I demanded.

Rhalla stirred again and rolled over, half opening her eyes.

“Oberon?” she asked.

“Don't move,” I told her. I scanned the covers, looking for anything dangerous—snakes, spiders, some Chaos-born monster—but saw nothing unusual or out of place.

Rhalla, head pillowed on her arm, blinked and looked up at me. She was even more beautiful by day—not that you could tell from the lack of windows.

Aber drew my sword and turned toward the bed, a grim expression on his face.

“Hey!” I told him. “What are you doing?”

“Get out of the way, Oberon.”

“What is it?” I demanded. “What do you see?”

“A succubus!”

In one swift motion, he leaped toward my lover.

Chapter 17

“Wait!” I cried, leaping in front of him. “What do you think you're doing?”

Rhalla screamed. I knew Aber meant to kill her, and I couldn't allow that. What had she done to provoke him? Why this half crazed, half desperate response?

He skidded to a stop. Rhalla gave another ear-piercing shriek and threw herself behind the bed, trying to hide in the bedclothes.

“Stand aside!” Aber said. He tried to dance around me.

I blocked his way. With a feint, then a quick punch to his stomach, I took the air and the fight out of him. He doubled over, and I took the opportunity to pry my sword from his fingers.

“Have you gone you insane?” I demanded. Crossing to the desk, I returned my blade to its scabbard.

“She's“ he gasped.

“She's mine,” I said fiercely.

“She's—a—succubus!”

“A what?” I demanded.

“A female demon.” He glared at her. “They feed on the blood of their lovers. Look at yourself, Oberon!” His finger stabbed at my chest. “You're marked! She's been feeding on you!”

Involuntarily, my hand rose to touch my chest. The welt I'd discovered yesterday was still there, though smaller. But now I felt a second one next to it.

A chill swept through me. Rhalla had been drinking my blood? No wonder I had twice awakened to find her in my bed. No wonder she wanted to be with me. I could not believe what a fool I had been.

“Rhalla,” I said, voice very calm. I wouldn't let her see how unnerved I had become. “I don't believe you've met my brother. This is Aber.”

“No, Oberon,” she said, peeking out at us. “I have not had that pleasure.”

“Come here,” I told her.

Silently she rose and came around, covering herself with the sheet. I put my arm around her shoulders in a protective gesture.

“How can you keep that thing in your bed?” Aber demanded, staring from me to Rhalla and back again. “Kill it! Kill it and be done, before it kills you!”

“Rhalla is a good woman. I enjoy her company.” I turned and gazed down at her, allowing myself a wistful smile. That much at least was true. And she was startlingly beautiful, which didn't hurt.

“Not as much as she enjoys yours.” He jerked his chin toward my chest. “You are nothing to her but food!”

“No!” Rhalla cried. “Those are love bites! I would not hurt him—”

“Shh,” I told her. I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “You don't need to explain yourself to him. Or to me. If you need blood, you may take as much of mine as you need to live, but no more.”

Aber howled, “Oberon! You don't know what you're saying! You don't know what you're offering! She'll drink you dry!”

“Never!” Rhalla vowed fiercely. “I will take only what I need, no more!”

“I believe her,” I said.

“Her kind has a barbed tongue,” Aber went on, glaring up at us. “They drink the blood of men who take them to bed. She will feed on you every night until you are too weak to resist, then she will reveal her true form.”

“True form?” I asked.

“You would not like it,” she said, and for once she refused to meet my gaze. “I much prefer this one. It is… elegant.”

Aber climbed to his feet. “I never thought a succubus would dare to feed on a Lord of Chaos—you must kill her, for that insult alone!”

I looked at Rhalla again, and this time she turned her eyes toward mine. In those depths I thought I saw a warmth, a spark of love for me. I believed she really did care for me. Just as I had begun to care for her…

She said, “Oberon… you must believe me… I mean you no harm.”

“Why not?” Aber demanded, voice shrill. “You're an assassin! You were sent to kill him! Admit it!”

“Go on,” I told her softly. I took her hand and pressed it to my lips. “Tell me the truth. It doesn't matter if you came to kill me. My feelings for you won't change. But I must know.”

“If I wanted him dead, he would be dead already!” she snapped at Aber. “I had plenty of time to kill him… but I did not.”

“Your mark is on him!” he said.

“I mark all who take me to bed. It is a sign of love!”

“Love? Hah! Your kind cannot love!”

She spat at him. “We love more fiercely than you will ever know. You are unworthy of such love!”

Aber's face grew flushed, and his hands knotted into fists. “How dare you—” he began. I had never seen him so lost for words. “How dare you—”

“Don't spit on the carpets,” I murmured to Rhalla. “They're expensive.” Then, turning to Aber, I said, “And you're exaggerating the problem.”

Aber shook his head. “You're mad,” he said in a hurt voice. “She has you bewitched. When Dad finds out—”

“I know what I'm doing,” I said. “I'm not a child in the first flush of love.”

“You're acting that way!”

“Trust me.”

He shook his head, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Let me kill her, if you can't do it. She's a spy and an assassin. She's dangerous. She will kill you in your sleep. It is her nature.”

“We all have to die sometime,” I said, “and I can think of many worse ways than in bed with a beautiful woman.”

“This isn't a game, Oberon.”

“No,” I said firmly, “it is a game—a very dangerous game. But it's necessary if we're going to find out what's really going on.” I put my arm around Rhalla's shoulders. “She told you she will not kill me. I believe her. That's the end of it.”

“Thank you,” Rhalla said.

Aber stared from one of us to the other. “You are mad. Both of you. This cannot be permitted—”

I kissed Rhalla. “Go into the next room. Let me speak to my brother alone.”

“Yes, Oberon,” she said demurely. With a triumphant glance in his direction, she turned and hurried through the little door at the back of the room.

Aber stared at me like I'd just grown a second head. “Don't do this, Oberon. She's toying with you. She wants something, and it's not your love. She'll kill you when she's ready.”

“If I were so easy to kill,” I said, “I would have died years ago. That which doesn't kill you makes you stronger, they say.”

“No. I've seen her kind before, Oberon. She will work on you slowly. You'll grow pale and weak, you'll lose your will to fight, and then you'll die.” He set his feet stubbornly. “I'm not going to let that happen!”

“She can no longer be a lover to me,” I said in a low voice, glancing at the door. It was firmly shut; I knew she couldn't hear us talking. “I know that. You've ruined her for me. Now she is just a tool… and I will use her to get to our enemies.”

He shook his head, and I could tell he didn't believe me. “I don't want to have to explain to Dad how you ended up with a succubus in your bed,” he said. “I know I can't stop you. But be careful, okay? Watch who you let into your room and your bed.”

“I'll tell Dad everything myself when he gets back,” I promised. Then I cleared my throat. “And, speaking of letting people into my room ... I don't recall Port announcing you. How did you get in here?”

Aber stared at me like I had sprouted two extra heads. “How can you care when—”

“I do.” I smiled pointedly. “Just taking your advice to heart, dear brother. I can't have people barging in on me at all hours of the day and night, after all. Now, where's that Trump? I want it. Now.”

He crossed back to the spot by the door where I'd first noticed him. There, he bent and picked up what looked like a small Tarot card. He must have dropped it when he saw Rhalla.

He returned and silently handed it to me. It was smaller than the other Trumps I had seen, but like the others it felt cool and smooth, as though carved from bone or ivory. Though the rendering was crude, one side showed my bedroom to the smallest detail, from the high canopied bed to the wash stand and looking glass. The back had been painted a simple gold color, without the rampant lion design in the middle. I had never seen a Trump like this one before.

“Whose is it?” I asked.

“Mine.”

I raised my eyebrows. “It doesn't match your other Trumps.” I flipped it over and held it up. “And you're a better artist than this.”

“It was one of the very first I made, when I was ten or so. I used to use it to sneak in here and visit Mattus late at night. I dug it out when I wanted to check on you—it's the only one I had for this room.” He shrugged. “For all the thanks I got…”

I snorted, then tossed the Trump onto my bed. “Yes, I'm ungrateful. I'll keep it, if you don't mind.”

“I do mind. Dad won't be happy,” he said, folding his arms stubbornly. “I'm supposed to be watching you.”

“You're not doing a very good job of it, and a Trump of my bedroom isn't going to help. Besides, I value my privacy. You can have it back when I'm not sleeping here any more.”

“But how can I watch you if you lock the door?”

“I have to have some way to keep the monsters out.”

“Or in!”

I chuckled. “That, too.”

“You're the most conceited brother I've got. And that's saying a lot.”

“Port!” I called.

The face appeared in the middle of the door. “Yes, Lord Oberon?”

“My brother is not to be admitted inside my rooms unannounced,” I said. “If you see him appear inside through magical means, give a warning shout, will you?”

“Very good, sir.”

“And open up for him, will you? He's just leaving.”

Aber sighed and shook his head in frustration.

“It's all right,” I told him. Stepping forward, I clasped his shoulder and gently turned him toward the door. “Neither Rhalla nor I meant any insult to you. I know you're trying to look out for me. Go downstairs. I'll join you for breakfast in five minutes. Wait for me.”

As my door unlocked itself and swung open, he stomped out into the hallway, muttering about insanity running in our family.

He was probably right. Every member of our family seemed to have more than his fair share of problems. Our father was a compulsive liar. Aber felt a constant need to prove himself. My sisters Blaise and Freda were obsessed with spying on each other—and on everyone else. Even Locke, supposedly such a great and noble warrior, the best of us all, had been a petty, paranoid, jealous, and thoroughly obnoxious prig, unwilling to accept anyone who might threaten his favored status as firstborn son. That's why he had hated me. That's why he had prevented our father from bringing me to Juniper to join the rest of our family until it was almost too late.

Feeling tired and old, I retrieved Aber's Trump from the bed and put it on the desk, next to my sword. I'd take it with me when I went out, in case I needed to find my way back here quickly. Then I began to get dressed.

Rhalla returned just as I finishing pulling on my boots. She looked splendid again, in a pale, shimmering green gown. I smiled and pulled her to me, feeling nothing but regret. Why did the beautiful ones always mean trouble?

“You are angry?” she asked.

“At you? No.” To my surprise, I found I honestly wasn't angry at her. I wished she had told me the truth at once, but she could not help her nature.

“Good.” She buried her head in my shoulder. “I thought I had lost you.”

“No.” I hugged her tight, but I could feel a new tension between us. Our perfect moment had passed.

The door to the hall still stood open. My valet poked his head in, saw us, smirked, and had the good sense to withdraw—closing the door in the process. At least someone here had manners.

As I held Rhalla, I could feel the flutter of her heart. A dangerous game indeed, I knew, leaning forward and breathing her musky scent. She had to think nothing had changed between us, at least for now.

There was an old saying… hold your friends close, and your enemies closer. I thought of that as I cupped her chin in my hand, and kissed her long and passionately. So beautiful… and she had come to betray me. To suck my blood, my strength, my life.

When we came apart for air, she took both my hands and gazed into my eyes.

“I trust you, Oberon,” she said, searching my face. “I do not trust many men. Do not let me down.”

“I won't,” I said.

And yet I felt my love for her slipping away. I had been a fool, a childish, impulsive fool. I never should have trusted anyone in this place. I should have let Aber kill her. I should have done anything other than what I had done… and what I knew I would continue to do.

Women had always been my one great weakness. Years ago, in Ilerium, when I was sixteen and a raw recruit in King Elnar's army, I spent a night whoring with my friends after a particularly bloody campaign against the Nazarians. That night a much-scarred old captain named Mezeer pulled me aside.

“You have real promise,” Captain Mazeer had said to me, and I saw then that he was very, very drunk. “Don't… don't throw it all away.”

“What do you mean?” I asked him.

“I've seen the way you look at women… I've seen the way they look at you… You're too handsome… too trusting.” He hiccupped. “It's a bad combination. So… my young friend… watch your step. A woman… a woman will get you killed if you don't.”

It had been good advice. And I had never taken it.

Instead of running for my life, I kissed Rhalla again. She leaned into my arms, body lightly thrust against mine, lips warm and soft, the smell of her filling my nostrils.

Kissing her this way, my anger disappeared. I had nothing to fear from her, I thought, as I felt her body responding to mine. True, she had been using me. And yet, in my own way, I had been using her as well. She had been an anchor to normality for me, a way to hold onto my old life.

I no longer needed such a support. Instead, I would turn her to my own purposes.

“Tell me why you really came here,” I said.

“Because…” She hesitated, searching my face, and I saw the shame of betrayal in her eyes. I nodded slightly, encouraging her; I could use that emotion—bend it, reshape it to my needs, and make it serve me.

I said, “Because you love me.”

She nodded.

“For us to continue,” I said, “I must know everything. We cannot have secrets. Tell me, who sent you here?”

“Lord, I must not! None of us will be safe!”

“No one will harm you. I promise.”

She bowed her head. “It was Lord Ulyanash,” she whispered.

Ulyanash… the name meant nothing to me. Could he be the serpent I had seen in my visions, torturing my brothers and spying on me?

“Describe him,” I said.

“He is tall and dark, with long black hair, two small white horns, and red eyes, like coals.” She hesitated. “He was born of a minor house, I know, but his ambitions are well known. He has many friends and supporters in King Uthor's court these days…”

“Is that where you met him?”

“Yes. I was in the employ of Lady Elan. He… persuaded her to place me into his service.”

I nodded; the stealing of servants was a much-practiced tradition in Ilerium among the nobility. It seemed little different here.

“What else can you tell me about him?” I asked.

“I think he does not care about you. He did not know who you were before he sent me here—all he had was your name. He could not even tell me what you looked like.”

“That's why you asked who I was in the hallway, the first time we met?”

“Yes. But this plan was not of Lord Ulyanash's design. He does not have the imagination.”

“You were to kill me, weren't you?”

She could not meet my gaze. Head down, she nodded.

“Why didn't you?” I asked.

“I could not! You were so kind to me… you treated me like an equal, not a servant.” She hesitated. “And… I liked you. Even though it will cost me my life when he finds out, I could not obey. I could not kill you.”

“Thank you for that.” I hugged her close. Her heart fluttered in her chest; I could feel it as our skins touched. Then, as I nuzzled her neck, wondering how much more she knew, I felt her shiver.

“Why does he want me dead?” I asked. That was the one thing I did not understand. “Why not my father, or my brother Aber? I have no power here. They are the ones who matter, not me.”

“I do not know, Oberon.” She pulled away and perched on the edge of the bed, sighing deeply. “For some reason, Ulyanash fears you, and that makes him dangerous. You must be careful in all things. Your enemies here are powerful.”

I sat beside her, and a plan began to take form in my imagination. I put my arm around her shoulder, comforting.

“You must go back to Ulyanash,” I said.

“No!”

“You must,” I said firmly. “Tell him you've done your job and I'm dead. Then see what else you can find out. I need to know whose plan this was, and why they want me out of the way. Otherwise their next attempt to kill me may well succeed.” I gave her another quick kiss. “Talk to no one else about me. And… come back as soon as you can?”

She smiled wistfully. “Yes, Oberon. I will come back. But…” She glanced pointedly at the door, and I read her expression.

“Aber won't hurt you. I won't let him—or anyone else here. You are under my protection now, for whatever good that does.”

She brightened noticeably. “Thank you, Oberon.”

“I'll talk to my brother after you're gone. All right?”

She smiled, squeezed my hand, and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

Then, without a backward glance, she let herself out into the hallway.

Somehow, I had a feeling I would never see her again. Too much could go wrong with my plans. If Ulyanash had other spies in our household, or had other ways of spying on us, he would soon discover Rhalla's deception. And if that happened…

Sighing, I headed downstairs to find Aber.

Chapter 18

Throughout breakfast, Aber pretended to pout and hold a grudge. Course after course arrived, was served, and then carted away by attentive servants. At last, depositing vast trays of fruit and cheese on the table, they left us alone.

Aber sighed. “Sometimes,” he said, addressing no one in particular though I knew he meant it for me, “I think I'm the only one left in this family with any sense.”

“Sense, but no vision.”

He turned his head in my direction. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Had we done the sensible thing in Juniper, we would all be dead now. We have to do the unexpected, the courageous, the daring. It's the only way we can hope to win. You need to see the proper path. It's not always the safe one.”

He snorted. “You sound like Dad now.”

“That's a good thing.”

I leaned forward, looking him in the eye, and bluntly told him of my plans for Rhalla… how she would claim to have killed me, then spy on her master and report back whatever she learned. A little to my surprise, Aber seemed pleased.

“Who is her master?” he asked. “Who sent her here?”

“Some minor Lord of Chaos. His name is Ulyanash.”

He paled. “Ulyanash?”

“Do you know him?” I demanded.

“Lord Ulyanash is… not a friend. To any of us.” His expression hardened.

“Could he be behind it all? The murders? The attack on Juniper?”

“What did your succubus say?”

“She didn't think it was him.”

He shook his head slowly. “I don't think so, either. He's an idiot. If he weren't such a good fighter, no one would pay any attention to him. There must be someone else, someone more powerful who's working quietly to control and direct him.”

“That's exactly what Rhalla said.”

He gave me an odd look. “You found out quite a lot from her, didn't you?”

I shrugged. “You get more from women with kisses than threats. Take a lesson from that.”

“Maybe I was wrong about her,” he admitted. I knew how hard that must have been for him to say. “Just don't promise her too much, okay, Brother? I don't want a succubus for a sister-in-law.”

I smiled, letting my eyes go distant. “She is beautiful…”

“She came to kill you!”

I chuckled. “You're too easy to tease. Don't worry, I know what she is and why she came to me. I won't forget. Once her work is done…” I shrugged. “Our family and our safety, in that order, is what matters.”

He nodded, studying me. I could almost read his thoughts: Perhaps I wasn't quite the naive and trusting young soldier I appeared. I had the impression he had unexpectedly raised his estimation of me.

“You'll kill her after all?” he asked. “For feeding on you?”

“I never said that.”

“No, but…”

I went on, “You're too bloodthirsty for your own good. Let me worry about Rhalla. I'll take care of her in my own way, and in my own time.”

He gave a half groan. “You're going to end up marrying her, I know it!”

“Forget about her. She doesn't matter. We have important things to talk about.”

“All right. Where do we start?”

“With Lord Ulyanash. Tell me everything you know about him.”

My brother took a deep breath. “If I recall correctly, his full name is Demaro il Dara von Sartre Ulyanash, Baron of the House of Tanatar and Lord of the Far Reaches. I'm sure there ought to be a couple dozen more titles in that list, too, but I can't remember them.”

“Sounds impressive,” I said. “Lord of the Far Reaches…” I imagined a sprawling castle with vast estates stretching farther than the eye could see.

Aber half sneered. “The Far Reaches are a distant swamp-land, and the House of Tanatar is about as far as you can get from King Uthor and still qualify as a blood relation. Like I said, it's a minor house.”

“Then… why attack us?” I asked. “What have we done to him?”

“Nothing, that I know of.”

“From what you and Locke told me, we're no threat to him… or to anyone else here. So why bother with us? We were all off in Shadow, minding our own business. How can killing us possibly advance Ulyanash's standing—or anyone's?”

“He has always had ambitions beyond his station,” Aber said. “His rise in court has been—for lack of a better word—surprising.”

“How so?”

“The first time I saw him, he reminded me of a bear strolling through a crystal shop. He didn't know how to act, or who to flatter. He made mistake after mistake, and everyone laughed at him. Finally Lord Dyor decided to make an example of him for other distant relatives to learn from. Dyor arranged a duel by custom methods, and they fought.”

“Did you see it?”

“Yes. The whole court did.”

“What happened?”

He swallowed hard. “Ulyanash killed him—slowly and brutally. He would not accept satisfaction after first or second blood. If anything, he turned the fight into a brutal, bloody circus. Women were crying. Men begged them to stop. But Ulyanash would not yield his right, and he made an example of Lord Dyor that no one who saw it will ever forget.”

“Was Dyor a good fighter?” I asked.

“One of the best in the Courts.”

“What happened next?”

“Everyone said Ulyanash was finished. Rumor said King Uthor planned to strip him of his titles and throw him into the Pit of Ghomar for what he'd done. And yet, despite that, nothing happened. Instead of being punished for his effrontery, Ulyanash began attending the best parties and social gatherings, from the Blood Festival to the Feast of the Seven Dials. You couldn't escape him. He moved into the center of everything, and the best men and women stood cheerfully beside him as equals.” He shook his head. “They shouldn't have paid any attention to him, considering his family and what he did to Lord Dyor, and yet… there he was. Still is, I suppose.”

Slowly I nodded. It made sense to me now. Someone powerful had seen what Ulyanash could do and decided to use him. And part of that use had been against our family.

I asked, “Who is his patron?”

“I don't know. He must have one, or he wouldn't have gotten as far as he has. But I never heard anyone speak of it.”

“Perhaps they were frightened.”

“That's possible. I know he frightens me!”

“Can you guess who might be supporting Ulyanash?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I never heard before, and I've been away too long now to make discreet inquiries. My few friends in court have all drifted away and aligned themselves elsewhere. I haven't heard any gossip in years. None of us has, not Freda nor Blaise nor even Locke, though he would have been the best bet. He probably could have found out through his mother's side of the family… they have strong connections.”

“Death is never convenient,” I said. “Forget about Locke. Any other ideas?”

Shaking his head, he said, “Our family has never been very popular. Once Dad inherited his titles, that pretty much finished off our influence in the court. Dad never cared enough to bother making any friends or allies who could help us… he was too busy experimenting and building his little toys.”

Somehow, considering our family, I wasn't terribly surprised. I sighed. I must have gotten it from my mother's side of the family, but I had never had trouble making friends. I would have to work on building up our list of allies in the Courts of Chaos… assuming I lived long enough.

Despite Aber's lack of immediately useful information, I had a feeling I could still learn a few things from him. I decided to try a different approach.

“Let's work backwards,” I said. “How many people here have enough power and influence that they could raise Ulyanash to his present favored position?”

“That's hard.” He frowned, thinking. “King Uthor, of course. Perhaps a few of his ministers. Maybe a dozen Lords of Chaos who are central to the throne and its power.”

“Then we have a fairly short list. We'll need to work through it one at a time, trying to eliminate them. I don't suppose any of them look like giant serpents?”

“Afraid not. At least, not the last time I saw them. But that was years ago.

I nodded. “What's Ulyanash like in person? Charming?”

“Boorish and obvious. He never has a good thing to say about anyone but himself. How great a swordsman he is, how many duels he's fought, how many kills he's made.”

“He must have some useful traits.”

“He's a good fighter. Other than that…”

That was pretty much what Rhalla had said.

“What else can you tell me about him? Is he vain? Conceited?”

“Both, I'd say. Ulyanash thinks he's better than everyone else, and he's quick to take offense at any slight—real or imagined. He likes to force duels. The one with Taine—”

“What!” I sat up straighten “He fought Taine?”

“Years ago. He gave Taine that scar on his cheek.”

“I didn't know that,” I said.

“Is it important?”

“I don't know.” I considered the possibilities. “Why didn't he kill Taine, if he had the chance? If he's got it in for our family, he missed a good opportunity.”

“Maybe he had no reason to kill Taine at the time.”

I mulled it over. It sounded plausible. If they fought their duel before the plot against our family had begun, Ulyanash would have had no reason to kill Taine. A dueling scar to mark his victory would have been enough.

“Did you see the duel?” I asked.

“No, but Blaise did. She was there.”

“Of course she was.” I sighed. Another dead end, with Blaise off in Shadow, hiding out. She wouldn't be able to tell me anything about Ulyanash's fighting technique.

Aber went on. “I got all the details from her, though. She said it was a game for Ulyanash. He toyed with Taine for ten minutes, making him lunge and stagger, then swatting him on the ass and making his squeal. By the end of the duel, Taine was gasping for breath, dripping in sweat, and horribly embarrassed. Everyone was laughing at him.”

“Blaise included,” I guessed.

“She said she couldn't help it. Taine looked ridiculous. And Ulyanash… well, he loved every moment.”

I sighed, envisioning the fight. Clearly it hadn't been pleasant for Taine. There had been more than a couple of men in Ilerium's army who liked to show off their skills with a blade by humiliating lesser fighters in our ranks. I had never put up with it… as a common soldier or as an officer.

“And afterwards?” I prompted. “What happened to Taine?”

“He slunk off. I guess he couldn't face anyone in the Courts of Chaos after what happened. I haven't seen him since.”

A terrible thought struck me. “Did he leave… or was he kidnapped?”

“Kidnapped!” Aber stared at me, a shocked expression on his face. “What do you mean?”

“Think about it,” I said, my thoughts reeling through the possibilities. “Suppose someone powerful wanted to capture him and question him about us. And he didn't want anyone in our family to miss him. The duel could have been a ruse, forced on Taine so everyone would think he'd run away. It made his disappearance seem reasonable.”

“And all this time he's been a prisoner?”

“Yes.”

Aber looked away. Clearly the idea had not occurred to him before. And clearly he did not like it.

“Well?” I prompted. “What do you think?”

“It's unbelievable. You're seeing conspiracies where there can't possible be any.”

“I'm not paranoid. People really are trying to kill us—”

“Okay, okay.” He stood and began to pace. “But if someone wants us dead, why start with a kidnapping? Why not force Locke or Davin into a duel… or Dad, for that matter?”

“I don't know. Maybe they wanted to find out more about us first. Maybe they have been attacking us for years, but subtly. No one realized it because no one knew to look for the signs. We may never know the whole truth.”

He stopped and looked at me. “Let's assume you're right. Let's assume they've held Taine prisoner since the fight.”

“Torturing him, questioning him, and now bleeding him to spy on us. He's been helping them—”

Aber shook his head. “No. I don't believe it. Taine would never betray us. He has a stubborn streak like you wouldn't believe. I know.”

I considered how defiant our brother had been, even half dead on that altar slab, and conceded the point. No, Taine would not talk—at least, not knowingly.

“The serpent used his blood to spy on us,” I pointed out. “He didn't need to talk.”

Aber nodded. “Magic is sympathetic. Like is drawn to like. That's why the serpent could use Taine's blood. We—you and I, everyone in our family—are all the same in many ways.” He paused. “But I still don't understand why anyone would start a war by kidnapping Taine. He was fairly harmless. Nobody really hated him. Why put him through this?”

“They had to start somewhere,” I said. “Maybe Ulyanash considered him the easiest target.”

“Easier than me?” Aber laughed. “I don't think so!”

“How many duels have you gotten into?” I asked.

“Well… none.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I'm not much of a fighter, after all. I'm more of an artist, philosopher, and poet.”

“As I'm sure everyone in court knows.”

“Yes.” He nodded. “I've made Trumps for a lot of people… not just family members.”

“But what about Taine? Had he fought duels before?”

“Yes.” Aber sighed unhappily, as if guessing my thoughts. “He had his share of scrapes and misadventures. It didn't come as a huge surprise to anyone when he got into an argument with Ulyanash.”

“Exactly. Ulyanash wouldn't goad you into a duel because you don't fight. He might be stupid, but he knows better than to force a duel with someone like you… someone his peers view as weak and defenseless. There's nothing worse than being thought of as a bully. People would turn their backs on him, even his patron. He's not that stupid.”

Aber's brow furrowed. “So Ulyanash could take his time with Taine, make sport of him, and really rub it in because everyone knew Taine could defend himself.”

“Exactly. It was all in fun, after all. For his trouble, Taine got nothing worse than a scratch on the cheek. The only permanently damage came to his pride. If he couldn't defend himself… well, tough luck, everyone thought.”

Aber was nodding. “Yes, I understand.”

He started to say something more, but at that moment, Captain Neole burst into the room.

“Lords!” the captain cried. “There has been a murder!”

Chapter 19

I leaped to my feet.

“Who is it?” I demanded. Could it be our father? I glanced at Aber, who gulped, eyes growing wide with alarm.

“A demon,” Neole said. “Someone threw its body over the back wall a few minutes ago—one of the guards saw it fall. By the time he got outside, whoever did it had gone.”

“A demon?”

I didn't know whether to feel horrified or relieved. At least it wasn't a family member this time.

Aber, shaking his head, looking distinctly uneasy.

“What's bothering you about it?” I demanded.

“Rhalla,” he said. “It has to be her. You only saw her human form… but a succubus is a demon. In death, she would have changed back to her true self.”

“But she just left!” I said. It didn't see how it could possible be her. “There wasn't enough time!”

“We don't know that. If Ulyanash found out…”

“How could he? You set up those magical tripwires last night. There shouldn't be any more spying.”

“I warned you I wasn't very good at it.” He looked uneasy. “Maybe they found a way through or around my spells!”

I took a sharp breath. It couldn't be Rhalla. And yet… “There's an easy way to settle this,” I said. Turning to Neole, I added, “Show us.”

He saluted. “Yes, sir. This way.”

We left through a different door into a strangely desolate garden, filled with twisted, ugly plants the like of which I had never seen. Some bore spiked reddish-orange fruit, and some had nothing but thorns. Among them, moss-covered stones slowly wandered, looking old and tired compared to the ones penned on the other side of the house.

I kept looking up at the sky. As before, masses of clouds swirled wildly overhead, but this time no lightning flickered.

Aber caught up and walked beside me. “Spells take time to prepare,” he said in answer to my unasked question. Shading his eyes, he stared toward the heavens. “The bigger the spell, the longer the time. That lightning storm must have been taken hours, maybe days to set properly. Whoever made it was lying in wait for you. It won't happen the same way twice.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel safe?” I asked.

“Well… in a way, yes.”

“It doesn't.”

Captain Neole led us to the back wall, which towered twenty feet high. Made of yellow stone, it seemed to completely circle the house. Guards patrolled the top now, gazing out over whatever lay beyond.

Two more guards stood at the base of the wall, next to the body. I swallowed hard as I stared at it. A flat face with jutting cheekbones and round mouth… red eyes staring blankly… hands like claws… skin as dark as old leather… none of it looked familiar. The only thing at all familiar, however, was the pale, shimmering green gown. It matched the one Rhalla had been wearing, and I knew at once that this creature, this demon, had to be her.

“Not a woman, but definitely female,” Captain Neole was saying. Bending, he tilted her head back so we could see her odd features better.

“Congratulations,” I said flatly to Aber. “You got your wish.”

“I'm sorry,” Aber said softly. When I looked at his face, he seemed genuinely upset. “I would not wish this on anyone, least of all you.”

Captain Neole said to me, “Do you know this demon, sir?”

“Yes, I knew her,” I said. “Her name was Rhalla. Bury her here, on the grounds, with all appropriate ceremony. She is to be treated with respect. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” he said. He motioned to the two guards, and they picked her up and carried her off around the side of the house, following the wall.

“We have a mausoleum,” Aber said. “That's where they will take her.”

I nodded, feeling cold and numb inside.

Then I looked up at the wall. It had to be three or four feet thick at the top. Whoever had dumped her here had either thrown her over the wall, flown the body up and over, or sent it over by magical means. None of the options left me feeling very safe at the moment. And thunder rumbled distantly, reminding me of our enemies' power to control the weather.

“I doubled the patrols immediately,” Captain Neole said to me. “Do you have any other instructions, sir?”

“No. Stay vigilant.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We will be inside. If anything else happens, summon us at once.”

He saluted. I motioned for Aber to follow me and turned toward the house. Head high, I strolled through the twisted garden at a leisurely pace. I had to assume Aber's spells had failed and that our every move was now being observed. Well, let them look! Let them think me unmoved by Rhalla's murder! The creatures of this world seemed to think only of hate and violence and death. First Helda in Ilerium, and now Rhalla here in the Beyond. Our enemies had taken too much from me. It had to stop.

“Oberon,” Aber said from behind me, “I'm sorry.”

“Me too,” I whispered.

I looked up at the seething clouds, then at the sprawling house, which still oozed color from every seam and every crack. At that moment, I knew their deaths would not go unavenged. If I had to make it my life's work, I would find and destroy everyone involved in this conspiracy, from the greatest Lord of Chaos to the least of their minions.

I sucked in a deep breath, and everything suddenly came clear for me. Bold. Daring. Unexpected. Our mysterious enemy kept making the first move against us. That would change. From now on, we would act instead of react. If Ulyanash and his masters wanted a fight, I would give it to them. And I would win… or die trying.

“Get your Trumps,” I told Aber as soon as we entered the house. “Bring them to the library.”

“Why?”

“Because,” I said, “we're going to be busy. You're going to announce me to all and sundry as Dworkin's new heir, come to the Courts of Chaos to walk the Logrus and claim my birthright.”

“But you can't—”

“Can't I?”

He nodded. “It is your right.”

“Play it up. Sell me to them. My name must be on everyone's lips. They must all know who I am before this day is over!”

“You're insane!” he said, staring at me.

“Maybe I am.” I smiled, lips thin and hard. “First, though, there will be a party for me, hosted by… I don't know. Someone you know and trust.”

“Who?” he demanded.

“It doesn't matter.” I waved my hand grandly. “Pick someone. Anyone. Make sure they accept. Don't take no for an answer.”

“But Dad“

“Has nothing to do with this,” I interrupted. “I want to be seen tonight by everyone who matters in the Courts of Chaos. I want each and every one of them, from the highest noble to the lowest slave, to know I've arrived here… and that I'm not afraid of them!”

“This isn't wise.”

“Wise?” I laughed. “If you're afraid to live, you're already dead!”

“Then I must be dead,” he muttered.

“Oh, no.” I seized his arm and propelled him toward the stairs and his room. “You've just awakened, dear brother. We've all been asleep far too long here. I'm not going to sit in this house and wait for death to find me. It's time to move—time to leap feet-first into King Uthor's court. We will renew ourselves… and our family.”

“I don't understand,” he said.

“You don't have to. Leave everything to me. Now, get those Trumps, and be quick about it! We have lots of work to do before the party.”

My enthusiasm seemed to be catching. Taking a deep breath, he bounded up the stairs three at a time.

We would need new alliances to replace the ones Dad had let slip away. If Ulyanash could do it, why not me? New friends and new allies… yes, I could play this game. And I would win.

Chapter 20

“You realize,” Aber said, “that your plan won't work.”

“Why not?” I asked.

We sat in the library, surrounded by books and scrolls. He had brought down a large, intricately carved wooden box packed to the top with Trumps, many showing people and places I had never seen before. Most were distant relatives, he assured me—cousins, aunts and uncles, and grandparents from our father's various marriages. Aber had drawn them over the years and squirreled them in his room until needed.

“Who is this?” I held up a Trump showing a handsome man with moustache and beard. His eyes reminded me of Freda's.

“Vladius Infenum,” he said. “Isadora's grandfather on her mother's side. He's dead, I think.”

“Murdered?”

“By his wife.” He pulled out a different Trump, this one showing a skeletal woman with upturned tusks. “Here, Lady Lanara Doxara de Fenetis. I think she'll do.”

“Who is she?”

I regarded her image casually, trying not to stare too hard lest I make contact with her. Her small black eyes had a ravenous quality that made me uneasy.

“Our great-aunt. Dad's mother's oldest sister.”

“That's right—you mentioned her before. She taught you to paint, didn't she?”

“Yes.”

“Is she well connected?”

“She used to be,” Aber said. “She stopped entertaining a decade or so ago, due to frail health… though I think that was just an excuse. Her guests tended to overstay their welcomes and eat her out of house and home. She's still well remembered at court, and I think retirement has bored her enough that she might well leap at the chance to help you. Family is important to her.” He smiled fondly; I could tell he liked her. “She was a great painter in her day, and she used to give me lessons…”

“I thought Dad was to blame for that.”

“I inherited his talent. Aunt Lan taught me how to use it. She always said I was her favorite nephew. Dad would more happily have drowned me than taught me anything.”

“She sounds ideal for our purposes,” I said, changing the subject before he could complain about our father. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. “Go ahead and ask her.”

This just might work. There would be a certain novelty value in dragging an aging Lady back into the social light. People who might normally pass on such an invitation—especially to launch someone unknown into society—would attend just to see her.

He picked up the card, moved to the far side of the room, and stared at it. Over his shoulder, I saw the old woman's picture ripple and start to move. Her hair whitened; her tusks yellowed, and her skin grew as wrinkled as a raisin.

“Aunt Lan!” he said. “It's your nephew, Aber. May I visit you for a few minutes?”

She replied with something I couldn't quite catch, and as I watched, he reached toward her image. In the wink of an eye he disappeared, taking the card with him.

I sat impatiently, hoping it wouldn't take long. I had a feeling our enemies wouldn't be sitting around waiting for us to move. Finally, after perhaps ten minutes, I felt a nagging at the back of my mind and knew someone was trying to reach me via a Trump. It had to be Aber. Opening my thoughts, I looked up.

An image appeared before me, only it wasn't my brother. It was Great Aunt Lanara herself, dressed all in black, regarding me with those dark and hungry eyes set deep in that much-wrinkled face. Her upturned tusks, if anything, had grown longer since Aber had painted her.

“So you are Oberon,” she said. Her lightly accented voice held a mild quaver. Slowly her gaze traveled down to my boots and back up again. She seemed to be looking through me to my soul, and I found her scrutiny made me distinctly uneasy. I tried not to show it.

“That's right,” I said. I folded my arms and returned her frank stare. “I'm pleased to finally meet you. Aber speaks very highly of you and your work.”

“My… work?”

“Your paintings.”

“He is a good boy.” She smiled, lips pulling back in an awful rictus. “He informs me of your own ambitions in court, and that you need an introduction into society. He says you aspire to greatness and wish to be known in the Courts, to wield power and influence as, in fact, I once did.”

“As you still do,” I said politely. “Or we would not have come to you.”

Turning her head slightly, she addressed someone I couldn't see:

“You were right. I rather like him.” I assumed she spoke to Aber.

“I knew you would,” came the reply. “He's clearly the prize of Dad's offspring.”

She turned back to me.

“Tell me two things first, and tell me honestly. I will know if you are lying. If I like your answers, I will do more than you have asked. Much more.”

“Very well.” I regarded her impassively. “I will answer truthfully.”

“Who is your mother?”

“My mother was a woman from a Shadow world. Her name was Eilea Santise, if that is important to you.”

“It is. Names hold power. Your mother is now dead?”

“Yes. A long time ago.”

Lanara nodded slightly. “You are not lying,” she said. “And yet you are not telling me all.”

“What more do you want?”

“Everything.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “I am a bastard, born out of wedlock. Dworkin did not acknowledge me as his son—though in fact he stayed to help raise me—for many years. My mother lied to me her whole life. So did Dworkin… Dad. They claimed my father was a sailor who died at the hands of pirates from Saliir.”

“Interesting,” she said, with a mysterious half smile. “So your link to the throne is only through your father. A pity. Two blood lines are always stronger than one.”

“I am as I am,” I said. “I make no apologies.”

“I did not ask for any. You have spirit. I like that… in moderation. I accept your answer.”

I inclined my head. “And your second question?”

“How will you pay me for this service?”

I regarded her thoughtfully. “That is the harder question of the two,” I said. “You have no need of gold or jewels, so I will not insult you by offering them. Nor do I believe you would put much store in promises of lifelong affection from a bastard grand-nephew whom you have never met before.”

“True,” she said. “Go on.”

“Therefore,” I said, “I offer you nothing.”

“Nothing?” she asked, as though hardly able to believe it. She threw back her head and howled with laughter. “Nothing! The whelp offers me nothing!”

“Nothing,” I continued, “except the excitement your actions will bring you.” I leaned forward, staring into her eyes. “Think of it, Auntie! A house of ravenous guests, plots and intrigue spinning wildly before you, and the very real possibility of a murderer in your company! I have been marked for death, Aunt Lanara, and so has Aber. Rather than hiding in Shadow, we will seek out our enemies so we may destroy them! Help me, Lanara, and you will help us both!”

“Well spoken,” she said, “and I believe you have told me the truth—at least as you see it, for truth is a flexible thing, with many meanings and many edges. Yes, I will help you, Oberon, but you may well come to regret it for the rest of your life. The price for my help will be quite high.”

“Name it,” I said.

“One of my many nieces, born of my sister Desponda and her husband, Yanar, is named Braxara. To be brutally honest, Braxara is ugly, dull, and stupid. Finding a suitable mate for her proved too difficult for her parents, so now the task has fallen to me.”

I swallowed, not liking the direction this conversation had headed. Aunt Lanara smiled like a spider that had just discovered a plump fly in its web. Slowly, she linked her fingers under her chin and leaned forward. I thought it made her look more than a little sinister.

She continued, “If I help you in this matter, I will expect you to marry Braxara in one year's time. That will give you ample opportunity for courtship.”

“Perhaps she would be happier with someone like Aber,” I suggested meekly.

“I could never wish such a fate on my darling nephew,” Lanara said, smiling pointedly. “And it is you, not Aber, who craves my assistance.”

One year… it seemed forever. Much could change in that time. I could be dead. Braxara could be dead… or even promised elsewhere, if a better suitor came along. Better to promise now and reap the benefits immediately of such an alliance.

I bowed my head. “Assuming I live to see my wedding day,” I said before she could change her mind, “I accept your terms.”

“Good.” She smiled again. “I will prepare everything for tonight. The time is short, but it can be done. Aber, dear boy?”

“Yes, Aunt Lan?” I heard him say from somewhere to the side.

“Go back and help Oberon prepare. Come fashionably late, but not too late. And Oberon…” She turned back to me. “I may be old, but my friends are numerous and their weapons are sharp. Your betrothal will be announced tonight, with vows that cannot be broken. Do not embarrass me, or you will not live to regret it.”

She beckoned Aber to her side, and I stretched out my hand to him. When he grasped it, I pulled him back through to the library.

“Do not forget, Oberon!” Lanara said to me, voice distant now and fading. “One year!”

She made a curt gesture, and our contact was broken.

Aber flopped down in the chair next to me.

“That was too easy,” he said. He put his feet up on the table and folded his hands over his belly. “Just the sort of plan I like.”

“Easy!” I snapped. “You just got me betrothed to an ugly, halfwitted cousin!”

“She's not that bad!” He laughed. “At least, not since she got her tails bobbed!”

“Tails? Bobbed?”

“Hers were a little too skinny and ratlike for my taste.” He shrugged. “But I'm sure you'll both be very happy together. Her family are always good breeders. Lots of kids will calm you down. Say, thirty or forty to start with. They do tend toward big litters…”

I groaned. Somehow, I didn't think he was joking this time.

“And,” he went on brightly, “Every time you complain about her, you'll hear a little voice in your head saying, 'At least she's not a succubus!'“

“Thanks… I think!”

He shrugged. “Oh, you'll be happy enough. You'll get your introduction to society. And thanks to Aunt Lan, you've got your first allies.”

“I do? Who?”

“Why, she and her husband. She liked you a lot.”

“How can you tell?”

“She's doing everything you asked. If she didn't like you, she would have said, 'No!'—and not quite so politely. Think of it as a present from her. A wedding present.”

“It's not a present if I'm paying for it!”

Aber sighed and shook his head. “You don't understand. She did you a bigger favor with that marriage than you realize. Lord Yanar is one of King Uthor's advisors. Marrying his daughter will confer immediate status on you within the court… not to mention a measure of protection. Yanar is powerful and influential.”

“Braxara and I aren't married yet,” I said with a grim little smile. “And a year is a long time to wait.”

“Want me to see if Aunt Lan can move up the date a bit?”

“Not particularly!” I replied with a laugh.

He chuckled in return. “No, I guess you wouldn't!”

“I don't suppose you have a Trump showing Braxara, do you? I'd like to have at least some idea of what I'm getting into.”

“Nope. She's not someone I'd ever want to know well enough to paint!”

“Wonderful,” I muttered. How bad could my future bride be?

Port chose that moment to speak.

“Sir,” he said, face appearing in the center of the door. “Anari wishes to enter.”

“Let him in,” I said.

Port swung open, and the elderly head of the household hurried inside, breathing hard. He must have run up the stairs, I realized with alarm.

“What's wrong?” I demanded.

“Lords—” he panted. “Lady Freda—has just arrived—and—”

Before he could say another word, I raced past him and into the hall. Freda, here? It could only mean the worst sort of news.

Our sister had been ordered to hide in Shadow until we found our enemy and straightened out this whole mess. Nothing short of disaster should have brought her home early.

Chapter 21

Aber raced after me, and side by side we pounded down the broad stone staircase to the cavernous entry hall. There, surrounded by a flurry of movement, stood our sister.

Freda wore a long red silk dress, red shoes, and a matching broad-brimmed hat, now perched at a steep angle atop her head. Heavy gold rings set with large rubies covered her slender fingers and flashed in the flickering light of the lamps. She looked tanned and well, as though returning from a month's vacation at the seaside.

Around her, more than a dozen servants, dressed in what looked like cloth spun from pure silver, were shifting twenty-five or thirty large wooden trunks. Several guards and household servants helped. All the while, six women similarly dressed in silver milled about Freda, some fussing with her hair, others with her clothes… she seemed more a pampered princess than the mystic fatalist I had known in Juniper.

“Freda?” I said, reaching the floor. I made way for the first of her trunks, which two men carried up the stairs with grunts and groans.

“Oberon!” She turned toward me with a cool smile. “I trust you are well.”

“Yes, despite several assassination attempts.”

She showed no surprise at that statement.

“And an impending marriage,” Aber added.

That got her attention. “Who is the bride-to-be?”

“Cousin Braxara,” Aber said.

“No, no.” She shook her head. “That will not do at all.”

“I promised our Aunt Lanara,” I said.

“I will see it undone later, after I have unpacked.” She beckoned Anari over. He had followed us down the stairs at a more dignified pace. “Have my usual rooms prepared. I will be staying.”

“Yes, Lady Freda.” He bowed.

“Hold on,” I said to Anari. Then I turned to Freda. “You're not staying. It's not safe. People are still trying to kill us.”

“Bosh,” Freda said. “A well-raised Lady of Chaos does not get into such troubles. Not in the Courts, and not in the Beyond. Do you think me a common duelist?”

“Ladies of Chaos don't duel, they poison,” said Aber from behind me, his voice a loud stage whisper.

Freda pretended not to hear him.

“I have come to see Father,” she said. “Where is he? I have important news. It cannot wait.”

“He's… not available.” I swallowed. “In fact, he doesn't want to be found. He made it clear when I tried to contact him by Trump. He said he'll be back in a few days.”

“That,” she said, “is not acceptable.”

“If you have a better plan…”

“Of course. Luckily for you, I came back early. Clearly someone with sense needs to take charge of things. How did you ever get trapped into marrying that cow Braxara?”

She clapped her hands sharply and waved away the women who had been fussing over her. They joined the men dressed in silver, helping shift some of the smaller packs and bags.

Noticing my nonplussed expression, she said:

“Good help is hard to find. You sent me to a Shadow where I am worshipped as a goddess; it is easy to get used to being pampered. So I brought a few of the faithful with me. They think this is the afterlife.”

“A few?” I eyed the throng critically. They didn't seem to be having any trouble acclimatizing to the Beyond, I noticed somewhat enviously. In fact, they all seemed to be happily taking it in stride… though I supposed, if you served a goddess, you must be prepared for such things.

“Barely two dozen,” she said.

“Your right, I'm sure.” I sighed and drew her to one side, where they couldn't over hear our conversation. “What are you really doing here?” I asked. “Your instructions were clear. You were to stay in Shadow until the danger is past. Nothing has changed. We are still under attack.”

“And,” said Aber, trailing us, “Dad's going to be furious when he finds out. He picked that Shadow especially for you and Pella.”

“Do not prattle on,” she said to him. “This is neither the time nor the place for such a—”

With an expression of annoyance she turned and hurried back to her luggage. A servant had been about lifting a large crate one-handed, and she took in from him and set it down.

“Careful with this one, Sahin!” she said. “It is filled with glass!”

Aber rolled his eyes. “Perfume, I bet!”

“She hasn't changed a bit,” I said with a smile.

Sahin threw himself to the floor. “Yes, my goddess,” he whimpered. “Forgive me! Forgive me!”

“Rise. Finish your work. Take more care. You have my blessing.”

“Thank you!”

Rising, he lifted the trunk with greater care. Freda watched him for a moment, then wandered back to join us.

“There is much yet to be done, I see,” she said to me. Her eyes swept across the remaining trunks, then fixed on Aber. “Make us all drinks in the library, please. Travel is thirsty work, and there is still much I must do today.”

“Yes, Freda,” he said meekly, and he hurried into the library. He always ended up doing as she asked, I'd noticed, though sometimes his cooperation seemed grudging.

She waited until he was out of sight, then pulled me into a secluded alcove. It seemed she wanted a private talk. She had never confided in me before, and it took me a bit by surprise now.

“Where is Father, really?” she asked in a soft voice. “I must know!”

“He went for an audience with King Uthor. He didn't come back.”

“I cannot believe—” she began. Then she stopped herself. “He did not tell you, did he?”

“Tell me what?”

“Where he went afterward? He would be back here by now; it does not take so long to see the king. Who did he visit next? Where did he go?”

“I don't know—do you?”

“I… have a suspicion.” She turned away, eyes distant. “There is a place he goes when he is unhappy or sad. A Shadow…”

“There's a woman involved?” I guessed. “His lover?”

“Yes.”

“Who is she?”

“I do not know… only that she is a powerful sorceress. She has given him things… objects of power… and helped him to master the magics he now commands.”

I frowned. “If she's so powerful, he should have gone to her as soon as war started in Juniper. Why didn't he?”

“I do not know. Perhaps she is not in a position to provide military assistance. Or perhaps he is guarding her safety.”

So, a woman was involved… suddenly Dad's actions began to make sense. If he meant to protect her, then he certainly would make sure neither Aber nor I—nor anyone else—knew her location.

She continued: “What else has happened here? You mentioned several attacks?”

Quickly I filled her in, from Rhalla to the lightning in the garden to the serpent-creature scrying on my bedroom.

“I'm not sure what's happening outside,” I added. “King Uthor's hell-creatures searched the house yesterday. They were looking for something specific, something small, but I don't think they found it. Any idea what it could be?”

“None. How about you?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Now, what brought you back here, really?”

“That I must share with Aber, too. It concerns us all.”

She turned and led the way to the library. After we entered, she closed and bolted the door behind us, then crossed to the far wall, pushed on a high-set sconce, and opened a small door that had been cunningly concealed as a wall panel. A hidden room or passage—I couldn't see which—lay beyond. She glanced in, then closed the panel; apparently it was empty. I heard a soft click as its latch caught.

I glanced at Aber.

“I didn't know it was there!” he said.

“There is a lot you do not know,” Freda said.

“We have been spied on constantly since we arrived here,” I told her. “Aber tried to put up spells to protect us, but we aren't sure they worked. What can you do to help?”

“Wait. I will check.”

She gathered the folds of her dress and sat at the table. Then, taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and seemed to go into a light trance. I saw her eyelashes flutter, and several times her hands jerked, but mostly she remained silent and still.

“Whiskey?” Aber asked me in hushed tones.

Nodding, I accepted a glass from him. He filled it, we clinked glasses in a silent toast, and then we both sat back, sipping, to wait for Freda. I had never seen her do anything like this before; how long would it take?

Finally, after what must have been ten or fifteen minutes, Freda suddenly opened her eyes.

“A nice job,” she said to Aber. “I only found one hole, and I do not think it has been used.”

He smiled with obvious relief. “Great!”

“Did you fix the hole?” I asked her.

“Yes. No one will spy on this house again without us finding out. That I can promise.”

“I told you she was good!” Aber said smugly.

“Red wine, please,” she told him.

Drawing a small deck of Trumps from the bag at her side, she shuffled them and began to deal them out in front of herself. I recognized my picture, Dad's, Aber's, and the rest of our family. She included her own, too. A circle began to form, with images looking in toward the center.

As she worked, Aber poured a goblet of red wine and set it to one side. Then he topped off my whiskey as well as his own.

“I hate to drink alone,” he said.

I did not know how the Trumps worked for Freda, but they helped her see the future—or possible futures—and that was exactly the sort of information we needed. Leaning forward, I watched her flip the last Trump and set it in place in the exact center.

Drawn by Aber, it showed Locke in a quite unflattering portrait: a disagreeable-looking, puffed-up man in silvered chain mail, with a slight pot belly (he hadn't had one in real life) and a look of indigestion on his face.

“Well?” I said.

“It is… inconclusive. Let me cast the future again.”

Frowning, Freda gathered up the cards. I got the impression she hadn't liked what she saw and shifted uneasily in my seat. She shuffled twice, had me cut the deck, and began to deal them out a second time.

Aber and I continued to watch in silence. This time, the cards played out slightly differently—though once more Locke ended up at the center.

“So?” I prompted, as I slid into the seat opposite hers. “What news? Any predictions?”

For a long moment she said nothing, studying the cards. I remained patient, though every fiber of my being demanded immediate answers.

“You do not know yet,” she finally said, “do you?”

“Know what? Something you saw in your cards?”

“Locke. He is alive.”

“Impossible!” Our brother died in Juniper, I knew. I had seen him in his tent after the battle, being tended by physicians. I had watched him die.

“Yes, I thought so too.” She nodded slowly. “But the cards say you, Oberon, will meet him soon. Perhaps even tonight.”

I shook my head. “I was with him when he died, Freda. You saw his body. Locke is dead. We burned his body, remember?”

“We all saw it,” Aber agreed.

“I know,” Freda whispered. “I remember.”

“Then what makes you think he's alive?” I asked.

She picked up her wine and sipped it. “Because,” she said, “I spoke with him this morning.”

Chapter 22

“It's a trick!” I said. I rose and began to pace. “You know how devious our enemies are, Freda. They found a way to fool you.”

“That's what I thought,” she said. “But he knew things… things only the two of us had shared.” Her voice dropped. “It was him. I swear it.”

I took a deep breath. Enough impossible things had happened to me in the last month… maybe Lords of Chaos really could return from the dead.

“What do you think?” I asked Aber.

He might be childish at times, but he knew a lot, and without Dad here, he was my main source of information on all things magical. Although Freda probably knew more about magic than any of our other siblings, she had an infuriating mysterious streak, and I was always left with the impression that she kept back as much as she revealed.

“I don't know,” he admitted. I suppose—”

A light knock sounded on the library door. I motioned to Aber, and he hurried over and opened it.

Anari stood there.

“My lords, Lady Freda,” he said. “Lord Fenn is in the dining hall. He asked me to inform you. He wants to see your father.”

“What about Isadora?” I asked. Fenn and Isadora had run off together before Juniper fell, in search of help for our armies. They had not returned, nor had we gotten any word from them, since that time.

“Lady Isadora is not with him, sir,” Anari said. I glanced at Freda. “You didn't bring him with you, I assume?”

“No,” she said, looking puzzled. “I went into hiding with Pella, remember? She is still in Averoigne, awaiting my return. I have not seen Fenn since he disappeared.”

“Thank you, Anari,” I said. “Let him know where we are and ask him to join us.”

Fenn nodded a somewhat sheepish greeting when he entered the library. He was taller than Dworkin but not as tall as me, with blue eyes, light brown hair, and a hesitant but honest smile. He wore dark blue leggings and tunic, with a simple belt and boots. A sword hung at his side. I had not gotten to know him well, but until his sudden disappearance in Juniper, right before the attacks began, he had struck me as trustworthy. Since then, I half suspected him of being the one spying on us.

“It's good to see you all,” he said.

“And where were you when we needed you?” I folded my arms and glared. “You ran out on us.”

“Where have you been?” Freda asked. “Where is Isadora?”

“She's in Juniper,” he announced smugly. “We retook it yesterday.”

“What!” Aber cried.

“How?” I demanded.

“I brought an army of my own… trolls. Half a million of them.” He chuckled. “You should have seen the bloodbath! Enemy soldiers had occupied the castle and the lands around it. No more.”

I shook my head. “Trolls? I don't understand.”

“I do,” Freda said. “He found a Shadow where trolls are breeding out of control. He offered them Juniper as a new colony in exchange for clearing out the enemy. Think of it… a whole new world for them. Of course, they jumped at the chance.”

“Brilliant, right?” Grinning, Fenn took a seat next to me. “Isadora is back there now, helping mop up the last of the invaders. You should have seen her, Oberon! Bodies stacked fifty feet high, and her standing on top, screaming her battle cry, sword in hand! Magnificent!”

There was a reason, I reflected, that Aber had once called her the warrior-bitch from hell.

Now Aber slid a drink across the table to Fenn.

“So you've retaken Juniper,” I said. “Doesn't that leave us with, ah, a slight troll problem?”

“Half a million troll problems,” Freda said.

“We can bring in giants to take care of the trolls,” Aber said.

“And then dragons, I suppose, to take care of the giants?” I said with a annoyed snort.

“Now you're getting the idea!” Aber said with mock seriousness. “And dragons… what eats dragons?” He looked at Freda, who only sighed.

“Maybe it wasn't the best idea,” Fenn admitted, “but it solved the immediate problem and got rid of the attackers. We can always find another Shadow like Juniper.”

I asked, “Were there any survivors from our men?”

“Maybe, hiding in the woods. If the trolls don't eat them, Isadora will bring them back.”

“Fair enough, I guess.”

“But,” Fenn went on excitedly, “I have more important news than that!”

“Let me guess,” I said. “Locke contacted you and told you to come here.”

“That's right!”

“What did you tell him?”

“I was too busy—but the trolls worked faster than I thought they would, so I came straight here.”

I shook my head. This whole conversation had an air of inevitability to it. Someone—or something—wanted us all in one place. It would make the murders easier. Fortunately, only Fenn and Freda has risen to the bait. The rest of our immediate family remained safely hidden.

Fenn searched our faces. “Has he been in touch with you, too, then?”

“Locke,” I said firmly, “is dead.”

“What!” He stared. “When? How?”

Quickly I filled him in on what had happened in Juniper, and then here. He shook his head stubbornly, though.

“You made a mistake,” he insisted. “It was Locke, and he contacted me by Trump less than an hour ago! I know my own brother better than any of you. It was him!”

“This is a family of lunatics!” I said. “Locke is dead! We all—Aber, Freda, and I—saw his body! You can't deny it.”

Fenn frowned. “But Locke said—” And then he paused. “But—” And he paused again.

“Trust me, Locke is dead.” I glanced at Aber. “Unless you can think of some way for him to come back?”

“As far as I know,” Aber said with a uncomfortable shrug, “death is final.”

“It is hard to kill a Lord of Chaos,” Freda said, “but once he is dead, he remains dead. I have never heard of one coming back to life. And some have been very powerful.”

Aber said, “I supposed it could have been a ghost…”

“Are ghosts real?” I asked.

“Yes,” Freda said. “I have spoken with a few of them, as the need arose. But they have no physical form. They could never use a Trump.”

Fenn said, “Locke wasn't a ghost. I'm certain.”

“Nor was my Locke a ghost,” Freda said firmly. “He was as much flesh and blood as you or I. No, there must be another answer. And we will find it.”

“Besides,” Aber said to me, “where would a ghost get a set of Trumps? I have Locke's here. It's complete… I checked after I took them back from his room. Freda's Trump and Fenn's Trump are both there.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “Remember, hell-creatures searched our rooms. Have you checked his Trumps since then? Maybe they borrowed a few. Or maybe Locke, or whoever is impersonating him, used that Logrus trick of yours—the one where you pull items from distant Shadows—and has them now.”

He gasped. “I hadn't thought of that! Let me check.” Turning, he ran out into the entry hall.

“It was not a ghost,” Freda repeated. “It was a man. I know the difference. And it was Locke. He always was an arrogant bastard. Who else would have dared order me about like a common servant, even through a Trump?”

“What did he ask you to do?”

“He told me to come here. Our father needs me, he said. Forget about hiding in Shadow, he said, and be a dutiful daughter. Come and help.”

“So you came.”

“Yes. How could I not?”

“It sounds like he tricked you into joining us here,” I said.

“What about me?” Fenn asked. “Why would he contact me and tell me to come here? Freda is the powerful one, next to Dad.”

“Get us into one place and it will be easier to kill us all.”

“Let us assume it was neither Locke nor a ghost,” Freda said. “What other possibilities remain?”

“Here's one,” I said. I willed my features to change, and in a second I looked exactly like Locke, from arrogant sneer to haughty tilt of the head. I faced my sister.

“Get thee to the Courts of Chaos,” I said in a fair imitation of Locke's voice. With a little practice, I think I could have matched it perfectly. “I command you!”

“You are not funny,” she said flatly.

“I wasn't trying to be.” I let my face fall back to its normal appearance. “Our enemies include shape-shifters. Remember the barber who tried to cut my throat?”

“Ivinius? Yes, I remember that unfortunate incident. But you are clearly not Locke, even when you take his form. I know my brother well enough to tell the difference. I was not taken in by a demon.”

I sighed. She could be as inflexible as our father sometimes. And yet… she had a point.

“At least concede the possibility,” I said. “The Courts of Chaos are full of shape-shifters, Aber tells me.”

“True,” Freda said, “but it is considered bad manners to impersonate people. Also, the one who spoke with me not only looked like Locke, he acted and sounded like Locke, and he had Locke's memories. He knew things…”

“What sort of things?”

She blushed and looked away. That was a first; he had known something personal, something embarrassing.

“It was… something that happened when we were children. No one else knows, or will ever know. He offered it as proof.”

“Maybe it was him,” Aber said from the doorway. I hadn't heard him return. “His Trumps are gone.”

“Maybe the man who died in Juniper wasn't Locke after all!” Fenn suggested, sounding excited.

“What!” The possibility shocked me. “You mean… Locke might have been replaced by a demon?”

“Yes!”

It seemed impossible. And yet, our enemies had gone to fantastic effort and expense to destroy us. Would it be so hard for them to replace Locke with a shape-shifter? One who would lead our troops to defeat in Juniper?

“No,” I said firmly, remembering Rhalla and how she had looked when we found her body outside. “A shape-shifter would have reverted to its true form after its death.”

“Yes.” Freda nodded. “We all saw Locke's body. It was not a demon.”

“There are other possibilities,” Fenn said.

I looked at him. “Such as…?”

“Perhaps Locke found a double of himself in one of the Shadows,” Fenn said, “and left him in charge while he slipped off to safety.”

“That doesn't sound like Locke,” I said. He was nothing if not duty-bound, valiantly defending Juniper and our family even in the face of impossible odds.

“No, it doesn't,” said Freda. “And yet… if our father had ordered him to do this thing… if he had a greater mission, which might save us all… yes, I believe he would have left a double in charge of the army. At least for a short time.”

“And he might have taken Davin with him!” Aber said excitedly. “You said he disappeared—”

“No,” I said. “I said we never found his body. He and his men lost that battle. We assumed he went down fighting.”

“But if he didn't“

“If he is with Locke—” Freda added.

“We cannot assume it's Locke,” I said.

“Nor can we assume it isn't him,” Fenn said.

I looked at Freda, who leaned over to study her circle of cards, with Locke in the center. What did she see?

“Locke is pivotal to coming events,” she said softly. “I have never seen a reading like this for a dead man.”

We all grew silent, pondering the possibilities. If Locke and Davin lived, it changed everything. We had friends… fighters… men of strength to help us. And if they had a secret mission that could help—the possibilities sent my imagination soaring.

And yet, despite Freda's insistence, a nagging doubt remained. Locke and I had made peace between us in those last days before he fell. No double would have done that. No, the answer was obvious. Somehow, though this double had managed to fool Freda, it couldn't possibly be Locke.

“Who else do you suppose Locke contacted?” Aber asked me.

“My guess would be everyone,” I said. I shook my head. “I still can't accept it, though. Our enemies want nothing more than to get us all in one place. Locke seems to be doing that for them. We must remain on guard. I don't think we can trust this person claiming to be Locke—or anyone else—until we find out the truth.”

A grim silence followed. I looked around at my siblings' faces. Expressions of worry and unease were plain to see.

“I just hope the rest of our family has the sense to stay where they are,” I grumbled half to myself.

Chapter 23

“Lord Oberon,” Port said. “You have a visitor.”

An hour had passed since Fenn's return. I had retreated to my room, a powerful headache throbbing at my temples, to try to think things through. I glanced at the carved wooden face in the door. “Who is it?” I asked.

“A household servant; I do not know his name. Apparently a message has arrived for you. Shall I have him slip it under the door? You look tired.”

“That's not the half of it.” I sighed. “Let him in.”

“Very good, sir.”

Port unlocked himself and swung the door open. A man I vaguely recognized as one of the household servants stood outside. “Yes?” I said.

“A runner brought this for you, sir.” He held out a small white envelope.

“For me? Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

I motioned him forward. Who would be sending me messages here? It had to be our father. At least, I hoped so.

I took the message, waved him off, and returned to the desk.

Behind me, the man cleared his throat. I glanced at him.

“The messenger is waiting for your reply,” he said.

“He can wait a few minutes more. Find Lord Aber and ask him to join me here, please. Tell him it's important.”

“Yes, Lord.” He bowed, then hurried out.

I stared down at the letter. The front said simply “Oberon” in careful script. When I turned it over, I found nothing more than a blob of dark red wax stamped by a seal in the shape of a griffin.

I broke the seal and unfolded the letter. Six lines of the most intricate and flowery penmanship I had ever seen cordially invited me to dine with Lord and Lady Ethshell the following night.

I turned the paper over, but that was it. Brief, to the point, no wasted words.

But… why me? I had never even heard of Lord Ethshell. Why should they invite me, of all people, to join them?

Aber rapped on the doorframe. “What is it?” he said, and swept in without being asked.

I held out the letter. He read it and gave a small, “Hmm.”

“Is that good or bad?” I said.

“Oh, it's good. Very good. You must go, by all means.”

“Why?”

“Because, dear brother, they want to take your measure.” He gave an evil smile. “Unless I'm mistaken, they just received the invitation to Aunt Lan's engagement party tonight. Since their eldest daughter Honoria is still without a husband, and you are, shall we say, husbandly material…”

“But I'm engaged to Braxara.”

“That's never stopped true love before.”

Now it was my turn to “Hmm.” I wasn't sure I liked the sound of that. We had so much going on—so many people trying to kill us, or worse—that I didn't want parents flinging their eligible daughters at me.

“You can bring me along,” he told me, “as chaperone.”

“Maybe she'd prefer your hand, since I'm spoken for.”

“I've already been considered, and rejected, as unsuitable husbandly material. Too artistic, I fear. The Ethshells have a strong military tradition.”

I looked at the invitation again. “It doesn't say anything about bringing a guest.”

“It will be fine. Dad should be the one going with you, but in his absence, any male family member will do.”

He took a piece of paper, wrote a brief reply, folded it up, and dribbled a bit of wax on it. Then he motioned for the servant who'd brought the message to approach.

“Here is our reply,” he said.

“Very good, sir.” He bowed and left.

The moment he was outside, Port closed himself. I turned to Aber.

“What's she like?”

“Honoria? Oh… she's hard to describe.”

“Try.”

“Two or three extra eyes, half a dozen arms, red hair, and very well rounded. Quite a… woman, I guess you'd say.”

“Red hair?” I raised my eyebrows. Some of my favorite lovers had been redheads.

“That's right. Very red, very long, very thick, and all over her body.” He chuckled at my expression. “Well, as much of her body as I've ever seen. I can only imagine the rest.”

“This does not,” I said, “sound promising.”

“Dinner will be a small but traditionally formal affair with the Ethshells. No more than twenty people. I'm sure you'll impress them all.”

“Traditionally formal? I'll guess that means fancy clothes, boring speeches, and pretentious old men and their wives?”

“You've dined with them before?”

I sighed. “With their counterparts in Ilerium, anyway.”

“You'll see,” he said with an encouraging nod, “the food alone will be worth the trip. Now, though, we have to get you cleaned up for Aunt Lan's party.”

I tried on outfit after outfit, assisted by Horace and Aber. My brother kept summoning fancier garments using the Logrus, and each time I thought I looked magnificent, he would shake his head and try again. Fancy collars, shoes like golden hooves, hats of impossibly complex design—I tried them all on, then tore them all off. The stack of discarded silks, leather, and frilled lace grew high on top of my bed.

When I finally stood back and regarded myself in a looking glass, I had a hard time keeping from laughing. My final costume seemed ludicrous. Crimson leggings, a heavily ruffled red shirt with sleeves that puffed out like over-ripe melons, and a jaunty cap with long flowing red feathers that trailed down behind—I had never seen anything so outlandish in my life.

The sad thing was, Aber took it entirely too seriously. He adorned himself in dark blue, though his shirt had splashes of gold at the sleeves. His hat's feathers were longer and more spectacular than my own—not that I objected, of course.

I studied my reflection in the looking glass. Not bad, I finally decided. Once you got used to the puffiness and color, everything fit me well and flattered my appearance.

“If Helda could see me now,” I murmured.

“What did you say?” Aber asked from across the room. He brought my swordbelt over.

“You're absolutely certain,” I said for what must have been the tenth time, “that everyone will be dressed like this?”

“Of course.”

By tradition, according to Aber, I could not arrive via Trump. I had to ride to Aunt Lanara's house in an open carriage, emerge in grand style, walk up the steps through a multitude of well-wishers, and finally enter the grand hall. There, a feast in my honor would commence, followed by dancing and entertainments into the small hours. I would get my first look at Braxara over dinner, when her father offered up a toast in our honor.

“Aunt Lan's parties are notorious for their excesses,” Aber told me. “Everyone important will be there. Perhaps even King Uthor himself.”

“What about Dad?”

He frowned. “He should be there. Everyone will talk about it if he isn't. Want to try his Trump again?”

I shrugged. “I suppose I'd better. Even if he doesn't show up, he ought to know what's going on.”

He brought our father's Trump to me, and I concentrated on it. It took a long time, but finally his image began to stir, as if he were far away. A misty, blurry image came into view—Dad, with a dense forest of pine trees behind him.

“What is it?” he snapped at me.

“We were worried about you,” I said. “The audience with King Uthor“

“Never took place,” he finished. “Forget about it. There are more important things happening. I will be back in a day or two. Guard your backs until then; our enemies are moving fast.”

Suddenly he was gone. I never had a chance to tell him about the serpent scrying on me, the lightning attack, Rhalla being sent to assassinate me, or my engagement to Braxara. Moving fast, indeed!

I repeated what Dad has said to my brother.

“Very curious.” Aber's brow furrowed.

“Very,” I agreed.

“At least he's planning on coming back. Where do you think he was? Any clue?”

“Not in the Courts of Chaos, certainly. The forest behind him looked normal.”

“More important things are happening… what do you think he meant?”

“I think insanity runs in our family.”

I buckled on my swordbelt. Though it had served me well, I had to admit now it showed its age. Aber, of course, noticed too.

“You need a weapon suitable to your station,” he said. “I'll get one of Dad's.” He headed for the door.

“Anything special about them?” I asked, following.

“I'll pick one of the enchanted ones!” he called over his shoulder. Then he bounded down the hall, into an alcove, and up a small flight of steps.

I didn't have long to wait. In less than a minute, he returned with the most beautiful weapon I had ever seen in my life. It was longsword, with intricate scrollwork along the entire length of the blade. The hilt, inlaid with gold, silver, and precious stones, fit my hand as though it had been made for me. I hefted it. It felt curiously light—far lighter than it should have been, considering its size and workmanship.

“Well?” Aber asked.

“It will do.”

“It will do? That's one of the finest swords ever forged. It belonged to our grandfather, Duke Esmorn. He carried it through the Logrus, and it gained magical powers as a result.”

“What sort of powers?” I asked.

“I'm not sure. But that's what I've always been told. Dad refuses to use it.”

“Why?”

Aber shrugged. “I don't know.”

I regarded the flat of the blade more closely and noticed a small inscription: “The meek have no need of arms.” Truly, this was a warrior's weapon. I would take good care of it.

I raised the sword and took a few practice swings. The hilt seemed to turn slightly in my hand, almost as if it had a will of its own will. Interesting. I noted it for future study.

We left not long after, just Aber, Freda, and me—Fenn, pleading exhaustion, begged off—in a grand carriage drawn by white beasts. I hesitated to call them horses, for their necks stretched too long, their long, thin, bony tails had no hair, and their feet… well, six legs gave them speed, but somehow lacked the grace of thoroughbreds.

We left from the courtyard by the rock garden, and the driver circled the main building at a fast trot. With red skies boiling overhead, and purple lightning flickering constantly, guards swung open tall gates for us. We drove out, and madness surrounded us.

I did not know how to describe it. It was as though I stood at the edge of a great cliff, and before me streamed every nightmare known to mankind, pounding at my senses. Colors swirled in mid-air. The rush of wind, which had long died down to the merest whisper at the back of my mind, rose to a full-throated roar. Above, the clouds vanished, leaving a sky as black as midnight, but filled with stars that moved like fireflies.

The horse-creatures began to gallop, hooves pounding. The carriage lurched and jumped. Air screamed around me.

Standing in my seat, I threw back my head and laughed. So this was Chaos. So this was what I had feared!

I drank it all in, arms wide. My every sense raged. The noise and color and tastes and textures assaulted me. I felt hopelessly jumbled and no longer tried to find angles, familiar elements, or anything to cling to. I reveled in the wildness, and my heart knew no boundaries. Chaos! Yes, Chaos! It flowed around me, through me, became me.

Aber, laughing, pulled me down. I stared at him, beyond words, beyond emotions.

“You are drooling,” Freda said. She wiped my mouth with the hem of her dress.

“Why didn't you tell me?” I cried.

“This is the Beyond!” Aber said. “It's why we have walls, or all would be washed away!”

The landscape outside had begun to change. I stared. I couldn't help myself. Every way I turned, I found something incredible. Colors that leapt and spurted like water from a fountain. Walking trees. Stones that roamed the land. Mountains that shook and heaved and abruptly flattened to prairies.

And demon-creatures moved everywhere, on foot, on horseback, and in the air.

The ride, perhaps an hour long, proved a mesmerizing but ultimately uneventful spectacle. I wasn't entirely sure when we left the Beyond and entered the Courts of Chaos, but that we did so I had no doubt.

I had expected an assassination attempt on one or all of us, but it didn't happen. Perhaps Aunt Lanara's influence carried even this far: knowing I must attend her party, our enemies drew back. That, or they had another, more deadly plan in mind…

At last the lands grew more normal and less motive, and streets of huge walled estates appeared. We drove more slowly now, as we encountered traffic—carriages similar to our own, mounted riders, even a few pedestrians. Most looked as human as we did. I found that strangely comforting.

Slowing, our carriage turned in at a set of high iron gates. Behind it, towering over the wall, lay a house so immense it made ours look like a cottage in comparison. It blazed with light, inside and out, and I saw figures moving on a dozen different floors—many of them pressing up to windows to watch us.

Liveried servants, who looked more like frogs than men, stood everywhere at attention. A dozen of them bounded forward to take care of us.

“Announce Lord Oberon, Lady Freda, and Lord Aber,” my sister said.

“You are expected, Lords and Lady!” one of the frog-servants said.

Freda motioned me out. “You must go through the motions of betrothal for now,” she said softly, so only I could hear. “It is the honorable thing to do.”

I nodded. Then trumpets sounded, and a cheer went up as half a hundred doors were flung open and guests began to stream outside. There must have been a thousand of them, as the throngs grew deep around us. They began to call out: “Oberon and Braxara! Oberon and Braxara! Oberon and Braxara!” over and over again.

“What should I do?” I asked Aber, as subtly as I could considering how many people were staring.

“Get out, walk in, find our aunt!” he whispered back.

I stood, raised one hand in a salute, and stepped down onto the steps which the frog-men had carried up to the carriage. The crowds parted for me, leaving a narrow passage up to the house's main entrance.

There, just outside, Aunt Lanara stood beaming down at me. She wore a tiara of diamonds that sparkled and gleamed, and her long gown shimmered with starlight. Even her tusks had been polished and their tips capped in gold.

Beside her stood an elderly man, white-haired, in gold and red pants and shirt. This had to be her husband, my uncle. Aber had told me his name: Leito.

I stopped before them and bowed. “Uncle Leito. Aunt Lanara.”

“Welcome, Oberon. Come inside, my darling boy, and enjoy the hospitality of our house.”

“Thank you.”

A cheer went up from the men and women around me, and everyone began to file back inside. Turning, Leito and Lanara led the way.

Their house proved a cavernous shell, at least in the front. The party seemed to be taking place on more than one level of the house. Above us, people stood on huge flat stones that floated in mid air, drifting up and down, though never bumping into each other or crushing their riders. People stepped from one stone to another freely as they passed, mingling, talking. Laughter, bits of song and poetry, and comments about Aber, Freda, and especially me reached my ears.

“We must see to dinner preparations,” Aunt Lanara said. “Stay here by the door, greet everyone who comes up to you, but commit to nothing. I will return for you shortly.”

“Thank you,” I said.

She patted my cheek and hurried across the floor, calling to servants. They began to spread out into the crowd on the ground floor, carrying trays of appetizers. Others stepped up onto the floating stones and began circulating among the guests overhead.

“Try not to stare,” Aber said in a quiet voice. He had come up behind me.

“I can't help it!” I whispered back.

A heavyset woman with three eyes, greenish-gray skin, and a pair of short horns jutting from her forehead floated down to us, surrounded by four young women who held up corners of her heavily layered and more heavily bejeweled dress. I literally fought back nausea. I had never seen such a repulsive creature before.

“Countess Tsel,” Aber said to her, bowing formally. After a second's hesitation, I did the same. “May I present my brother, Oberon?”

“Please do.” She offered me a cool hand, scaled like a snake's. I kissed it unhappily.

“Enchanted,” I said.

“This is my brother, Duke Urchok,” she said, indicating the squat man with a face full of tentacles, who had just come up to join her. “And my niece, Lady Portia, and her husband, Baron Yorlum.” She indicated a well-dressed couple to her left, both with horns and slightly too-elongated faces, but human enough looking overall.

“I am honored, Duke, Baron.” I bowed to both men, then kissed Lady Portia's hand, my touch lingering for a moment. “And I am most delighted to meet you, my Lady.” Would that she were my bride, instead of Braxara!

Portia blushed. The Baron, with a dark glance at me, took her elbow and escorted her away. They stepped onto one of the floating rocks and drifted toward the ceiling.

“Oberon,” Duke Urchok said in a muffled voice filled with faint hisses and squeaks. He gave a nod. “Good to meet you. We have heard great things about you from your aunt.”

“Your house is old with tradition,” Countess Tsel said, regarding me, “and you might find it profitable to meet my daughter Eleane.”

I glanced at Aber, who gave a slight nod of encouragement. These two must be important. Somehow, I didn't think Aunt Lanara would approve of my dining with them.

“I would be honored,” I murmured, forcing a polite smile.

“Tomorrow?”

“Alas, I have a prior engagement.”

“Then we will do it the following day. For dinner.” He looked around the room. “Are any of your other brothers here? Locke, perhaps?”

“No,” I said. “It's just Aber and me. Locke is dead.”

“Dead! Oh dear. Poor boy, you're practically an orphan. Then you certainly must come to dinner. Bring Aber, but not your father. My dear Sikrad simply cannot have Dworkin in the house. They do not get along.”

Then the countess spotted someone else she desperately needed to talk to and swept away, followed by her brother and entourage. I stared after her, not quite sure whether to be insulted, bewildered, or amused.

“Who is Sikrad?” I asked Aber.

“Her husband. No one has seen him in decades. Half the court thinks Countess Tsel killed and ate him.”

“What!” I cried. “She's a“

“Hush! A cannibal. She's probably eaten a dozen husbands over the years.”

“And her daughter?”

“Nothing but rumors about her… so far.” He grinned at my horrified expression. “I'm sure you're safe enough, at least until after the marriage, should you get that far. Now keep your voice down. It's not polite to shout about such things.”

I swallowed hard. Monsters. Cannibals. Eligible daughters. What had I gotten myself into?

“You could do worse than her daughter,” Aber said. “The countess owns many of the finest krel farms in the Beyond.”

“In case you've forgotten,” I said, “my engagement is about to be announced here!”

“Do you really think that would stop someone like Countess Tsel from trying to marry you off to one of her offspring? After all, if you're good enough for Aunt Lanara, you're certainly good enough for the Countess! They have been rivals for longer than I can remember.”

“Why is it,” I said, “that half the people here seem to have matrimony on their minds?”

“Why do you think Dad's been married so many times?” he said with a laugh. “Maybe now you're beginning to see the reason I like life in Shadows better. I fully think half the females in Chaos are in search of mates at any one time.”

Then Aber's face hardened.

“Be on your guard,” he said, gazing over my left shoulder. “Our enemies approach.”

“Who?”

“Oberon,” Aber said loudly. He swallowed hard. “May I present Lord Ulyanash?”

I turned, forcing a half smiling. Finally I would meet one of our enemies face to face. I would not let any fear or apprehension show.

Ulyanash looked much like Rhalla's description—long, straight black hair, red eyes, two white horns on top of his head—and he dressed all in black, from pants to shirt to boots. Silver buttons at his sleeves added a splash of color. Rather than large and muscular, as I had expected, he was smaller than me and thin almost to the point of skeletal. I found it hard to guess his age, but it couldn't have been much older than I was—no more than five or six years. To my surprise, he carried no weapons.

As we came face to face, his red eyes narrowed. I could tell he was sizing me up, too.

“I am delighted to finally meet you,” I said, smiling with all my teeth. “We have several acquaintances in common.”

“Oh?” He set his hands on his hips and looked me over with contempt. “I find that difficult to believe.”

“Oh, it's true. Why, just this morning a friend told me how much she once admired you.”

“Just so.” He smirked and looked over his shoulders at his friends. “A woman I've cast off has made her way to you.”

His friends chuckled.

I folded my arms. “Her name was Rhalla.”

“I don't remember her,” Ulyanash sneered as he walked in a circle around Aber and me. I pivoted on my right foot, keeping us face to face. “Shows how good she is in bed.”

Once more his friends laughed.

“Actually,” I said, “her complaints were all about your skills in bed. And… certain other areas, where you don't measure up.”

He threw back his head and laughed.

“So, Oberon thinks himself a quick wit. The one great hope for that pitiful House Barimen—”

“Lord Dworkin,” I said. “I believe his titles are older and more respected than your own, few though they are.”

Ulyanash's face hardened suddenly. Apparently he wasn't used to being insulted.

“You are playing a dangerous game,” he said. “Want to raise the wager?”

Aber dropped his voice to a whisper:

“Ignore him. He's looking for a duel.”

“Then,” I said, as I looked Ulyanash up and down with a dismissive glance, “he's welcome to have one!”

Chapter 24

Ulyanash's followers formed a circle around us. A hush fell over the party guests. They began hurrying toward our side. I spotted Aunt Lan, looking down and wringing her hands, atop a floating stone three stories above us. She motioned frantically for us to stop. I ignored her.

“Time and place?” I asked. If I let him pick them, I would have choice of weapons… and the advantage, as I saw it.

“Here,” Ulyanash said smugly. “Now.” With one hand he reached out to the side and plucked from the air some sort of three-clawed weapon, the like of which I had never seen before. “Your trisp and fandon?”

Aber looked at me. “You've never used a trisp,” he said. I remembered our earlier conversation—people fought with them while standing on moving stones? “It's that blade he's holding. It extends magically outward, like rays of light—but sharp, and you control the length at the grip.”

I didn't like the sound of it. “And a fandan?”

“Like a shield, kind of. You use it to parry the trisp, but you can attack with its edges as well.”

Since I had never trained using them—or even seen them used before—I knew I couldn't accept them as our weapons. If I did, I wouldn't last ten seconds.

“No,” I said loudly to Ulyanash.

“What do you mean—no?” Ulyanash demanded.

“It's my choice of weapons. I'm unfamiliar with these, so I choose knives.”

“Knives!” He sneered. “What are we, children?”

“If you're afraid…” I shrugged and half turned away, playing to our audience. “A simple apology will do.” A titter came from the crowd around us.

He hesitated, glancing uncertainly at the faces around us.

“Very well,” he said, trying to sound more certain. “It does not matter. I am equally adept at all weapons. Your fate is assured, son of Dworkin, whether you fight me with toys or a man's weapon.”

I took off the swordbelt Aber had given me and passed it to my brother.

“Why not use swords?” Aber asked me softly. “This one is enchanted. It would help you…”

“I remember,” I replied in a low voice. “And if I won with it, everyone will say it was the blade and not me. Forget magic. When I kill him, everyone will know it was the strength of my arm and the keenness of my eye.”

Everyone moved back a few feet, forming a ring around us. Ulyanash untied his cloak, threw it to one of his friends, then unlaced his collar and pulled his shirt off. His chest was narrow and bony, covered with a fine silken white hair.

I too stripped to the waist and stretched the kinks from my muscles. There would be no chance of our blades catching in clothing.

On the surface, judging by our appearances, it looked like an uneven match—with me the likely winner.

Aber, using the Logrus, produced a mahogany box with a glass lid. It contained a set of matched dueling knives. He opened the lid and gave first choice to my opponent. Ulyanash picked up both blades, hefting them, examining them, before finally selecting one. He put the other one back. Aber turned to me, and I accepted it.

About seven inches long, its blade had been etched with intricate designs of dragons. Its handle, wrapped in strips of black leather, fit my hand perfectly. I noticed that Ulyanash had to adjust his own grip several times trying to get comfortable with it.

Aber grinned, watching Ulyanash fumble with his weapon, and I realized he had chosen these knives specifically for our duel. They fit my larger hands, not my opponent's.

“Begin!” Aber said, snapping the box shut and stepping back into the circle of watchers.

We squared off against each other, and then Ulyanash's face and body rippled and began to change, muscles and bristled spikes popping out all over his skin. He seemed to grow several feet taller and several hundred pounds heavier, until the knife looked like a toy in his hand. He could have crushed me just by falling on me.

I gulped. I hadn't planned on magical tricks. Somehow, this fight no longer seemed like such a good idea.

I glanced at my brother desperately, hoping shape-shifting might be illegal, but he made no objections. Like everyone else in the crowd, his eyes were fixed on Ulyanash. Everyone seemed to be watching him, waiting for him to make his move against me. They thought he would win handily.

Not without a struggle, though. Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward and made a tentative slash at his right shoulder, feeling him out.

He ducked and thrust, and our blades locking together for an instant. Then, with a surge of powerful muscles, he threw me back. I skidded ten feet and almost fell. Breathing lightly, I regained my balance and moved forward once more.

He had me on strength, that much was clear. What about speed, though?

I circled, parrying a couple of his jabs, then tried darting forward. A dive and a quick roll took me under his guard. He looked startled as I came up under his left side. As he whirled—too late!—I rolled again, left, keeping low and fast.

He tried to stomp on my arm, missed, and teetered for a second, off-balance. I saw my chance.

With a lightning thrust, I stabbed upwards and nicked his forearm—unfortunately, not the one that held the knife. A narrow ribbon of blood spun out and upward, toward the ceiling. It spattered watchers on the floating stones above.

I rolled again and came up on the balls of my feet, poised to strike.

“First blood!” Aber called, stepping forward. “Are you satisfied, Oberon?”

I gave a quick nod. “Yes.” The sooner this duel ended, the better as far as I was concerned.

“What about you, Ulyanash?”

“No,” he snarled.

A startled murmur went up from the crowd. Clearly they had expected him to yield. Unfortunately, this was personal for him—not only had he made himself my enemy, I had humiliated him by drawing first blood. Pride wouldn't let him end the battle here.

“Then—continue!” Aber backed away.

Once more Ulyanash and I circled. He moved more slowly and cautiously this time. My taking first blood had done a little good—it had unnerved him. I would have to use that to my advantage.

I tried to close, and this time he danced back, slashing hard. He just missed my face; I felt the wind of his blade scarcely a finger's width from my cheek.

Careful, careful. Pressing forward, I worked to the left, making him turn. That seemed to be his weaker side; I noticed a slight hesitation every time I thrust toward his left cheek. Maybe he had a little trouble seeing with his left eye?

Suddenly he pressed a savage attack. He slashed again and again, knife a blur, putting me on the defensive. I parried and evaded as best I could, dodging and retreating in a circle. Our blades whistled. He grunted, and I noticed sweat starting to bead on his chest. Surely he couldn't keep up that frantic pace long—he would exhaust himself.

I waited patiently, backing in a wide circle, letting him press the attack, doing my best to stay clear.

Deliberately letting my foot slip a bit, I leaned to the left. He thought he saw an opening and lunged with a lightning blow. It came faster and lower than I expected, and I had to spin to the side, barely avoid having my belly punctured.

As I'd hoped, he had overextended his reach. I grabbed his right wrist in my left hand and squeezed as hard as I could.

I had crushed men's bones in combat before. Any normal human would have cried out and dropped the knife, hopelessly cripped. But Ulyanash's bones felt like iron. Instead of dropping the knife, he half turned, jerked his arm up—and sent me flying twenty feet high into the air.

The fall probably would have ended the fight—not from any injury I might have sustained, but because he would have been waiting for me on the floor below. A quick knife thrust, and I would have been dead.

Luckily one of the floating stones saved me. I came within a foot of it, grabbed it with my left hand, swung there a second, then pulled myself on board. The dozen men and women standing there pressed back, giving me room.

I turned, knife ready. But Ulyanash didn't follow me.

“Coward!” Ulyanash cried, pointing at me with his knife. “Look how he runs from the fight!”

“You threw him up there,” Aber said. “Give him a chance to get back down.”

“Or,” I said, “you can come up.”

People began stepping off the stone on which I stood. Panting, I waited and thought about the fight so far. Clearly I needed a new strategy. He was stronger and faster than me.

My stone began to drift toward the floor. Ulyanash moved back, giving it room. He smirked. Clearly he thought he had me.

When the stone was two feet off the floor, I hopped down and faced him. He approached me carefully, circling, knife out and ready.

Then, with a triple feint and a blindingly fast thrust, he caught me off balance and cut my chest. It was a shallow wound, little more than a scratch really, but it stung and bled openly. Blood flowed up into my eyes, and I blinked through a red curtain suddenly.

“Wait!” Aber called. “Second blood!”

Wincing, I drew back. Good—I needed a moment's rest. Grinning, Ulyanash moved back a few paces.

“Are you satisfied?” my brother asked Ulyanash.

“No.”

“Are you satisfied?” he asked me.

“No,” I said calmly. I began a slight shapeshift, closing my wound and stopping the blood flow. I noticed Ulyanash staring at my chest. He frowned. Clearly he wasn't used to opponents healing so quickly and effortlessly.

That gave me an idea. Shapeshifting might be a weapon he wasn't used to—if the rules permitted it. Or even if they didn't.

“So be it,” said Aber. “Continue!”

I circled to the left, keeping my guard up, while Ulyanash sprang forward like a wolf scenting blood. I retreated before him, concentrating not on the fight, but on my body, on the change I wanted. Timing, timing, wait—wait—

I saw my opening. He lunged, and I let him catch my right arm with the tip of his knife. It pierced me so fast, I barely felt it, and his body continued on and over me. His left hand caught my right fore-arm so I couldn't counter. I could have driven the blade into his belly or chest otherwise.

I pulled him close, chest to chest.

“Big mistake,” I whispered in his ear.

I saw startled confusion in his eyes.

“What—” he began.

Then the shapeshift I'd already begun took place. My forearm lengthened, extending a foot, driving the blade of my knife up under his chin, into his skull.

His eyes widened. His mouth opened, and I saw steel inside, piercing his tongue as it reached straight through his palate and into his brain. He screamed soundlessly.

Like a tree toppling, he began to fall on top of me. I tried to pull back, but his weight bore me down. I moaned as the knife drove more deeply into my arm.

His shape-shift began to unravel. As he became lighter and smaller, what seemed like a hundred different hands pulled him off me, began helping me up. I let my own forearm return to normal.

A dozen voices were commenting at once:

“Incredible fight—”

“I can't believe you beat Ulyanash—”

“—never seen the like—”

“How did he—”

“Well done,” Aber said, crouching beside me.

Someone handed him a goblet of wine, which he passed to me. I took a deep swallow.

Freda was suddenly at my side.

Freda said, “The knife must come out.”

I glanced down. Its blade was still buried in my arm nearly to the hilt. Tiny drops of blood beaded and rose into the air around it.

“Do it fast,” I said.

“Not here,” she said. She looked around. “Aunt Lanara—I need a quiet place to work.”

“This way,” our aunt said. She had just reached us. Looking concerned, she led the way through the crowd—which parted for her—to the far wall. There, she opened a door to a small sitting room.

“We'll be out as soon as possible,” Aber promised her. “Oberon will be fine.”

“I promised you excitement,” I said, grinning.

“Yes.” She frowned. “But I cannot tolerate such behavior. No more dueling at my parties!”“

I nodded. “I'm sorry. It was forced upon me.”

She ushered us inside, then closed the door on her way out.

“Don't worry,” Aber said, “she loved every minute of it. Her party's going to be the talk of society for the next month. And so are you.”

“Just what I need…” I muttered.

“Sit down,” Freda said.

Finding a small overstuffed cassock, I did so. Aber used the Logrus to fetch bandages, needle and thread, and a small jar, which seemed to have salve of some kind inside.

“This is going to hurt,” Freda said.

“I've had worse,” I told her.

“Oberon,” Aber said. He was trying to distract me, I realized with a smile. “You let him stab you, didn't you?”

“Not something I'd normally do, but…” I gave a little shrug and winced as pain shot the length of my left arm. My fingertips began to tingle with pins and needles.

“Why?” he asked.

“Did you see what happened?” I asked.

“Just that you suddenly closed and stabbed him.”

I chuckled. “There was… a little more to it than that.”

“He did something with magic,” Freda said.

Aber stared at her. “What?”

“I… do not know. I was looking at him through the Logrus as they fought. I thought I might learn something about Ulyanash from it.”

“Did you?” I asked.

“Almost. He was using magic even before you fought. He had a faint red glow all over. Then, when you killed him, you suddenly glowed a brilliant white. I have never seen anything like it before. What did you do?”

“I shape-shifted, too,” I said.

“To what?” Aber demanded.

“I think I'll keep that part to myself,” I said. If no one had seen what I'd done, I didn't want word of it to get out. I might have to use that trick again someday.

Freda began to mumble something as she applied the salve. I felt better almost immediately. When I glanced back down to see what she had done, I realized she had applied the salve to the knife rather than to me. And, bubbling and frothing, the metal dissolved as I watched. Blood ran freely now, washing a few bits of steel from my wound. Even the leather handle fell off and bounced across the tiled floor, coming to rest against Aber's boots.

“Neat trick,” I said. I wished we'd had that salve in Ilerium.

“It is the best way,” she said. “Sewing the wound shut will hurt more. But I have a salve for the pain.”

She began sewing the wound closed. Her stitches were quick and precise.

Aber said, “Ulyanash shouldn't have forced the duel on you. Nobody fights to the death anymore. It's… frowned upon.”

“Why?”

“It's too easy for such fights to escape control.”

I shrugged, winced.

“Sit still,” Freda said. She had almost finished.

I continued, “I didn't want to kill him, but if I hadn't, he would have killed me.”

“Yes.” Aber's gaze was distant. “He had two chances to call the fight over, but he wouldn't. He had second blood, so there wouldn't have been any lost honor. It's clearly his own fault. No one who saw it will blame you.”

“Good.”

“His family, though… You're likely to have a blood feud on your hands. We all are.”

“Done,” Freda, tying up the wound with a length of bandage. “No more fighting tonight, Oberon. Promise me.”

I rose. “I'll try not to,” I said.

Aber said, “That trick aside… honestly, I don't think you should have been able to kill him.”

I raised my eyebrows. “I'm pretty good with a blade, you know.”

“He was a Lord of Chaos. A full-blooded lord. You don't know what that means.”

“We are not as powerful as once we were,” Freda said. “You know that.”

Aber sighed. “Not that again…”

I looked from one to another. “Will someone tell me what you're talking about?”

“There are a lot of important people at this party,” Freda said. “I have been talking and listening. I believe I know what has happened to Father.”

I faced her. “What?”

“It is about the Shadows. King Uthor says they have weakened Chaos and everyone here. He wants them destroyed.”

I looked from one to another. “What does that have to do with Dad?”

She hesitated. “There are forces in the universe that are equal and opposite to Chaos and the Logrus. They work to strengthen themselves and undermine our power. King Uthor's investigation into the cause of the Shadows' appearance has somehow focused on Dad. They think he's responsible.”

“How?” I demanded.

“Nobody quite knows. But if he somehow allied himself with another power, something different from the Logrus, he may have found a way. He was arrested when he reached King Uthor's palace two days ago. Somehow, he… simply vanished from his cell. It should not have been possible. The Logrus sealed him inside, without access to magic.”

Something different from the Logrus… I thought of the Pattern within me and swallowed hard.

Suddenly, it all began to make sense.

Chapter 25

“If King Uthor is behind the attacks on our family, we must flee into Shadow!” Aber said. “I'm going now, before we're arrested next!”

Freda gave him a withering stare. “Nothing has been proved about Father,” she said. “He is merely suspected. We are not—because we have done nothing wrong. We may fall under scrutiny, but we have nothing to hide. If you run, they will assume you are guilty and take action accordingly.”

“Someone else knows about Dad,” I said, frowning. Rising, I paced the room. “That's why we have all been targets. Someone other than King Uthor is trying to kill us for what Dad did.”

“Then you're saying it's true—” Aber began.

“Yes! I… feel it.” I swallowed, the image of the Pattern rising in my mind. Whatever deal our father had made with this thing, this power that was not the Logrus, I saw now that it involved me. Somehow, it had to do with the Pattern within me. If anyone else realized what I knew, what I could draw upon, I would be marked for death.

Aber sat heavily. “I… hoped it was all a mistake,” he said. “Someone pursuing a blood feud against Dad. But if he has betrayed us… betrayed King Uthor and the Logrus…”

“Do not talk that way!” Freda said. “We do not know what he has or has not done.”

Aber raised his head. “You know. So does Oberon.” I swallowed. But I could not reply. Neither could Freda. Finally I said, “We will talk more about this later.”

“We cannot leave Aunt Lanara waiting,” Freda said, gathering her skirts and rising. “Say nothing. I will see what else can be discovered.”

The rest of the evening passed relatively uneventfully. We moved from the social hour to a huge dining hall. My uncle sat at the head of the table, with my aunt to his right and me to his left, opposite her. Aber and Freda sat at the middle of the table. A large section sat empty… I assumed Ulyanash and his followers would have been seated there. They had left early, taking his body with them.

Two seats down from me sat my bride-to-be, Braxara.

I had seldom seen a more unappealing woman. From her bald, three-horned head to her fanged mouth, from her pallid skin to her deathlike stare, every element repulsed me. Although I had fully intended to go through with the marriage to keep my word—it could be a marriage in name only, after all—upon catching sight of the bride-to-be I knew I had to find a way out.

Still, a year was a very long time, and many things could happen…

“A toast!” cried my Uncle Leito, standing. He raised his goblet. “To Oberon and Braxara!”

“To Oberon and Braxara!” everyone cried, raising their own goblets.

Glancing at my bride-to-be, I found her coolly studying me. I forced a smile. She did the same. Somehow, I got the feeling she disliked me nearly as much as I disliked her.

It was late by the time the party began to wind down. I had seen little of Freda and Aber all evening—they had been busy gathering news and gossip—and I missed them. Aunt Lanara and Uncle Leito kept close guard on me after the feast, introducing me to such a steady stream of dukes, duchesses, barons, lords, and ladies that I couldn't keep the names straight or tell one from another after the first dozen.

Finally, though, they saw fit to give Braxara and me a few moments together in the gardens just outside the ballroom. Here, strolling through the odd plants and small moving rocks, under the curious glow of three moons, we had a moment to talk.

“You are not what I expected,” she told me.

“Nor you,” I replied.

“Why did you accept this marriage?”

“I needed something from Lanara. This was her price. I'm sorry… it was not for love.”

She laughed, and the moonlight glinted off her horns. “When has love ever had much to do with marriage?”

I shrugged. “I had hoped…”

“You have much to learn.”

We walked together in an uncomfortable silence. We had not said another word by the time we returned to the ballroom. I hadn't known what to say to her; she hadn't offered anything more.

She made her departure not long after that, and the other guests took that as their cue to leave. When we bade farewell to the last of the guests, only my aunt, uncle, Freda, Aber, and a small army of servants remained. The servants busied themselves cleaning up.

“The evening has been a great success,” Aunt Lanara proclaimed, “marred only by that unfortunate incident with Lord Ulyanash.”

“It could not be avoided,” I said. “I take some small consolation from the fact that he won't ruin any future parties.”

She gave me an odd look. “He was well regarded, you know.”

“Despite his family.”

“True…” She sighed. “Still, what is done cannot be undone. We must concentrate on the triumphs of the evening. You and Braxara made a handsome couple.”

Freda said, “I have never seen a finer gathering, Aunt Lanara.”

“Thank you, my dear!” she positively beamed.

“We ought to be getting home,” Aber said. “It's late, and I already sent our carriage on ahead.”

“Thank you for everything, Aunt Lanara.” I kissed her cheek. “Uncle Leito.” I shook his hand.

He gave me a hug, and whispered in my ear: “Guard yourself, boy. I am hearing many rumors of your father, and his name is linked to treason.”

I gave a quick nod. “Thank you.”

Aber produced a Trump, and the three of us returned home directly.

We were all tired, but took a moment to linger in Aber's bedroom, where his Trump had brought us. I looked around at the clutter. Half-painted Trumps lay out on the desk, several dozen full-sized paintings, including several portraits of Freda, leaned up against the walls, and stacks of brushes and jars of paint and pigment lay everywhere. Even the carpets underfoot were dotted with spots and spills of paint. It had a very comfortable, lived-in feeling.

Aber cleared paintings off two chairs for Freda and me while he perched on the edge of the bed. When we all had our seats, Freda was the first to speak.

“The situation does not look good for Father,” she said. “His flight has only served to convince one and all of his guilt.”

“I imagine so,” I said. “Do they have any idea where he went?”

“None,” Freda said with a sigh. “He can apparently mask his trail. I also received a warning. If Father returns, we must notify King Uthor's counselors immediately. If we do not, we will be judged accomplices and dealt with accordingly.”

Aber swallowed audibly. “Then it's settled,” he said. “It's going to be Dad or us. We have to choose.”

“No we don't,” I said. “At least… not yet. He hasn't come home yet. And if he never returns…”

“Then all we have to worry about is whoever is trying to kill the rest of us,” Aber said. “Great.”

“Perhaps the death of Ulyanash will end the attacks,” Freda said. “If he planned them“

“He was involved,” I said, thinking back to the tower of skulls, “but he was not the one in charge. Our main enemy is still out there.”

Later, in my room, as I was preparing for bed, I felt a strange presence. Someone was trying to contact me via Trump. I figured it had to be Aber, so I opened my mind.

“What is it?” I asked. The image before me flickered, but did not come clear, as though something interfered with our connection. “Who's there?”

A low, unpleasant, and somehow familiar chuckle followed. “Don't you recognize your brother? You left me behind in Juniper.”

“Locke?” I guessed.

“Very good.” His voice had a mocking quality. I shivered; it sounded exactly as I remembered it.

“Locke is dead,” I said, wary now. “Who are you?”

The mists between us parted a little, and I saw my dead brother standing there.

Chapter 26

My eyes narrowed. It certainly looked like my half-brother, from the arrogant turn of the lips to the swaggering stride. He took two steps forward, staring at me in turn.

“Locke is dead,” I said. “I saw him die. We burned his body on a funeral pyre.”

“And your head is made of thicker stone than I'd thought. If anyone else there had a shred of sense, I'd be talking to them now. But you're the one who can help. Do you want to find out who's killing off our family, or not?”

I bit back an angry reply. This person certainly sounded like Locke. When we first met in Juniper, I had wanted to pound him into the ground with my fists. He had been rude, arrogant, and dismissive of me—a typical Lord of Chaos, apparently.

“Of course I do,” I said. “But I need proof you're who you say you are.”

“Ask Freda. She will tell you.”

I shrugged. “She is convinced. I am not. I was with Locke when he died.”

“That wasn't me.”

I paused. “Then who was it?”

“I don't know. I was drugged, taken from Juniper, and held prisoner. Those who took me… well, to make a long story short, I escaped and most of them are dead. I've been preparing to act. I'm going to need help, though—your help, Freda's, everyone's. The time is almost right.”

“Right for what?”

“An attack. I know who our enemy is. It's King Uthor.”

I hesitated. That mostly matched my own theory. If Locke was telling the truth—if this really was Locke—then a lot of changes were coming. And I wasn't sure they'd be for the better.

“Where are you?” I said.

“I'm in a distant Shadow. Time moves faster here… much faster. I've had six months to raise an army. We can help each other, Oberon. I'm going to conquer the Chaos and make myself king.”

“Is Davin with you?” I asked suddenly.

He hesitated. “No. He's in the field with our troops. Why?”

“We lost him in battle… his body was never recovered.”

“He helped me escape.”

“And Fenn and Isadora? They left to get help in Juniper, but never made it to the Courts of Chaos—”

“I don't know where they are.”

A chill suddenly went through me. I knew he had contacted Fenn. Therefore, he was lying. This couldn't be my brother. If he knew personal details about Freda, then Locke must have shared them with someone… perhaps Taine or Mattus. The information could have been gotten from either of them through torture. Which meant he was in league with the serpent in the tower of skulls.

“Very well,” I said without a bit of hesitation. I couldn't let him know I suspected anything. “Where shall we meet? Here?”

“No. Your house is being watched.” He frowned, forehead wrinkling. “I have to go to the Courts of Chaos tonight. Maybe you can meet me then. I have allies who are going to help me seize power when the time is right.”

I nodded. “That's right, you're a full-blooded Lord of Chaos, aren't you? So you can make a legitimate claim on the throne?”

“Yes.”

I nodded. “Where?”

“Tsagoth Square. Do you know it?”

“No, but I'll find it.”

“Here.” His hand jerked, and something white flew threw the air at me. Instinctively I caught it—a Trump, showing an unfamiliar courtyard, surrounded by dark and foreboding buildings.

“Tsagoth Square,” he said. “Come alone in one hour.”

Alone… so I would be an easy target. I forced a smile and nodded. And then contact was gone.

I brooded on what to do and finally decided to do nothing for the moment. The fake Locke said our house was being watched. That couldn't be true, or he would have known about Fenn being here. Aber's protection spells must be working.

I would go, and I would have answers—or kill him trying to get them.

Then a question occurred to me. He had contacted my by Trump. Where had he obtained it? I frowned. As far as I knew, Aber had only made two, one for Freda and one for his own use. Though if Dad and Aber could make Trumps, perhaps others in our family could, too… I would have to ask Aber about it later.

Taking out the set of Trumps my brother had loaned me, I pulled out our father's. Slowly I focused on it. I felt a distant stirring, and then contact… a voice, but no image came to life.

“What is it?” he said.

“It's Oberon. I need to talk to you.”

“This is not a good time.”

“I may be about to walk into an ambush. I need your advice.”

“Wait“

And then there was nothing. I couldn't tell if he had deliberately severed our connection, or if something else had interrupted it.

After trying twice more to contact him without success, I went downstairs, got a small crossbow from the guards' armory on the ground floor, loaded it with a bolt, and returned to my room. I stayed long enough to write a note explaining what had happened and where I was going. If Dad showed up, he'd be able to follow me; if Aber and Freda found it, they would know what had happened… and that the man who was almost certainly impersonating Locke had probably betrayed and killed me. Then I buckled on the enchanted sword that Aber had swiped for me from our father's rooms.

“I'm going out,” I said to Port. “The next time Freda or Aber come past, let them in. Tell them I left a note for them on my desk.”

“Very good, sir!”

I took two Trumps, Dad's and the one of my bedroom that Aber had made, and put them into a pouch at my belt. Then I used the Trump that fake-Locke had sent and went through to Tsagoth Square half an hour early.

As the picture had indicated, Tsagoth Square was a small paved courtyard with huge flagstones underfoot. Dark buildings rose on all sides. Four moons moved through the heavens in different directions overhead, and stars swirled like fireflies. I looked around by the half-light they provided and spotted a few statues of hideously deformed men holding swords at the far end. They offered the only cover, so I hid behind them, where I could see the center of the square, but not be seen.

I drew out my father's Trump and stared at it. I felt a faint distant stirring, but no direct contact.

“I'm in Tsagoth Square,” I said. “If you can hear me, I could really use your help now.”

Nothing happened. No reply, no sense of his presence, not a word. I sighed and put the Trump away. So much for parental loyalty. I should have known better.

As I'd expected, I didn't have long to wait. Suddenly, the false Locke stepped into the square. He was alone. Drawing his sword, he stood ready to attack me when I tried to enter through the Trump he'd sent. Had I been on time, I would have been quickly killed.

That settled it. I rose silently, aimed, and fired the crossbow at his back.

He seemed to sense the bolt coming; whipping around, he batted it out of the air harmlessly.

“So,” he said, stalking toward me, “you know.”

“Yes.” I drew my sword and bounded into the open. The blade fit my hand like it had been made for me. I advanced on him, too. “Fenn gave you away. You spoke to him. He's in our house now.”

He shook his head and sloughed off his face like a snake shedding its skin. I stopped and stared, bewildered and horrified. It wasn't Locke. I'd expected that. But the face underneath… Ulyanash?

“You're dead,” I said. “I killed you!”

“You are as stupid as your father,” Ulyanash sneered, wiping bits of skin away from the corners of his eyes. “You have no power here, unholy mongrel! You do not know our ways. You could not hope to stand against a Lord of Chaos who wants you dead.”

“I did it once.”

“That was my cousin Orole. I could not attend Lady Lanara's party and kill you myself, so I sent him in my place. We look much alike. Everyone is fooled whenever we switch places.”

“I killed him, and I can kill you.” I shrugged. “I can't imagine you're a much better fighter than he was.”

“That shows how little you know.” He raised his sword and advanced on me again.

“Explain it to me,” I said, trying to draw out information. I circled, keeping twenty feet between us. “Don't let me die in ignorance.”

“Born in ignorance. Raised in ignorance. What harm to die in ignorance?”

Leaping forward, he closed quickly, then lunged. I parried, still backing away. Best to keep him talking. He seemed as slow-witted as Aber and Rhalla had claimed. Why else take time to brag in the middle of a fight?

“I know more than you think,” I said.

“Tell me something, then.” He slowed his advance. “Maybe you can buy your life, if you have the information I want or need.”

I chuckled. “Or maybe you can buy yours. How about we trade?”

He shrugged. “You are going to die anyway. Why not? There are things I want to know.”

“I'll go first,” I said. “Who is the serpent in the tower of skulls?”

He looked surprised. “Lord Zon, for all the good it will do you. My turn now. Does Dworkin really have the Jewel of Judgment?”

“I don't know,” I said honestly.

“Wrong answer.”

Without warning, he lunged. The silvered blade of his sword slid past my frantic parry, nicking my left shoulder. The wound was minor—little more than a scratch, really—but it stung, then turned cold. An icy feeling began to spread down my arm toward my fingers. His blade was poisoned, I realized with shock.

“Want to change your answer?” he asked, drawing back a pace.

“I cannot change the truth. I have never heard of the Jewel of Judgment. What is it?”

“A ruby, a little smaller than a man's fist.”

“Ah.” I nodded, knowing the one to which he referred. When we were in Juniper, my father had somehow taken me inside the gem. It had opened up my mind to the Pattern within me.

“Then you do know the Jewel?”

“Yes. I didn't know it had a name.”

“Where is it?”

“My father has it. Why is it important?”

I felt a strange warmth in my right hand. The sword's hilt… perhaps it was doing something to counteract the poison? I tightening my grew. The numbness no longer seemed to be spreading from my wound quite so quickly.

“It is… a key to controlling the Logrus. My turn. Where is it now?”

“I don't know. The last time I saw it, Dad had it in his workshop in Juniper. It may still be there.”

Ulyanash regarded me silently for a moment, then nodded. “I believe you,” he said. “Fair enough.”

“My turn again,” I said. “Who does Lord Zon work for? I know it's not King Uthor.”

“Lord Zon works for himself. One day soon, he will be King of Chaos.”

“And you'll be his right hand man? That sounds like a plot worse than my father's.”

He smirked. “In a way, your father made all this possible. Uthor is weak because of him. His followers waver in their loyalty. When we strike…”

I saw movement over Ulyanash's left shoulder. A man was entering Tsagoth Square, stepping into it from empty air. Obviously he was using a Trump. Aber?

No—it was my father! And he had his sword drawn. It seemed he'd gotten my message and followed me here after all.

I took a deep breath. My whole left side felt heavy and cold. The warmth from the enchanted sword could not hold it back. Numbness spread into my chest. No wonder Ulyanash had won so many fights, if he poisoned his weapons. When the coldness reached my heart… I did not like to think what would happen.

“I seem to have run out of questions for you,” he said. He raised his sword. “Prepare yourself, son of Dworkin!”

Dad began to creep up behind him, moving as softly as a cat. I had never been so happy in my life to see someone. I had to keep Ulyanash talking for just a few seconds more.

“I have one last thing to ask,” I said. I let my sword sag down as if I couldn't hold it up any longer. “I need to know—who was behind the attack on our family in Juniper? Was it you?”

“Of course.” He laughed.

I let my head fall to my chest. “I thought so.”

He stepped forward, sword ready.

“Look behind you,” I whispered.

He started to glance back, then thought better of it—it was an old trick, I had to admit. Instead, with his smirk growing broader, he raised his sword for a killing blow.

With one swing, my father struck Ulyanash's head from his shoulders. Blood sprayed across me, then began to drift up toward the sky. His body hit the ground with a dull thump.

“I came as soon as I could,” my father said. He bent to clean his blade on Ulyanash's shirt. “Are you all right, my boy? Are you up for more work tonight? I need you.”

“His sword was poisoned.” I gave a pained grimace. “He nicked me. I think I'm…”

And I felt myself collapse.

Chapter 27

I awoke slowly, feeling stiff. Sunlight came through an open window, showing a pleasant enough room. Whitewashed walls, long narrow bed, wooden floor. Outside, birds sang. We were in Shadow somewhere. “Dad?” I called.

No answer. It seemed I'd been abandoned again. My shoulder had been bandaged. I sat up and pulled away the dressing, discovering fresh pink skin over the wound. Apparently I'd been here a few days. The knife wound in my arm had also healed. I washed up, dressed, and went into the next room. A small table sat waiting for me, along with a basket of cold bread, a bottle of red wine, and a note. The note said:

I have urgent business in another Shadow. Time runs very fast here, so it will probably be a few days before I return. Get your strength back. I need your help.

The note wasn't signed.

I ate slowly. The crusty brown bread had gone a bit stale, but the wine more than made up for it.

As I chewed, I began to have a strange sensation of being watched. I remembered the serpent-creature who had used Taine's blood to scry upon me... Lord Zon, Ulyanash had named him. Zon might well be spying on me now and cursing the day I had come to the Courts of Chaos. Hopefully he had lost one of his chief lieutenants in Ulyanash.

The Pattern within me seemed to have special properties. Let's see how I could use them.

With the bread knife, I began to carve an image of the Pattern into the table before me. As I did, my sight seemed to drift away from the reality of here and now. I saw dark lines, threads of energy, rising from the table. They formed an image of the Pattern, slowly spinning in mid air. I willed it up, up, larger and larger, surrounding and protecting me.

Suddenly, like a door closing, my sense of being watched came to and end. Whatever connection Lord Zon had made between Taine's blood and me, between the tower of skulls and this little cottage, had been broken.

I let the Pattern go, and it fell apart. The carving became just scratches on the tabletop, no more. My breathing relaxed. Goodone problem had been taken care of.

It seemed I, too, could command some real magic—untrained though I might be. I could at the very least protect myself from being spied upon.

My use of the Pattern further confirmed my suspicions… Dad had allied himself with some power other than the Logrus. And he had given the gift of its Pattern to me… though where the Jewel of Judgment fit into it all, I couldn't yet say.

I sighed. Our enemies wouldn't wait. I couldn't sit around this cottage waiting for Dad to return. My every action had been well rewarded thus far… from the party at Aunt Lanara's house to the fight with Ulyanash. Of course, I reminded myself, I would have died if not for Dad's timely intervention… but wasn't that what parents were for?

It was time to take the battle to Lord Zon and his tower. I had been there often enough in my dreams. I knew what it looked like. Now it was my turn to try drawing a Trump.

Bending, I dipped my index finger into my cup of wine, then rose and crossed to the nearest whitewashed wall. My brother Aber always drew a representation of the Logrus beneath the images he painted on Trumps. Our father had told me it wasn't necessary; he could do it by simply keeping the Logrus fixed in his mind while he worked. I could not draw on the Logrus, as I had never ventured into it, but the Pattern within me seemed to have many of the same powers.

I summoned a mental image of the Pattern and began to sketch the tower of skulls… from the inside. I showed the altar slab, the winding staircase of leg bones, the doorway through which hell-creatures had dragged my brothers to be tortured. The image took on an aliveness, a sense of reality and immediacy, despite being pale pink lines on the wall. Whenever I willed it, I knew I could bring the image to life and step through.

Then, licking wine from my finger, I stepped back. Yes, it would do. Crude though it was, I really had created a Trump. I knew it would work.

Retrieving my sword from the bedroom, I found the pen and ink my father had used, left him my thanks on the back of the note he'd left me, and told him I had gone to rescue Taine from the tower of skulls. I would return home to our house in the Beyond if successful. If not… he should try to contact me via Trump and bring me back directly.

Then I turned to the picture I had sketched on the wall, concentrating. Slowly, I felt it coming to life before me. It grew darker, blacks and browns emerging… lengthening shadows… the altar block… the circling stairway of bones… the entrance through which prisoners came…

Like a doorway, it filled the wall.

Hefting my sword, I stepped through.

The inside of the tower proved to be deserted. I knew it from the way my footsteps echoed; the shadows where I had previously seen Lord Zon remained empty. I no longer felt that malevolent presence there.

I crept up to the shadowy doorway and peered into a narrow corridor that circled down. A single torch lit the way, its light bubbling up to pool on the ceiling. Pausing, I listened, but heard nothing… no rustle of leather, no clink of armor, nor even the moans of prisoners.

I started forward, treading softly, sword ready. It couldn't possibly be this easy to rescue Taine.

The passageway descended. I came to a line of doors, all of them closed. Cells? I unbarred the first one and pushed it open, revealing a dark, tiny room scarcely large enough to lie down in. A skeleton lay chained in the far corner, its bones showing signs of having been gnawed. A few tatters of clothing remained, but nothing to tell me who it had been. Hopefully not one of my missing brothers or sisters.

The next two cells were empty.

The fourth cell held Taine. I rushed to his side. Still alive—?

He was not chained, but lay on a pile of straw against the far wall. His bare chest and arms were covered with scabbed-over sores and cuts, just as I had seen in my last spirit-voyage here. A yellow crust covered his eyes. For a second I thought he might be dead, but then as I bent over him and my shadow covered his face, he moaned and tried to push me away.

“Lie still,” I said softly. “I'm your brother Oberon. I'm here to rescue you.”

He began to thrash and cry out wordlessly. Clearly he was beyond reason. Luckily his strength was gone; his blows were like a child's. I pinned his arms with one hand, then picked him up and threw him over my shoulder. He was curiously light—he had to weigh less than a hundred pounds now, starved as he was to skin and bones—and I had no trouble carrying him.

When I turned to leave, however, the room darkened. Half a dozen guards filled the doorway, blocking out the torch light. They all held swords at the ready.

I swallowed and raised my own weapon. It would be a challenge to cut my way through them while protecting Taine.

Instead of trying to fight me, however, they slammed the door shut. I heard the bar dropping into place.

Darkness surrounded me. I had a terrible, sinking feeling inside. Taine moaned.

“Don't give up just yet,” I told him.

He did not reply. I put him down on the pile of straw, then sat next to him, my back to the wall and my sword balanced across my knees.

I fished the first Trump out of the pouch at my belt, the one showing my room. A couple of thin blades of light came in through cracks in the door. I tilted the Trump until I could see I clearly and began to concentrate.

It should have come to life before me, but it didn't. I felt… nothing. Something, some spell of Lord Zon's, prevented the Logrus from working in here.

So much for my first backup plan. I put the Trump away. Before I could try creating a Pattern-Trump of my own, the light faded away, leaving me in complete darkness… no way to see or draw a new Trump.

I sighed. That just left my father.

It shouldn't be long now. It shouldn't be long at all…

Chapter 28

After what seemed a lifetime, I felt the familiar sensation of someone trying to reach me via my Trump. I opened my mind and reached out.

Dworkin appeared before me, framed by the white walls of the cottage. My wine-sketched Trump lay behind his left shoulder.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“In a cell with Taine. Take us out?”

He nodded and extended his right hand. “Come on.”

I picked up my brother's limp body, reached out to Dad, and he pulled us both through to the cottage. As the dark cell disappeared, I couldn't help but grin.

“Thanks,” I said. “I've been waiting for you.”

He glanced at the sword in my hand. “They did not disarm you, I see. What happened?”

“It was a trap,” I said.

I carried Taine into the bedroom and set him down on the bed. He stirred a moment, then lay still. He looked worse in the bright light than he had in the cell. Still, he was tough or he would have died long before this.

“They locked me up when I went into Taine's cell,” I continued. “I tried to get out with one of Aber's Trumps, but they must have spells that prevent the Logrus from working, I think, like in Juniper.”

“Interesting,” he said.

“They haven't figured out yet that you're no longer using the Logrus.”

Dworkin chuckled. “You know too much, my boy! Good thing they did not question you.”

He looked over my brother's injuries briefly. “Dehydration and loss of blood, I think. Starvation. The wounds look worse than they really are. Get him something to drink.”

“Water…” gasped Taine suddenly.

I looked in the next room, but only found the half bottle of wine I hadn't finished. I poured him a glass and held his head up while he took tiny sips.

He finished it all, then lay back and seemed to go to sleep—or pass out.

“What should we do with him?” I asked. “Do you know any safe Shadows, where they can't possibly reach him?”

“I have a better idea.”

He produced a new Trump and handed it to me. It showed the library of our house in the Beyond. The paint glistened; it hadn't been made long before.

“Take him to Freda. She will nurse him back to health. Home may be the best place for them all right now. I can't think of a safer one.”

“Aber and Freda put up spells to shield it,” I said.

“I know,” he said. “So have I. Get going.”

“Then what? When will I see you again? You said you needed my help.”

“I do. I will.” He nodded. “I will contact you soon. I have one quick errand first…”

Scooping up Taine, I studied the Trump until the library grew before me. Scrolls, books, the table…

I stepped through and found myself in the room. Fenn and Aber were seated at the table, talking. They leaped to their feet, looking surprised—and happy.

“Is that Taine?” Aber cried.

“Yes.”

“How“

“I rescued him,” I said simply.

I deliberately didn't mention our father's role in the adventure—if they knew too much, they might be considered conspirators with Dworkin and me, and punished accordingly. That was the moment I realized I was a conspirator, whether I wanted to be or not. Clearly, with that Pattern inside me, I could never hope to ally myself with King Uthor and the Courts of Chaos. They would destroy me at once if they ever found out. My future had to lie elsewhere… with this power to which Dad had allied himself.

“Let me give you a hand,” Fenn said. He took Taine from my arms.

Aber and I followed him out and up the stairs to the floor where we all had rooms. He knew Taine's door, and the face carved in it let us all in without any question. It seemed they could adapt to emergencies when they had to.

Anari suddenly appeared in the doorway, looking concerned.

“Lord Taine?” he asked. “Is he—”

“Alive but unconscious,” I said. “Find Freda and tell her to get in here. Then get us warm broth and lots of water. I don't think he's eaten in weeks.”

“Yes, Lord.” Anari turned and ran down the hall.

I returned to the bed. Taine began to stir and opened his eyes a little as Fenn put pillows behind his head.

“I dreamed…” he whispered.

“Try not to think about it,” Aber said. “The important thing is that you're here and you're safe.”

Freda appeared. “What is this about?” she demanded. Then she saw Taine and hurried forward, pushing Aber and Fenn to one side.

“I think,” Aber said, drawing me out to the hall, “that you have a story to tell us.”

I chuckled. “It's going to have to wait. I'm exhausted, and I'm going to bed. Call me if we're attacked, otherwise…”

“But your meeting with Locke! What happened?”

“It wasn't Locke,” I said simply. “He told me where to find Taine before I killed him. Then I went and got him. It's that simple.”

Port swung my door open as I approached.

“No one,” I said after he closed, “is to come in here until I wake up. Especially not brothers, sisters, or beautiful half-dressed women!”

“A very wise decision,” said Port, sounding happy at last.

I couldn't have been asleep for more than a few hours before I felt rough hands shaking me.

“What now?” I groaned. If this was Aber, using yet another of his seemingly endless supply of Trumps, I'd strangle him.

But it was not Aber. It was my father.

“Get dressed, quickly and quietly,” he said. “We're leaving. I told you I needed your help. The time has come.”

Chapter 29

“You keep telling me you need my help,” I said, sitting up. “With what, exactly?”

“Oh, this and that,” he said. “And I want your company, my boy. We should spend more time together…”

I had a strange feeling he had no intention of telling me anything right now. The last time he had shown up like this and dragged me out of bed, it had been in Ilerium, and he had saved my life. Hell-creatures had hurled glowing green fire at my house, destroying it almost as I stepped through the door.

I began pulling on my pants.

“Is an attack coming?” I demanded. I pulled on my left boot, stamping my foot on the floor to force it comfortably into place. “If so, we have to get everyone out of the house.”

“No one knows I am here,” he said. “I do not think an attack will come. At least, not tonight.”

“Will I need a sword?”

“Hopefully not. Bring one anyway.”

Chuckling, I got my right boot on, then pulled on my shirt and laced up the front. I would have brought my sword whether he wanted me to or not; that he wanted me to bring it meant he expected fighting.

Finally, rising, I buckled on my swordbelt and loosened the blade in the scabbard.

“Ready,” I announced.

“That sword—I meant to ask you where you got it.”

“Aber borrowed it for me. I needed it for my engagement party. I'm supposed to marry my cousin Braxara next year.”

He stared at me, shaking his head. “Oberon… how do you get yourself into these things? I will talk to her parents. We cannot have such a match.”

“Not that they would let her marry the son of a traitor,” I said.

He looked at me oddly. “Not a traitor… the founder of a new dynasty!”

“I'd be happy to make it through this whole mess alive.”

He shook his head and pulled out a Trump I had never seen before. This one had been carefully finished, unlike the hastily sketched Trumps he had made in Juniper, and it looked old—a favorite place he had been many times before, I guessed.

It showed an ancient tavern with ivy-colored walls, small-paned glass windows glowing warmly from within, and a pair of huge brick chimneys from which smoke rose. The sign of a boar's head hung over the doorway.

“You're taking me drinking?” I asked, letting a hopeful note creep into my voice.

“I need help,” he said, “to correct a great mistake I made many years ago. And this is where we are going to start.”

“Aha,” I said. “The theft of the Jewel of Judgment, I assume.”

“What do you know about that?” he demanded, regarding me warily. Unconsciously, he touched his chest… just about the place a pendant would hang. Or the Jewel, if he had it on a chain around his neck. I studied him.

“It's all everyone is talking about in the Courts. People keep asking me if I know where you hid it.”

Shaking his head, he forced a laugh. “Next time they do, tell them I never had it.”

“All right,” I agreed. No sense in tipping my hand any more than I already had. “Now, about this tavern…”

He smiled happily. “A friend of mine runs it,” He said. “Come on. I do need a drink now!”

Taking my elbow, he raised the Trump and concentrated on the image. It seemed to come to life, rising and expanding before us, a low stone building with ivy running up the walls, plenty of open windows with curtains fluttering in the breeze. I heard voices raised in a cheerful drinking song, smelled baking bread and roasting meat on the faint wind that now touched my face.

He stepped forward, pulling me with him. My feet left the wooden floor, and I trod on hard-packed dirt.

It was early afternoon, and we stood in front of the tavern. A warm wind blew, heavy with the smells of trees and grass and summer. Birds sang and insects chirped.

Through the open doorway of the tavern came a minstrel's voice, accompanied by the strumming of a lute, and suddenly a dozen voices joined in on the chorus.

I smiled; this was the sort of place I liked. Leaving Chaos made it feel like a heavy weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I would not go back easily to that nightmare place.

Dad started forward, and I fell in step behind him, one hand dropping to the hilt of my sword. For all I knew, this might be a carefully constructed trap. If our enemies knew Dworkin frequented this place, what better spot for an ambush?

Fortunately, we found no hell-creatures inside—just a dozen men, who seemed to be locals in for a quiet evening of cards and gossip, plus a couple of serving maids and a portly man behind the bar, whose eyes lit up with honest pleasure as he spotted my father.

“Dworkin, my old friend!” he cried, coming around to greet us. “It has been far too long!”

Laughing, the two clapped each other on the back like old drinking buddies.

“This is my son, Oberon,” Dworkin said with a nod to me. “Oberon, this is Ben Bayle. Not only is he a good friend, he is one of the best vintners I have ever found.”

“One of the best?” said Bayle.

“All right,” laughed Dworkin, “the best of them all!”

“That's more like it!”

“A tavern-keeper who makes his own wine?” I said, raising my eyebrows.

“And who better?” said Bayle, but he grinned happily. “You must try last year's red,” he said to Dworkin. “It was a very dry year, and the wine has an extra piquancy. I think it's one of our best, on par with the red of '48.”

“That good!” said my father. “Set us up.” He glanced around the room; nobody paid us the slightest heed now, wrapped up in their own drinking and conversation and a couple of card games. “The corner table,” he said to me, indicating the one he wanted with a quick jerk of his head.

I headed over and sat with my back to one wall, my sword on the chair next to me. Dworkin sat with his back to the other wall. We could both see the door.

“You should like this place,” he said to me. “I spent a lot of time here when I was your age.”

“I didn't think the Shadows were that old. How old were you when you created them?”

“You are fishing for information,” he said.

“Better to get it from you,” I said. “Provided you tell me the truth.”

“There is truth in everything I say.”

“You didn't bring me here to drink, did you?” I said.

“You look like you need it.”

“It has been a difficult few days.”

“What has happened?”

I told him, leaving nothing out—not even Rhalla. He chuckled a bit when I got to the part about the stinger in her mouth and the welts on my chest.

“Lucky Aber found her out—you might well have ended up her slave, or worse,” he said with a chuckle. “They have powers over men. I hope she was worth it.”

“I heal fast,” I said. “And sometimes it's better not knowing everything about a woman.”

Then I told him how she had turned against Ulyanash and been murdered for her trouble. He sighed sympathetically.

“Lords of Chaos do not take betrayal lightly,” he said.

“I know. So why did you take the Jewel of Judgment, then? That seems like a pretty big betrayal.”

He looked like he was about to answer, but Ben Bayle arrived first with two cups and a dark green bottle, which he uncorked and then poured for us. Dad took the first sip and gave a happy exclamation.

“Excellent!”

Bayle beamed.

I took a sip, too, and had to agree. It was among the finest wines I had ever tasted, and I had dined at King Elnar's table at more that one occasion. Elnar had fancied himself an expert on wines, though I found his favorite selections ran a little too sweet for my tastes.

“Did I tell you it would be worth the trip?” Dworkin said.

“Not really,” I said. But I quickly added, “It is, though.”

Dworkin drank deeply, let Bayle refill him, then raised his cup in a toast. “To Ben Bayle—always the best!”

I joined in enthusiastically. There were cries of, “Here! Here!” from other patrons.

“Now,” said Dad, leaning forward and dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I need two fast horses.”

Bayle chuckled. “You always do. I'll get them. Anything else?”

“Wine and provisions for three days.”

“Lots of wine,” I added. “This red, if it travels well.”

“Of course it does! My daughters will pack everything up for you. What else?”

Dworkin said, “That will do this time.” He reached under the table, drew out a pouch that I knew he hadn't been carrying a moment before, and slipped it across to Bayle. I heard the clink of coins inside and guessed it held gold. Our host nodded, gave Dworkin a wink, tucked the money away, and headed for the small doorway behind the counter.

“I don't understand,” I said. “Why bother with Bayle? If I understand the way Shadows work, you could get any horses you wanted just by traveling to a place that had them waiting for you.”

“True,” said Dworkin. “But I enjoy coming here, and I am a creature of habit. Also, Ben Bayle is a good man; I like him. I do not have many friends, but he is one.”

“And the wine…”

“That too.”

I had to agree, finishing mine and pouring more. If we ever returned to Juniper and rebuilt, assuming we could deal with the troll problem, we would have to persuade Bayle to join us.

It took nearly an hour for Bayle to get everything ready. I sat impatiently at the corner table, watching those around us, half expecting an army to come rushing through the door at any moment.

No army came, however, and I learned far more about hog breeding than I ever wanted to know from a lively discussion of that topic from the next table.

Dworkin laughed at me quietly.

“What's so funny?” I demanded.

“I will tell you later,” he said.

Bayle finally reappeared at the back door and gave a small jerk of his head for us to join him. He seemed positively conspiratorial. He seemed to enjoy aiding us on our mission—whatever it was—and milked it for all it was worth.

“Our host also runs the local livery stable,” Dworkin whispered sotto voce as we left.

“Quite the entrepreneur,” I said.

He chuckled. “Create nothing but the very best,” he said, “and you will never be disappointed.”

“I don't understand,” I said.

“Do not worry about it. Accept him for what he is, no more or less.”

I puzzled over that. Out back, I discovered Bayle also ran several other businesses, all of which bore his name on the signs over their door: Bayle's Tannery, Bayle's Boots and Saddles, even Bayle's Fine Meats and Slaughterhouse. From the prosperous look of things, he seemed equally adept at all of them.

Now he stood before the stables, next to two boys who looked so much like him that they had to be his sons. They held the reins of two fine black geldings, long of leg with tall arched necks, braided manes, and long silky tails. Mine—I picked him on sight and came around front to let him smell my hands—had a splash of white on his forehead, Dworkin's a pair of white socks on the left. They had already been saddled, with packs and bedrolls tied behind. Several skins, which I assumed held wine, hung from the saddle.

I mounted, and Dworkin did the same.

“Thank you,” he called to Bayle.

The tavern-keeper grinned. “Good luck, and good speed! Come back soon, old friend!” Dworkin waved. We rode.

Chapter 30

It was a ride like no other.

Dworkin rode hard into the forest, leaving the tavern behind. He seemed to draw inspiration from the land around us, and I watched with awe as an outcropping of rock became the toe of a mountain, visible suddenly as we cleared the trees. Snow-capped heights towered, and just ahead, pines trees began to appear, singly, then rising into a forest as we rounded a boulder as big as a house.

The pass through this mountain chain led steadily upward. A winding trail, well traveled but empty at this moment, grew cold, as an icy wind swept down. I pulled the laces of my shirt collar tighter and hunkered down on my horse. The gelding trudged now, head down, breath pluming the air.

Dworkin called back: “Pick up the pace! There's going to be an avalanche!”

I kicked my horse in the ribs twice and got him to a trot. Boulders, tall as two men, blocked the trail, and the path skirted up and around them. As we rounded the second, I heard a deep rumble, like a dog's growl but lower, starting behind us. Turning in my saddle, I watched as the entire top of the mountain slid down to block the pass. No one would be following us through there before the spring melt.

I looked ahead again. Already the landscape had begun to change, as scrub trees and yellowed patches of grass dotted the trail. We headed down now, and the air grew steadily warmer. The sky, touched by fingers of pink and yellow, brightened noticeably.

“Take a drink of wine,” Dworkin said, raising his own wineskin. “Make sure you spill it on your shirt and your horse.” He did just that, splashing it across his own shoulders, then across his mount's head, neck, and haunches.

I did the same, taking a swallow and splashing a good couple of swallows onto my shirt and onto my horse. I did not ask the why of it; I did not want to distract him from the journey before us. That he thought it important enough to tell me to do it told me all I needed to know: somehow, it would prove necessary.

The sky darkened to a deep purple as we entered a wood. In the twilight, strange noises surrounded us, chirps and peeps and a wheep-wheep-wheep sound that made my skin crawl. My horse quickened his pace without being told, staying right behind Dworkin.

Then huge dark-winged insects, some as large across as my hand, began to rise in swarms thick enough to blot out the sun. From the way they held their barbed tails, I suspected they were venomous. Yet they did not attack us.

“What are they afraid of?” I asked Dworkin.

“Wine,” he said.

I pitied anyone trying to follow us through here.

We burst into the open, leaving the insects to their wood, and the sudden night sky seemed a carpet overhead, thick velvet studded with diamond stars. Three moons soared, the smaller two gliding quickly, the larger hovering over the treetops like an all-seeing eye.

That thought made me shiver.

Still we rode.

Silvered clouds came up from the east, obscuring the moons, and the temperature began to fall. As wind tossed the treetops, which grew taller still, a gray sort of wintery daylight broke over us. The land glistened with frost. My breath misted in the air.

Snorting and stomping, our horses plodded on. I found myself staring uneasily at the trees to either side. I had a strange feeling of being observed.

“Do you sense anything unusual here?” I asked.

Dworkin glanced back at me. “No. This world is a bridge between traps. There should be nothing here to bother us.”

I hesitated, trying to put words to my uneasiness.

“The horses need rest,” I said.

“Then we will replace them,” he said.

Shortly, we came to a large grassy clearing, where two black horses identical to the geldings upon which we rode stood waiting. They even had saddles and bedrolls identical to ours.

I raised my eyebrows. “Just like that?” I said.

“Yes.” Dworkin swung down from the saddle, changed to the next horse, and kept going. “Their owners are off hunting smirp in the grasslands and won't be back for a few hours.”

“Smirp?” I asked.

“Same as rabbits.”

I followed his example, then caught up with him.

“That was a neat trick,” I said. “Whose horses were those?”

“Does it matter?” he asked.

I thought about it. “I guess not,” I said. “They have the same horses they used to have—only theirs are tired.”

“No.” He made a dismissive gesture. “They are Shadows, not real. They spring full-grown from our minds. We create them with our thoughts; they are mere potentialities in an infinite universe until something real—something like us—gives them shape and substance.”

“You sound like you've thought about this a great deal.”

“Yes,” he said, “I have.”

And then the world changed around us again. The sky darkened as we climbed into foothills, and thunder rolled and cracked. Flashes of lightning lit up the sky directly ahead, and a stiff wind grew stronger. Looking up, I could see thick gray clouds gathering. A few drops of rain stung my face.

“Is this your doing, Dad?” I called.

“Yes!” he shouted then pointed ahead. “There's a cave! Get inside before the storm hits!”

We made our way up to the opening, perhaps fifteen feet high and ten feet wide, and rode inside. I saw marks on the walls from tools; it had been widened by men—or other creatures—at some point in its history. Behind us, the heavens opened up, letting go a torrent of rain like nothing I had ever seen before. Water fell in waves so thick, at times you couldn't see more than a few feet away. Grass, bushes, and trees alike came crashing down from the force.

Without looking back, Dad rode forward into the darkness. A few torches, sputtering faintly, appeared to light our passage. I followed close behind.

Slowly, it grew light ahead, and then we rounded a corner and came into sight of another opening—this one leading out into a cheerful field filled with grass and clover. As we rode out into it, I heard another rumble as the mountain collapsed on top of the cave and tunnels we had just traversed.

Once outside, he reined in his horse; it had grown tired at this passage through so many worlds, as had mine. There was much to do to control them.

“Why don't we call it a night?” I suggested.

At first I thought Dworkin would refuse, but he sighed heavily, then gave a nod of assent. “There's a nice camping spot ahead,” he said. “A clearing with a stream and plenty of wood for a fire. Lots of slow, stupid game, too.”

“Sounds perfect,” I asked.

“We can wait there,” he said, “as long as it takes.”

An interesting turn of phrase that said little but implied much-all of it different, depending on how you looked at the question.

“Are you expecting company?” I asked.

“I always expect someone,” he said, “and I am seldom disappointed.”

The trees around us grew taller, darker; pines replaced oaks. Then the path opened up, and ahead I saw the place he meant—a hundred yards of low-cropped grass, then a gentle incline that ended at a wall of stone, a steep cliff rising fifty feet or more above us. Pine trees overhung the top.

He reined in his horse. “Make camp here,” he said.

“How long will we be here?” I asked.

“As long as it takes. I… am waiting for a guide.”

“A guide? You mean you don't know where we're going?” I asked.

“I know. I am having a little difficulty finding it again, however.”

“Tell me. Maybe I can help.”

“You have been a help already, my boy. More than you realize. But this is not something you can do.” He sighed. “I must do the last of it myself.”

“Maybe, if you'd explain…”

He hesitated, as if not knowing how much he could safely reveal.

I said, “You're going to have to tell me, Dad. I know a lot of it already. Maybe I can help. Remember Juniper…”

He sighed, looked away for a long moment, took a deep breath.

“I have lived a long time, Oberon. I have done a lot of things of which I am not proud, and many of which I am.” He swallowed. “You… you will be the first person besides myself to see the heart of the Shadows. The place where they begin.”

“I don't understand,” I said.

“All this—” His hand swept out, taking in the world around us. “All this is a Shadow. But what casts that Shadow?”

“It's not the Courts of Chaos, is it?”

“No!” He laughed. “The Courts cast their own shadows, true, but they are dim and dismal places, full of death and unpleasantness.

These Shadows—Juniper, Ilerium, all of them—are cast by something else… something greater.”

I felt my heart beating in my throat.

“You did it,” I said wonderingly. “It's the Pattern.”

“That which casts these Shadows is a great Pattern, like the one inside you, but inscribed with my own hand at the very heart of the universe.”

“That's why they're after you,” I said, wonderingly. “King Uthor knows, somehow, and he wants to destroy the Pattern and the Shadows. Freda said they weakened Chaos—”

“Yes! It weakens them,” he said, voice rising in a laugh. “But it made you stronger.”

“How—where—” I stammered.

“It is close. But hidden… very carefully hidden, where no Lord of Chaos can ever hope to find it on his own.”

“Then you hid it too well, if you can't find it either.”

“I had… help.”

My eyes narrowed. “Help? So they're right and you have allied yourself with another power. Who is it?”

“Not exactly a who,” he said. “More of a what. But she is a good and loyal friend.”

“A woman? Will she join us here?”

“I hope so.” He swung down from his saddle, stretching. “We must wait until she comes.”

A woman…

“What is her name?” I asked.

He didn't answer. Instead, he walked to the edge of the clearing and gazed off into the trees, lost in thought.

Sighing, I tethered both horses and began unloading their saddles and packs. Every time I looked up, my father had wandered a few steps farther, and now he was staring up at the cliffs as if trying to place them on some mental map.

“She has no name,” he said. “At least, none that I know.”

“Is she… human?” I asked.

“More so that most.” He chuckled a bit to himself, as though at some private joke. Then he bent down and began gathering up handfuls of grass.

I had a feeling I wasn't going to get any more from him tonight, so I quit asking. He'd already told me more in the last five minutes than I'd learned from him since I'd found out he was my father.

I looked up at the cliff and thought I glimpsed a faint movement among the trees, a lighter shadow flitting past. Could that be his mysterious woman?

We spent an hour weaving grass into rope, like we'd done when I was a boy, and we used the rope to set snares along game trails running through the grass. While we waited for rabbits or quail or whatever the local equivalent might be, I went down to the stream and threw a couple of dozen rocks up onto the bank, then lugged them back to the clearing and set them in a circle.

Dworkin, meanwhile, had wandered off to the side by himself. I caught him gazing up at the cliff several times when he thought I wasn't paying attention. Whatever was up there, he'd seen it, too. Hopefully it was his mysterious woman.

I gathered wood and set a fire, lighting it with flint and steel that Bayle's daughter had kindly packed for us. Then, as the fire snapped and cracked, I spread out our blankets and sprawled on top of mine. Lying on my back with my fingers laced behind my head, staring up at unfamiliar constellations, I felt a deep contentment. This was the life I liked—roaming far from home, exploring unknown lands, getting to know myself and my father.

I had often gone camping like this with my “Uncle Dworkin” when I was a child. Side by side, we lay out under the stars, a crackling campfire at our feet. He would talk to me like a son and tell me stories of heroes long gone, of voyages and adventures, of treasures lost and found. Those had been the happiest days of my life. Once, even, we had come to a place much like this…

I sighed. Where had the time gone?

“Wine?” he asked me, holding out the skin.

“Thanks.”

I sat up and took it from him, then took a long sip and passed it back.

“You brought me here before, when I was young,” I said.

“You remember!” He seemed surprised.

“Of course.”

I opened the basket Bayle's daughters had packed for us, discovering cheese, bread, and dried beef that looked more like army provisions than a picnic meal. It would keep. I wanted something fresh.

“I'll check the snares,” I said, and I went and did so.

The first two had been broken by whatever they had caught, the third was empty, and the fourth and fifth both held something like a rabbit, but with short pointed ears and broad padded feet. The last two were empty.

I skinned the rabbits, spitted them, and brought them back. The fire had begun to die down to embers, so I laid the rabbits across the coals to cook. Then once more I sprawled back on my elbows to wait.

Dworkin was looking up at the cliff again, lost in thought.

“Is she up there again?” I asked.

“Eh? What?”

“This mysterious woman we're meeting. I saw movement up there before. Has she come back?”

“Oh… no, no women up there.” He chuckled. “No women at all.”

After we ate the rabbit with bread and cheese, washed down by more of Bayle's excellent wine, I felt tired and full. My thoughts turned to the rest of our family, and I wondered where they were and what they were doing right now.

“Should we call Freda and tell her where we are?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “Time runs differently here. I doubt if it's been more than a few hours for her since we left the Beyond. We will be done and back before we have been missed.”

“Good.”

I lay back and closed my eyes, listening to the sounds of the night. Night-birds sang, insects chirped and buzzed in the grass, and the occasional bat or owl flitted past overhead.

As I drifted toward sleep, I heard my father shift and stand. That brought me back fully awake. What was he up to?

Slowly I opened one eye to a slit, watching him. Our fire had al-most died out, but by its dull red glow I saw him creep off toward the trees.

I'd never find out anything if I waited for him to tell me. As soon as he vanished from sight, I rose and followed. Somehow, I knew he was heading for the top of the cliff and the mysterious visitor I'd glimpsed before.

Chapter 31

I angled branches poked at my eyes; leaves rustled underfoot. Quiet though I tried to be, I felt as though I made enough noise to wake the dead. Ahead of me, whenever I paused, I heard even louder crunching and snapping, so I knew I had headed in the right direction.

Finally I stumbled onto a game trail that led in the correct direction. I followed it faster now, bent almost double, watching the pale shape twenty yards to the side. It had to be my father.

The trail wound slightly, taking me first away, then closer, then away again. Always I tried to keep an eye on that pale blur. It seemed to be getting larger, but not closer, and then I heard a snort like a horse. Galloping hoofs thundered, and then it was on the trail ahead of me, not a man but something else, something animal. Tall, proud, with a billowing mane and tail.

For a second it paused, and I halted too, my heart beating in my throat. Not a horse, I saw now, but a unicorn—a single long horn rose from the center of its forehead.

With a cry that set my nerves on edge, it plunged ahead, up the trail, climbing higher. It leaped rocks, faster than a man could run, scrambling up toward the top of the cliff.

I couldn't help myself—I had to follow, had to see more. Giving up on following quietly, I ran as fast as I could. My shins banged on rocks. Branches whipped my face. Still I flew up the trail after it.

I reached the top of the trail, where the pine trees stood overlooking the cliff. The white unicorn I had followed joined a second unicorn, and together they melted into the trees and were gone. Panting, yet hardly daring to breathe, I lingered, hoping to glimpse them again. I had never seen anything so wondrous.

What had become of my father? Everyone in Chaos seemed to be a shape-shifter: could Dworkin himself be one of the unicorns? It was a lot to think about.

Slowly and carefully, I backtracked through the underbrush to our camp site—and drew up short.

It seemed we weren't quite so alone here after all. A man dressed in blue sat with his back to me, warming his hands at our campfire. How had he gotten here? I'd thought this world deserted. Had he somehow followed us, despite all those traps Dad had left behind?

I thought about drawing my sword, but the sound of steel leaving my scabbard might alert him. No, I'd have to take the intruder by surprise and from behind.

First, though, I had to make sure he'd come alone. Turning slowly, I stared into the shadowed woods surrounding our camp. I didn't see anyone else, but that didn't mean they weren't out there, lying in wait. That's what I would have done—sent one man forward to check things out, while covering him with a bow or crossbow.

When the man turned and threw the remnants of the rabbit I'd been saving for breakfast into the bushes, I heaved a heavy sigh. It was my brother, Aber.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded, standing and pushing my way out through the bushes.

He leaped to his feet, startled.

“I didn't hear you,” he said.

“That's the idea when you sneak up on someone.” I glared at him. “You're supposed to be home keeping an eye on Freda, Fenn, and Taine. Not to mention the house. So? What are you doing here?”

“I'm out for some fresh air?”

My glare grew more intense. “I'm tired of games. Dad's been playing them all day with me. I want the truth, and I want it now!” My tone left no room for argument.

He sighed. “All right. The lai she'on searched our house again, right after you went to bed, and this time they started torturing servants and guards, asking if any of them had seen the Jewel of Judgment.”

“And you thought you'd be next?” I asked.

“Yes. Freda took Taine to visit Aunt Lanara. I… just left.”

“What about Fenn? You just abandoned him?”

“He said he was going back to Juniper to help Isadora.”

“How did you find us?” I asked. “We've been traveling through Shadows all day, and Dad left a series of traps behind for anyone trying to follow.”

“So,” Aber went on, “have you seen it? The Jewel of Judgment?”

I shook my head. “Not since Juniper. Dad had it in his workshop. At least, I think it was the Jewel of Judgment. He hasn't been exactly forthcoming with information.”

“He never is.” He swallowed. “Do you have any idea where it is now? If we can get it back to King Uthor safely, maybe—”

He broke off when I shook my head.

“No,” I told him firmly. “It's impossible.”

“Why?”

“I don't know where it is.”

“Oh.” He pondered that for a moment.

“For all we know, it's still in Juniper,” I said. That was the truth. I didn't know with any certainty that it hung around Dad's neck on that silver chain.

“It can't be there,” Aber said, “or the king would have recovered it by now.”

“King Uthor's forces weren't the ones attacking us in Juniper.”

“I pretty much knew that already.” He looked puzzled. “I don't suppose you know who it was, do you?”

“Lord Zon. Have you heard of him?”

“No. But there are so many Lords of Chaos, no one can possibly have heard of them all. We could probably look him up in the genealogy if we went back. Do you think it's important?”

“I'm not sure. But I do think Lord Zon is a bigger threat to King Uthor than Dad ever could be. Ulyanash told me, before I killed him, that Lord Zon was planning to seize the throne. I think he's about to act… or would be, if I hadn't killed Ulyanash.”

He frowned. “That's not possible. I was with you when you killed him. He said no such thing.”

“It's a long story.”

“Tell me.”

I did so, leaving out only my suspicions about the Pattern and the Jewel of Judgment.

“This is the first time I'm glad I'm not the king,” Aber said.

“What I don't understand,” I said, “is why it's taken everyone this long to try to get this Jewel of Judgment back. Didn't someone notice it was missing years ago?”

“Apparently King Uthor's been trying to get it back ever since it disappeared, but quietly. Searching, trying to find out who took it, and what caused the Shadows to appear.”

“If he's as powerful as you say, why can't he grab another one from a different Shadow? There must be plenty of rubies out there.”

“Sure, but not like this one. Apparently it's got magical properties. At least, that's what they said.”

“Oh?” That piqued my interest. Maybe I could find out more about it. “What does it do?”

“I'm not sure. But if Dad has it, you can bet he's been experimenting with it. That's probably what attracted King Uthor's attention. The king is… part of the Logrus, in ways I don't really understand. They're connected… a part of each other. And if the Jewel is connected to the Logrus too, then Dad's playing with it may have brought him under the King Uthor's scrutiny.”

I nodded. It sounded like a plausible explanation.

“And how did you find us?” I asked.

“You're not hard to track. If one knows how.”

“What do you mean?”

“I used your Trump.”

I frowned. “I didn't sense anything…”

“There are other ways to use them. I've been around you more than anyone lately, we're blood relatives, and I drew the Trump, so perhaps I'm more attuned to you than most. By concentrating very lightly on your card, I can tell where you are… sometimes even look out through your eyes.”

I shivered, not liking the sound of that. I'd have to practice keeping my mental defenses up. And it might mean using the Pattern to shield myself from any Logrus-spying.

“So… you're saying you looked through my eyes and drew a Trump of this clearing?”

“That's right.” He pulled it out and showed me.

I took it and threw it into the fire.

“Hey!” he said.

“This is a special place for Dad and me. We used to go camping here when I was a boy. Dad won't be happy that you're here. And he'll be furious if he discovers you made a Trump to get here.”

“Then we won't tell him.” He shrugged.

“I'm not going to lie,” I said.

He sighed. “Well, tell him whatever you want. I don't care.” He rose and, using the Logrus, summoned a couple of blankets for himself, which he spread out on the ground next to mine.

I heard a crashing noise, as someone came through the forest towards our camp.

“Is that Dad?” Aber asked me.

“Probably.”

A moment later Dworkin emerged from the bushes. When he spotted Aber and me sitting up by the fire, he frowned. He must have imagined he could quietly slip back into camp unnoticed.

“Hi, Dad,” Aber said.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Why aren't you home?”

“It got a little unpleasant there, what with the searches and all the torturing King Uthor has ordered.”

“Where have you been?” I asked Dad.

“Oh, here and there. Many people to see, many things to do.”

“I saw you with her,” I said to our father. “Tell me the truth.”

“Answers will come in time. You are not ready for them.”

“You're wrong.”

Dworkin shrugged. “I have been wrong before.”

“I need those answers!” I snapped. “I'm not a child anymore, and this isn't a game! All our lives are in danger! You say you need my help. Well, I'm not going another step with you until I get answers. And it better be the truth this time.”

“Would I lie to you?” he asked.

“Yes!” He had lied to me constantly since he had swept back into my life.

He sighed. “Very well. Ask your questions, my boy. I will answer as best I can. I owe you that. I owe you both that.”

Chapter 32

For a second, I could not believe he'd finally given in. I almost expected to look around and see King Uthor's hell-creatures bearing down on us from all sides, Fate seemed so determined to keep me in ignorance. But it really was just the three of us here, sitting before the campfire, on a remote world far from home.

I licked my lips. “All right. Was that a unicorn I saw?”

“That was no unicorn,” Dworkin said. “That was your mother.”

“My—mother?” I felt my heart skip. Suddenly, everything began to make sense. My life in Ilerium—it had all been a lie. He had brought me there to keep me out of harm's way. The woman who had raised me as her own… she must have been paid. That's why Dworkin had taken care of her all those years. My mother—my real mother—had to be a shape-shifter… some lady of Chaos. But why not tell me the truth?

He let out his breath with an explosive sigh.

“Yes… I brought you here several times, long ago, so she could see you. You are her child… heir to all she represents.”

“The Pattern…” I whispered.

“Yes,” my father said simply.

Suddenly it all came clear. My mother couldn't be a lady of Chaos. She had to come from somewhere else… and she must incorporate the Pattern into her being the way the people of Chaos incorporated the Logrus. That explained all Dad's secrecy. If anyone had known about me, about my true heritage, I probably would have been assassinated years ago. He had kept my true mother a secret to protect me.

“Where is she from?” I asked.

“I am not really sure,” he said. “She found me, here, in this place.”

I didn't know what to say or do. A thousand conflicting emotions ran through me. But mostly I felt relief. The largest part of the puzzle had come into place, and I thought all the other pieces would fall into position with a little more effort.

Aber stared at both of us. “A unicorn? What are you talking about?” he demanded.

I ignored him. “And the Jewel of Judgment?” I asked my father.

“It is a part of her… just as it is a part of the Logrus, and much else in the universe. I needed it to create the Great Pattern.”

“Then you have the Jewel?” Aber demanded.

“Of course,” he said.

My brother stood. “I want it,” he said, and he held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

“No,” I said. I stood and put myself between them. We didn't have time for arguments now. “You're not returning it to King Uthor.”

“It's for the good of everyone,” he said. He peered around me at our father. “You stole it, Dad. It's weakened Chaos. It's going to cost King Uthor his throne… and the lives of Freda and all your other children. Not to mention me. Hand it over, and I'll make sure you're spared.”

I stared at him. “You sound like you mean it,” I said.

“I do.”

“But how can you offer a bargain like that? You're not the King—”

Our father struggled to his feet. “He's one one of them!”

“Yes,” Aber told him.

I stared blankly at him. “One of what?”

“King Uthor's men,” Dad said from behind me. I heard the whisper of his sword leaving its scabbard. “A spy, in the king's pay, prying into my affairs! Traitor!”

“You're the traitor,” Aber retorted. “You've fooled Oberon with this nonsense about his mother and a Pattern, but you haven't fooled me. You're playing with forces beyond your understanding. I've tried to shield you—to protect you all—but I can't do it any longer.”

“How long have you worked for King Uthor?” I asked.

“Since the party at Aunt Lanara's house,” he told me. “One of his ministers pulled me aside and warned me what would happen if I didn't help. We would all—Freda, Dad, you, me, everyone in our family—be arrested, tried, and executed for treason. By helping them, I've made sure our family will continue. Now, give me the Jewel. I'll return it. It's not too late!”

Dworkin threw back his head and howled with laughter.

“What is it?” I demanded.

“I put it the one place no one will never get it!” he said. “Around the neck of the unicorn!”

Aber looked horrified. “You couldn't—”

“I did.” He pointed his sword at Aber and advanced on him. “I ought to kill you here and now.”

“No!” I held Dad back. “He meant well“

“Me, a traitor!” Dworkin raged. He glared at my brother. “You are the only traitor here, Aber! A traitor to your own father!”

“It's your own fault!” I snapped. “If he knew what you planned, he might understand—”

“We do not have time for this!” He tried to push around me.

I blocked his way. “Then make time, Dad.”

“I won't be branded a traitor back home!” Aber snapped.

“Damnable children!”

He tried to cuff me out of his way, but I caught his wrist. Not this time. He grunted, and I saw his neck muscles cord. My feet began to slide across the grass.

Two could play at that game. Setting my feet, I gritted my teeth and held him. Then, with a surge of my muscles, I threw him back ten feet. He staggered and came up panting, giving me an odd look.

“You are strong here,” he said.

“Stronger than you.”

“Maybe—”

Behind me, I heard Aber say, “Don't fight him, Oberon. I can take care of myself!”

I glanced over my shoulder. Aber folded his hands, and when he unfolded them, a ball of darkness writhed there.

“You would not dare—” our father began.

Aber said, “I didn't come here to fight. I came here to help—but if you try to hurt me, I will defend myself!”

The darkness began to grow larger. He cast it onto the ground between us, and it began to swell, consuming the earth, becoming a pit.

Dworkin took a few quick steps back. I did, too. I didn't like the look of that darkness. Aber stared down at it, mumbling words too fast and faint for me to catch. Could this be what he had called Primal Chaos?

“Saddle the horses,” Dad said to me quietly, our disagreement seemingly forgotten. “I know the way now.”

“What about Aber?” I asked as I heaved the saddle onto his gelding's back and began to tighten the cinch.

“Leave him. He dares not follow us.”

“I will follow!” Aber shouted. “If you won't save our family, I have to try!”

The pit, I saw with growing horror, had become a yawning chasm, consuming everything it touched: our bedrolls, our campfire, our packs. We all stood on the edge of an abyss now.

“Then you are a fool,” our father called to him.

He swung up onto his mount and turned its head away from our camp. I hesitated, gave a last look back at Aber, and did the same.

I had to give my brother credit. He had showed more spirit in the last five minutes than I ever would have expected.

We headed steadily away from the clearing for the next hour, following a trail I could not see. Again Dad shifted through the Shadows, bringing us to a world where day had already broken.

Then, as we rode, the air took on a strange, crystalline quality. Every branch on every tree stood out with a vividness of color and a sharpness of texture I had never seen before. No wind stirred; no insects chirped; no birds sang. Even the air itself seemed different-pure and energizing. I had never experienced anything like it.

When we finally left the wood and rode out across a grassy plain, I gaped at the sun directly ahead of us. It was half again as big as the sun in Ilerium, and it shone with a rich golden hue that sent a glow through everything it touched.

To our left lay an ocean, though it lay perfectly still, without the slightest wave to mar its surface. Nor did I see any sign offish or water-fowl. Rays of sunlight touched the ocean and cast its shallows a brilliant blue-green color, deepening to azure farther from shore. I could have sat there and watched it for hours.

“We are close…” Dworkin murmured. “Yes…”

“To what?” I asked, still staring at the sea.

“To the Pattern, the true Pattern, the one at the center of everything. It is just ahead.”

He dismounted and left his horse, just dropping its reins. I did the same. The geldings lowered their heads contentedly and began to feast on the grass.

Side by side, we walked to where a huge flat stone, which must have been a hundred and fifty yards across and a hundred yards long, rose just above the surface of the plain.

There, on the stone, like a ribbon of gold, I saw the familiar outline of the Pattern—the coils and turns, the elegant loops and switchbacks. It nearly matched the Pattern within me… almost, but not quite. It more resembled that which the serpent in the tower of skulls had raised from Taine's blood.

“It's flawed,” I said.

“Yes,” he said. “And that is why it must be destroyed. That is why we are here. The problems must be fixed.”

I looked at him. “When you made it, you had never seen the whole Pattern, had you?”

“No.”

“Wait!” cried a voice behind us.

I looked back. Aber was running through the grass to catch up.

“Go home,” I told him. “You don't belong here. You tried to save us. You did your best. King Uthor will understand.”

“You're going to destroy it!” he said to Dad, ignoring me. “I heard you say so. Why didn't you tell me? That's all King Uthor wants! We've been fighting for the same thing, all this time!”

“Then you will help?” Dad asked him.

“Yes.” He nodded quickly. “What must I do?”

“I am not quite sure what will happen,” he said, “when I destroy it. You must keep me safe until my work is done, no matter what happens.”

Aber swallowed, glanced at me, and nodded again.

“What about everyone we sent into Shadows to hide?” I asked. “What happens to them when the Shadows go away?”

Dworkin hesitated. “I cannot know,” he finally admitted. “Here. Use these.” He drew out a small stack of Trumps he'd been carrying inside his shirt. I flipped through them and removed the ones showing my brothers and sisters we had sent into Shadow to hide: Titus and Conner, identical twins, both as short as our father and both with his eyes and wary expressions; Isadora, in full battle dress, her red hair flowing; Syara, slender as a goddess, also red-haired; and Leona, sweet-faced and innocent; and Blaise, stunningly beautiful, but treacherous and manipulative. My family.

“Are these Pattern Trumps?” I asked, returning the others to my father.

He nodded. “Tell them to go back to Chaos,” he said, “while they still may. That is the one place which I know will continue.”

I handed half the Trumps to Aber and kept the other half myself. He raised Titus's Trump. I picked Isadora's and concentrated.

A moment later my sister's image rippled and became lifelike. She stood before me in chain link armor, a sword in her hand, red hair flowing in the wind, a smudge of blood across her chin. She looked fiercely beautiful. Beyond her, I saw Juniper Castle, its walls half tumbled. Smoke rose from two of the towers. Giant creatures, naked and hairy, carrying clubs and spears, roamed the walls. Those had to be the trolls.

“Oberon?” she said. “What do you want?”

“I'm with Dad,” I asked.

“Good. We are almost done here. Our vengeance is nearly complete. Tell him.”

“He's about to destroy all the Shadows. You must leave now.”

“What!” she cried. “How“

I shook my head. “We don't have time for that. You must return to Chaos as quickly as you can. We don't know what will happen to anyone still in Shadows when the end comes. Promise me you'll go?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “All right. But—”

“Thanks. I have others to reach.” I put my hand over the Trump, and she disappeared, still calling questions. Hopefully she would hurry.

Next came Leona. I tried to contact her, concentrating as hard as I could, but though I sensed her out there, she refused to respond. Probably minding her orders, I thought unhappily. She had been told not to answer anyone, no matter what, until we settled the matter of whoever was trying to destroy our family.

“If you can hear me,” I said, “this is Oberon. You aren't safe in Shadows anymore. Get to Dad's house in the Beyond as fast as you can.”

I could do no more than that.

My last Trump showed Syara. I got no response from her, either. I tried sending the same message as the one I'd given Leona.

Then I put my trumps down and looked at Aber. He too had finished.

“Well?”

“I reached Titus,” he said. “He and Conner are heading back. Blaise… sorry, she wouldn't answer me.”

I nodded slowly. “I spoke with Isadora. I couldn't reach Leona or Syara.”

“Let me try them,” he said.

“And I'll try Blaise.”

We traded Trumps, and he concentrated on first one, then the other. Then he shook his head.

“Nothing.”

I raised Blaise's Trump and got only the faintest of stirring, as though she were far away. Still I concentrated, willing her to appear before me, demanding it.

Finally her image wavered and came to life, though not clearly. She lay on a padded bench sipping what looked like wine as scantily clad young men fanned her with enormous wicker paddles. In the distance, I saw an emerald sea, with languid waves splashing on a broad white beach. Gulls wheeled overhead, their calls raucous.

“Oberon…” she said. Her voice sounded like it came from the depths of a cave, flat and echoing.

“Get back to the Courts of Chaos as fast as you can,” I told her. “You're in danger where you are.”

“Danger?” She laughed and looked about. “Here?”

I frowned. “All the Shadows, including the one you're in, are about to be destroyed.

“Impossible!”

“This is the only warning you're going to get. Contact Fenn or Freda and join them in the Beyond. It's your only hope. If I'm wrong… well, you can always go back.”

“Very well.” She sat up, looking annoyed. How very like her. I covered the Trump and broke our connection.

“I told Blaise,” I said to Aber. Then I told him about the decadent scene I had witnessed. We both had to laugh.

Our father, meanwhile, had finished his walk around the perimeter of the Pattern. He was nodding and mumbling to himself, gesturing in the air as if trying to do complicated calculations.

Standing, I climbed onto the immense flat rock and walked around its edge, avoiding the Pattern, to join him.

“Well? Can you destroy it?” I asked.

“That is not the problem,” he said in a low voice, so Aber wouldn't hear. “It is only sand lying on top of the stone. It was… never meant to be permanent. The next one must be.”

“Sand?”

I looked down at the Pattern; it looked like a solid gold ribbon on top of the rock. I reached out to touch it, but he caught my wrist.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“To walk its length, you must start at the beginning. To enter anywhere else would kill you.”

“I wasn't going to walk it,” I said. “I just wanted to see what it's made of.”

“Do not touch it.”

“Dad?” Aber called. “Oberon?”

“What?” Dworkin said sharply.

“We've been followed!”

I followed my brother's pointing finger to see a line of hell-creatures—lai she 'on—entering the grassland three hundred yards away. They wore full armor. Some carried pikes; two held red banners aloft, both of which blazed with a dragon crest. They advanced steadily on us.

“King Uthor's men,” Dworkin said. He looked at Aber. “You brought them here!”

“No!” he cried. “They must have followed me! I didn't know—”

“Get me a staff,” he said. “Then you both must keep them at bay as long as you can. I will do the rest.”

“A staff…”Aber said.

He used the Logrus to reach into the air, feeling distantly for something. Then he pulled a wooden pole from mid air. It was a little bit longer than four feet from end to end—about the same height as Dworkin—and it looked familiar. With a measure of horror, I realized it was the pole that had held King Elnar's head in Ilerium after hell-creatures had killed him. My king's head had been ensorcelled… it had spoken to me and called me a traitor. Aber must not have realized where the pole had been, or what had been done to it.

Aber tossed the pole over to me, and with a shudder, I handed it to our father. We didn't have time to get another one.

Without hesitation, Dworkin turned and began to walk counter-clockwise around the Pattern, tapping his staff upon the stone, speaking words I could not understand. Magic, I assumed. Every now and then he gestured and waved the pole.

A wind suddenly came up, stirring the grass, then flattening it as it began to gust. Clouds appeared overhead, obscuring the sun. As darkness fell, lightning flickered like the tongues of serpents.

King Uthor's army of hell-creatures, marching into the wind, ducked their heads and leaned forward. First one, then the other banner broke and went flying off into the sky. Still they trudged on, advancing steadily, pikes held ready

I drew my sword.

Aber grabbed my arm. “Come back with me!” he cried. He held up a Trump showing the main hall in our house back in the Courts of Chaos. “We can't stay here!”

“We must!” I shouted. “Dad needs us!”

The winds seemed to be circling the stone, faster and faster. They swept up dust and dirt and grass and trees. Screaming, I saw one then the other of our geldings fly past. I could no longer see through the wall of wind to where King Uthor's army had been—and I did not know how they could have survived it.

I looked back to see what had become of Dad. He was still circling the Pattern, in the opposite direction of the wind. In the center of the stone, a golden whirlwind blew. As it touched the Pattern's lines, it swept away the sand, scouring the stone clean.

As the Pattern disappeared, I felt the stone underfoot begin to move. Surging up and down, like a boat on an ocean, I felt myself drifting.

Aber threw back his head and laughed, and I saw the true nature within him let loose.

“Feel it!” he cried. “Feel the power! Feel the strength of Chaos returning! This is what it must have felt like before the Shadows came!”

“No!” I screamed back, the howl of winds wild around me, noise in my head and blinding colors in my eyes. Beyond the stone, through the winds, I saw… stars. Stars that whirled and flew like fireflies in the night. The land and the ocean had vanished. The trees and grass—King Uthor's troops—all had disappeared. Only the stone remained, floating like an island in a sea of nothingness. The madness beyond howled through my body.

“This is the way it should be!” Aber said. He was in his element, a Lord of Chaos, born to revel in the constantly shifting universe. “Now and forever! Come back with me, Oberon! It's over! Dad has destroyed the Shadows!”

He still held the Trump in one hand, and he held his other hand out to me. I took a step toward him, then stopped. I shook my head.

“No,” I said. “My place is here, with Dad. You go.”

He took a deep breath, then nodded. He looked down at the Trump… and vanished.

Dworkin continued to circle the stone. Horrorstruck by the nightmare surrounding us, I could do nothing but cling to the hope that this was not the end, but the start of something new and greater.

He reached me and held out the staff. I resheathed my sword, then took it.

“Look!” I pointed.

A tall white unicorn stood at the heart of the stone, her head raised defiantly high. A ruby dangled around her neck on a silver chain. Occasional gusts of winds whipped her mane and tail, and when she turned her head, her eyes glinted deep red, like rubies, like the Jewel of Judgment.

Dworkin saw the unicorn and grinned.

“She is holding this place together for us!” he shouted. “We must begin! There is not much time!”

“What must I do?”

“Use your knife!”

I drew it. He stuck out his arm.

“Cut me!” he screamed over the howl of the wind. “Open my vein! Let the blood flow!”

“No“

“Do it!”

Taking a deep breath, I grabbed his wrist and gave it a quick slash—long but not deep. I did not want him to bleed to death. He must know what he was doing.

Dworkin grimaced, but made a fist. With blood pouring down his arm and dripping from his fingertips, slowly and steadily he began to walk backward, leaving a trail of blood. As it fell on the bare stone, sizzling and crackling like fat on a hot griddle, a glowing blue line began to appear. It burned with an inner fire, like nothing I had ever seen before.

I realized at once what he was doing… tracing a new Pattern, one that matched the Pattern within me, and within the Jewel of Judgment. He worked slowly and carefully, never slowing. And as he dripped blood, the Pattern burned deep into the stone.

Slowly the winds died. The storm abated. Still he walked slowly and calmly backwards, trailing blood, shaping the design. When at last he finished, when he stood in the center of the Pattern next to the unicorn, a terrible calm like nothing I had ever felt before came over the world.

Slowly, silently, Dworkin collapsed. In the blink of an eye, he was gone—and the unicorn with him.

Then the ground underfoot began to rumble and heave. I lost my balance and fell, over the side of the stone, into a darkness that never seemed to stop.

HERE ENDS BOOK TWO OF THE DAWN OF AMBER

Oberon, continuing his quest to learn the truth about his life and family, begins to master his new-found powers and build powerful alliances to protect his family. But enemies new and old rise before him, including a dark alliance that seeks nothing less than the complete destruction of the Pattern itself.

Survival is at stake, as Oberon races to build a kingdom. To do so, he must not only thwart the servants of Chaos, but cope with a father's who's gone mad, siblings who want him dead, and legions of invading soldiers! But first he must learn…

TO RULE IN AMBER

The final volume of the new Amber trilogy!

Chapter 1

Grayness surrounded me. Gray the color of morning twilight. Hours and days and years and centuries of gray. A featureless, all-consuming, all-encompassing gray that sucked the strength from your limbs and the will to live from your heart. So much gray that you couldn't take it all in no matter how hard you tried.

I fell through that gray, thinking of my crazy brother Aber, who had run out on me. Then I thought about my crazy father, Dworkin, who had left me guarding his back while he destroyed the universe.

For a while I wanted to kill them both. That lasted a long, long time. Then I wanted to hurt them. That lasted even longer.

Finally I didn't care.

And still I fell.

Uncountable ages passed. My mind wandered; I dreamed unhappy dreams. Now and again my father's voice spoke to me.

“Be patient,” it would say. “The end has come, and the beginning lies ahead.”

“What's in it for me?” I asked warily.

“Nothing,” he said. “You were a tool, nothing more, used and discarded.”

“No!”

I jerked around and tried to grab him, but my arms windmilled through nothingness. He hadn't really been here. I had imagined it.

Dreams, nightmares, hallucinations, imaginings. Call them what you will. They were one and the same.

And still I plunged through that gray, a never-ending sea of it.

Forever passed. At least twice.

The end came with no sense of motion. Had I really been falling? Aber would know, some distant part of me remarked. Aber knew everything about magic.

Frowning, I tried to remember something important. Something about having to kill someone…

I couldn't recapture the thought. My head hurt. My muscles seemed to groan and my bones to creak, as though they hadn't been used in a long, long time.

Lurching, I almost fell. Suddenly I had direction again: a clear sense of up and down, left and right, forward and back. Thick, impenetrable grayness still surrounded me, but something had definitely changed. Something big.

“Aber!” I shouted. The air seemed to swallow my words.

“Aber! Where are you?”

No reply.

Besides, I knew my brother hadn't done anything to save me. He would have gone… where? I frowned. Back to the Courts of Chaos, probably. Who else could help me, then?

A face, a name on the tip of my tongue…

“Dworkin?” I whispered. That sounded right. “Dad?”

Memories suddenly flooded back. Our flight from Juniper to the strange Courts of Chaos. Someone named Lord Zon trying to kill my whole family. My half-brother Aber, who painted magical cards called Trumps that could be used to travel between worlds… my half-sister Freda, who saw the future… and most especially our father, the dwarf I'd grown up calling Uncle Dworkin. It turned out he'd been lying to protect me. He really was my father, and he commanded magical powers I had only just begun to understand. Someday soon I too would command those magics. I knew it.

Dworkin had created his own universe, a huge sprawling place of Shadow-worlds, and in so doing had weakened the powers of the sorcerers who lived in the Courts of Chaos. So someone from Chaos—probably Lord Zon—had sent hell-creatures to kill our whole family and destroy the Shadows, along with the magical Pattern that cast them.

My head hurt just thinking about it.

Fleeing the Courts of Chaos, Dworkin, Aber, and I came to a secret place that contained the Pattern at the center of the new universe. Unfortunately, Dworkin hadn't understood the Pattern fully when he'd created it, and its very essence held a flaw. To fix things, he had destroyed the old Pattern and retraced it from scratch using his own blood. He had collapsed after finishing it, and I had fallen into a void.

Had it worked? Did a new and correct Pattern really exist now? I didn't know. How could I find out?

First things first. I needed a plan. Mentally, I made a list:

1. Get out of the fog.

2. Find the rest of my family.

3. Stop everyone from trying to kill us.

If I had time, I'd add:

4. Beat my father to a bloody pulp for getting us all into this mess in the first place.

The air flickered around me, brighter then darker, brighter then darker. Stretching out my hands, I squinted into grayness, trying to see my fingertips. Nothing. Was I imagining things?

The light flickered again, subtly. I couldn't tell whether I had dreamed it, but somehow it felt different.

I fought back a rush of excitement; no sense in raising my hopes. I had been disappointed too often. And yet a small part of me wondered—could dawn finally be approaching? Had something else happened?

Anything would be better than this gray fog.

Slowly I inched my hands closer to my face. Dim shadows appeared. I wiggled my fingers; the shadows wiggled. The gray really had begun to lift. I could see again, if poorly. There's nothing more useless than a blind swordsman.

Hunkering down, I waited impatiently. The grayness seeped away slowly, like a morning fog lifting as the sun grows high. A long time later, I could see my hands clearly. A heartbeat later, and I could see all the way down to my boots. Another heartbeat, and I could see ten feet in every direction, then twenty, then fifty—

Rising, I looked around, but saw nothing but rock and sand and sky. No trees, no bushes, no blades of grass broke the desolation. Not even lichen grew here.

Gray fog continued to rush away from me in all directions, an outgoing tide revealing hills and valleys and distant mountains, all as barren as the land around me. I had never seen a place as dry and dead before.

The staff I had been carrying when I fell lay a few feet away, mostly hidden by rocks. Strolling over, I picked it up and leaned heavily on it, feeling old and tired. All I needed was a long gray beard and I'd be set.

The last of the gray vanished, but it didn't leave a promising world behind. Even on the distant mountains I saw no trees, bushes, or even grass—not a single living thing of any size, shape, or kind. No birds chirped or winged past; no insects bred. Not even a breeze stirred the dust on the ground.

I had never felt so alone in my life. Where was I? Where had my fall left me?

The sky overhead turned blue, the deepest, purest azure I had ever seen, without a single wisp of cloud. I gaped up into the vastness of it all.

At last, forcing my gaze back down to land, I sighed and resigned myself to work. My first job would be rescuing myself. I had to get off this Shadow—if Shadow it proved to be. If nothing else, I had begun to feel the first gnawing pangs of hunger.

I took a quick inventory. Sword, knife, boots, deck of Trumps—all where they belonged. All my limbs; all my fingers. I had not so much as a single bruise. My mental faculties seemed as sharp as ever.

If the Trumps still worked, I could use them to call any of my half-brothers or half-sisters for a way out. Or I could use one of the Trumps that showed a place, such as the Beyond or the Courts of Chaos, and bring myself directly there. The only problem was, I didn't know how safe any of those places would be. Too many people were trying to kill me right now to go blundering off to unknown destinations. At least, not without taking proper precautions—an army, for instance.

Removing the deck of Trumps from the pouch at my belt, I flipped through them until I came to the image of Aber. I liked Aber best of all my siblings; he was the only one who seemed to have a sense of humor, and he had been the only one to really take me in and make me feel as though I belonged. I hesitated. Should I contact him and ask to be rescued?

No… not Aber, not yet. I liked him, but I didn't quite trust him. He had his own problems and his own agenda. He had betrayed us to King Uthor of Chaos, though under duress. I could forgive him for that… but my trust would have to be earned back.

Moving his card to the bottom of the deck, where I could find it again easily, I kept going. My dead brother Locke… he couldn't be of any help now. My brother Conner… my sister Blaise…

Then I came to our father's card. It showed a dwarf dressed in a ridiculous jester's outfit, with bells on the toes of his pointy purple slippers and an idiotic grin on his face. Aber had painted Dad this way on purpose. He never missed a chance to secretly mock anyone who slighted him, our father most especially.

Raising Dad's Trump, I concentrated, envisioning him before me. But his image failed to come to life. I didn't sense so much as a flicker of consciousness when I concentrated on it. Dead? Unconscious? Just ignoring me? All seemed equally likely, and I had no way of finding out the truth right now.

It also could be that my Trumps no longer worked. Dad had destroyed the Pattern they were based on, after all. No, I'd have to assume they worked. Dad could easily be unwilling or unable to respond. I'd try another card.

Who was left? Just my other siblings, and I didn't know most of them well enough to decide how much I could rely on them. Any of them could be in Lord Zon's employ. Someone in Juniper had deliberately let an assassin into the castle to kill me. The plot had failed, but I still didn't know who the traitor had been.

Putting Dad's card on the bottom of the deck, next to Aber's, I pulled out my sister Freda's Trump. I trusted her more than most of the family. She might be a mystic and have visions of the future, but she had always been honest about her scheming: she wanted to be in charge of the family.

As painted by Aber, Freda looked gorgeous and sexy, with her red hair up, accentuating her high cheekbones and pale skin. Her shimmering reddish-purple evening gown accentuated her dark eyes. She had a cat-with-bird-in-mouth expression, which I found somewhat intriguing.

As I stared down at her, the stars behind her began to twinkle, and I felt a stirring consciousness. Good—the Trumps still worked. Then her picture moved, but oddly, with jerky movements. I couldn't quite see her face clearly. A veil seemed to hang between us.

“Who… it?”she asked. Words seemed to be missing. “I… see—”

“It's me—Oberon,” I said.

“Who?” she cried. “ ... again!”

Before I could reply, the ground trembled underfoot. An earthquake? I leaned on my staff for support and tried not to lose my balance. The vibrations grew stronger. Pebbles on the ground began to hop and jiggle. Rocks slid, and when the ground gave a sharp convulsion, I almost fell.

Freda was saying: “—swer…! Who is…?”

“Not now,” I said to Freda. I covered her card with my hand and abruptly lost contact. I would try again once the earthquake passed. Before I could lose my deck of Trumps, I shoved them back into their pouch.

A distant rumbling began at the very edge of my hearing and grew steadily louder. Not thunder—it reminded me of stampeding horses. But there were no horses here… were there?

I turned slowly, hunting for the source of the noise. There—coming up from the valley—raising a cloud of dust—it really was horses!

No, not horses… unicorns. Dozens of them, a hundred or more, all running at breakneck speed toward me. Their silvery-white coats flashed in the sunlight, shiny with sweat. The horns on their heads bobbed up and down in rhythm to their strides. Their hooves blurred with the speed of their movement. I had never seen anything so magnificent before. What could they be doing here?

They swept across the land like a wildfire. Behind them came a tide of color: greens and browns and pinks and yellows, flowing across the mountains and valleys. Oceans of grass surged from the earth. Trees sprang from the ground; first seedlings, then towering oaks and maples and pines and so many more. Bushes heavy with ripe berries sprang full-grown from the ground. Meadows—forests—green from trees and grass; pinks, yellows, and purples from flowers; reds and golds from ripening fruit—

The herd approached my position rapidly. The jarring force of their stampede made everything loose bounce across the landscape like so many children's toys. I staggered but, with the help of the staff, kept to my feet.

Still the unicorns rushed forward—hooves pounding like hammers on anvils, the sound of their passage growing to a deafening roar. A hundred yards away, and I saw the wild, fierce looks in their eyes. They ran with a mad abandon, savage, fierce, unstoppable.

Panicking suddenly, I looked around for cover but found none. If the whole herd ran me down, I'd never survive their hooves. Where could I go? What could I do? My thoughts raced through the possibilities.

Fifty yards—

I'd never get a Trump out in time, even if I could contact someone to save me.

Thirty yards—

Taking a deep breath, I raised my staff and faced the unicorns. I could never hope to outrun them. What if I treated them like a real herd of horses?

Bellowing a war-cry, though they never could have heard me over their own deafening noise, I twirled my staff and stomped my feet. If I could spook the leaders enough to make them shy away—

Ten yards—five—

It wasn't going to work. I saw it now. Their nostrils flared. Their jaws snapped. Their eyes rolled wildly. They ran with no thought or reason; a terrible madness seemed to have come over them all.

I steeled myself. My heart hammered in my chest, but I set my feet and held my ground.

Three yards—one—

At the last instant, the lead unicorns veered aside, one to my left and one to my right, and the others followed right in their paths. Like a river flowing around an island, they separated just enough to avoid hitting me.

The rushing, pounding noise of their passage deafened me. The heat of their bodies washed across me in a burning wind. The cloud of dust raised by their hooves filled my eyes and mouth. Flecks of foamy sweat hit my face and arms.

Coughing and choking, half blind, I held as still as I could. They would pass me safely. I could live through it if I just kept still—

And then they were gone. The sudden silence and stillness was overwhelming.

But before I could relax, the ground underfoot seethed and churned. What now? I teetered, off balance. A moment later, thick blades of grass popped out under my boots, growing rapidly until it was waist high. I braced myself with my staff, trying desperately to keep my balance.

As my staff touched the ground, it ripped free from my hands and took root. Branches burst out along its length, several almost skewering me. Then a hideous, tortured face appeared in the center of the trunk. Two orbs flickered, then opened… showing familiar blue eyes… eyes I had looked on with admiration and respect a thousand times before.

Now, though, they glared down at me. I had seldom seen such hate and loathing. It wanted me dead.

“No…!” I whispered. My heart seemed to skip several beats. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't tear my gaze away. “No…!”

Those eyes—that face—belonged to King Elnar of Ilerium. King Elnar had died because I abandoned him, despite my oath to serve both king and country for all my life. He had died—murdered by hell-creatures—what now seemed a lifetime ago.

The wooden mouth opened. A groaning, moaning squeal of pain came out.

“Please,” I begged. “Not this! Not again!”

I swallowed hard. The lump in my throat felt as large as my fist. I couldn't believe this was happening to me.

Elnar had been almost a father to me. I had worshipped him… done everything I could to be just like him. Of all the things that had befallen me—of all the horrors I had seen since leaving Ilerium—his death struck me the hardest.

After murdering him, hell-creatures had mounted his head on a pole outside of Kingstown. When I had returned there, the king's head spoke to me. Somehow, impossibly, magic kept it alive. It had called me vile names and shouted for hell-creatures to come and kill me.

That had been one of the worst moments of my life.

Of course, I knew deep inside that it hadn't really been King Elnar speaking—not truly—but the words still hurt like no others could have. I knew I had betrayed his trust. I knew I had deserted him in his time of greatest need. Because of me, he had died. Horribly.

No, I forced myself to think, not because of me. Because of the foul magics of the Courts of Chaos.

I took a deep breath, forcing down my shock and repulsion. Hell-creatures had created a grisly parody of what King Elnar had once been. The head on the pole had not been my liege and friend. Nor was this face in this tree King Elnar. It was an abomination, created by magic—an abomination to be loathed and destroyed.

And yet—it was King Elnar's face—

As I watched, those familiar blue eyes stared down at me. The wooden mouth parted, twisting into a half snarl.

“You!” it moaned at last, with Elnar's voice. “I know you! You are the one who did this to me! Murderer! Traitor!”

Chapter 2

I took a deep breath, then let it out explosively.

“You're wrong!” I said. The severed head on the pole in Ilerium had uttered pretty much those exact same words. “Think back to what really happened. Look inside yourself. You will see the truth.”

“Traitor!” it cried. Its lips pulled back in a pained grimace. “Murderer! Butcher!”

I turned away. My eyes burned and my head pounded. I couldn't believe my luck. Why had the unicorns done this to me? Were they trying to punish me for some reason?

No, not the unicorns… the blame lay with Aber. Understanding came on me suddenly. I had returned to Juniper with the pole upon which King Elnar's head had been impaled. Aber had taken the pole. Later, at the Pattern, when I asked him for a staff, he had summoned one for me… and it was my bad luck that he had given me back the one which had held King Elnar's head.

The unicorns, with their life-giving magic, had somehow brought both the staff and King Elnar back to life, but joined together. It made a certain amount of sense. King Elnar's head had been growing into the pole, as I had discovered when I smashed his head to a pulp in Kingstown, what now seemed a lifetime ago.

“You deserve to die!” the face in the tree screamed. “No—death is too good for you! Torture! A thousand years of torture!”

I pressed my eyes shut and turned my face away. How much more of this could I take? Still King Elnar called down abuse. What could I do to stop him? What could I do to make it up to him?

“Enough!” I said. Drawing a deep breath, I whirled. My temper flared; I could not put up with his abuse any longer.

“Oh, the coward speaks!” he mocked. “Enough! Boo-hoo! Did I cry when you killed me?”

“I mean it!” I said. I drew my sword and took a step forward, raising my blade menacingly. Would it be soft like human flesh, or hard like a tree? “Shut up, o—!”

“Or what? What are you going to do, kill me again?” It actually laughed at me. “You always were a fool. A fool and a traitor! Look how you respect your oaths of allegiance. Will you kill me by your own hand this time? Or will you leave that to the hell-creatures?”

I sucked in an angry breath and raised my sword.

“Assassin!” it shrieked. “Assassin!”

“I'm only going to say this once,” I said in a dangerously quiet voice. I owed it to King Elnar's memory to try one last time to make peace with whatever part of him remained alive here. “Believe me, I could not have done anything more to help you. Had I stayed in Ilerium, we would both be dead now. That is the truth.”

“You should be dead!” it cried. “Thousands perished because of you! Murderer! Traitor!”

“Enough!” Rage swept through me.

Without a second's hesitation, I stabbed the face with the tip of my sword. Steel bit into its nose with the dull thump of metal hitting wood. It didn't penetrate far, but it seemed to hurt.

“Assassin!” the face howled, its voice rising in panic. Its eyes crossed almost comically as it tried to see the wound. “Help me, someone! Help me! Save me from the assassin!”

I jerked my sword free, leaving a long gash in the wood of its nose. Slowly, a sticky-looking black sap oozed out. It had the consistency of blood. And, like blood, it slowly beaded.

Still the tree cursed at me.

“Enough, I said!” My voice rose to a roar. If I couldn't out-fight or out-reason it, maybe I could out-shout it. “Be quiet, or I'll carve out your tongue!”

“You wouldn't dare!” it cried. “Oath-breaker! Liege-killer! Murderer!”

On and on it went.

I forced myself to take a deep, soothing breath. Clearly the hell-creatures had taken all of King Elnar's rational mind, leaving behind a creature that could only parrot human speech. Nothing remained of my old friend.

It was all too ridiculous. I couldn't allow hell-creatures to waste my time and energy. I would not fight a tree.

Shaking my head at the morbid humor of this whole situation, I turned away. I could easily waste all my time and energy trying to reason with this monstrosity. And maybe that's what the hell-creatures wanted. Maybe it was supposed to keep me busy until they could capture or kill me. Unfortunately for them, they were nowhere close. They would never find King Elnar again… never use him against me.

Clearly this thing wasn't my old liege. I didn't have to treat it with any special deference or respect. Nor would I fight with it. After all, what could I possibly accomplish by hitting a tree with a sword? Maybe I could claim “first sap” instead of “first blood” in our fight. Not that anyone would call striking an unarmed tree with a sword a fight…

Then the answer came to me suddenly.

I didn't have to do anything at all. If I wanted to win, all I had to do was walk away. If I abandoned it here, forever howling insults and cursing my name, it had no power over me.

Turning, I headed up the valley. And why not? With so many Shadows to choose from, I had no reason to ever come this way again. Let it scream. Let it curse my name. What did I care?

“Come back!” it yelled. “Coward! Simpering weakling! Traitor!”

I paused. Despite the soundness of my own advice, I discovered I couldn't just leave. I did care.

Maybe it was my oath to King Elnar. Maybe I owed something to his memory. Or maybe the hell-creatures had put a spell on the head, a compulsion to make me stay and argue with it against my own better judgment. Whatever the reason, I needed to make peace with the tree.

But how? Threats hadn't worked. Reason hadn't worked. What else remained?

“Assassin!” it continued to scream. “Murderer! Someone help me! Avenge my death! To arms! To arms! He's getting away!”

What else? Perhaps… reality?

With a sigh, I took a deep breath and faced the tree again. What did I have to lose? Things couldn't get any worse, after all. King Elnar had already died. Hell-creatures had already cut off and ensorcelled his head. Maybe, if he truly understood what had happened to him…

I seized on that idea: make him understand. If I could make him see his own grim predicament… or shut up for a minute to let me explain it… maybe that would be enough.

“Let in—” I began.

“Assassin!”

“Le—”

“Murderer!”

“—me explai—”

“Traitor!”

“—it to you!”

“Oath-breaker!”

I paused. The abuse didn't stop for a second.

A human being who talked and screamed and shouted non-stop would rapidly lose his voice. What about a tree? I didn't know. But I intended to find out.

“Liege-killer!”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “Tell me about it.”

And he did, calling me every sort of vile name imaginable—and some I never would have imagined. Through it all I just stood there and nodded, smiling now and again, making encouraging noises at all the right places. Maybe all he needed was time to talk himself hoarse.

Well, let him! His words couldn't hurt me.

Finally, as he began to repeat himself, I decided to take a rest. I sat beneath its spreading branches, stretched out my legs, and gave a wide yawn. Wriggling my back, I found a comfortable spot against the trunk, leaned back, and shut my eyes.

Abruptly the abuse stopped. I opened one eye.

“Go on,” I said. “Don't stop.”

“What are you doing?” he cried.

“Taking a nap.”

“Stop it! Murderer! Help me, someone!”

“Go on,” I said sarcastically. “I love the sound of your voice.”

If anything, that seemed to enrage him. He screamed, shouted, threatened, and insulted me time and again.

Despite the constant stream of abuse, it actually did feel nice to relax. I could even fall asleep here…

Closing my eyes again, I pretended to snore.

After ten minutes, the cursing and name-calling came to a stop. Now the tree muttered the vilest of threats under its breath, promises to disembowel, behead, and boil me in oil—sometimes all at once.

Minor progress, but progress nonetheless. I continued to snore.

The muttering lasted another ten minutes or so. At last it grew silent. Had I outlasted it? Had its murderous rage finally passed? Would it talk civilly to me now?

Cautiously opening one eye, I peeked up at King Elnar's face. He stared down at me, frowning severely.

“Don't stop,” I said with a chuckle. “The music of your voice soothes my sleep.”

“What are you doing?” it demanded.

“Resting.”

“Why?”

“I felt like it.”

“Traitor!”

“Scream all you want,” I said, folding my arms behind my head and closing my eyes. “It doesn't bother me a bit.”

“Why not?”

“We're far from Ilerium. I don't have to worry about hell-creatures finding and killing me here.”

“Why not?”

“It's just you and me, old friend. No one can hear you, so go ahead! Scream all you want! Curse. Call me names. It doesn't bother me. No one can hear you. After all, we're alone in this world.”

“I don't believe you.”

“And I don't care.” I closed my eyes. This time, I almost did fall asleep.

When at last it spoke again, suspicion hardened its voice. “What do you mean, alone?”

“We aren't in Ilerium anymore, old friend. We're in a new world… an empty world. No people. No hell-creatures. Just you and me. And you're a tree.”

“You're a liar!”

I actually laughed. “I wish I had a looking-glass. You're not even a tree—you're a face stuck in a tree. Now that's funny! King of Shrubbery, I'll call you!”

“Liar!”

“Shrub!”

When it didn't reply, I squinted critically up at the twisted, gnarled trunk. Had my words finally sunk in?

“You're not even a very good looking tree,” I went on. Why not add insult to injury? “You're lucky I don't have an axe. I have a feeling you'd make better kindling than anything else.”

“Liar! Liar!”

“Don't you believe me?” I streched one arm up, caught a low-hanging branch, and broke off a handful of leaves with a twist of my wrist.

“Ow!” it cried.

“Look! You really are a tree, whether you want to admit it or not!”

“That hurt!”

“What hurt?” I demanded.

“My… my leaves?” A horror-struck look came over the face, as it realized what it had said.

Leaves. Its leaves.

I smiled grimly.

“That's right, Your Highness,” I said. “As I already told you, you're a tree now, complete with roots, trunk, branches, and quite a nice bunch of leaves. Everything I've said to you has been the truth.”

Casually, I reached up and snapped off a small branch just above my head. I got a shriek in return.

“See?”

“Stop that!”

Perhaps I'd found the negotiating tactic I needed.

I said, “You need to keep a civil tongue, O King of Shrubbery. Set a good example for your people.” I nodded to one side. “The blackberry bushes over there are watching, after all.”

“Do not mock me, traitor!”

“Why not? It's fun.”

“Woe!” cried King Elnar's voice. “I am lost! I am a tree, and I am lost!”

“Be quiet,” I said, reaching for another branch, “or I will have to do a fair amount of pruning…”

The face closed its mouth with a snap. The silence seemed unexpected—almost unnatural. If it had enough sense left for self-preservation, what else might it be capable of? Maybe more of King Elnar remained than I had dared to hope.

Slowly I lowered my arm.

“If you're going to be reasonable,” I said calmly, “we can work things out between us.”

“You are trying to trick me!”

“Why would I do that?”

“I… I don't know. But you will! That's what traitors and murderers do!”

“Here's a thought. Maybe I won't trick you. I have no reason to, after all. And I'm neither a traitor nor a murderer. Don't call me that.”

“But—”

“But nothing! Everything I've told you has been the truth. You really are a face stuck in a tree. Hell-creatures killed you, not me. They put those words in your mouth and made you say them. The man I knew, the man you once were, would never have believed their lies. We fought them together, side by side.”

The face and I stared at one another. I didn't know what else to add; apparently, neither did he. We had reached an impasse. At least he had stopped yelling and calling me names.

Then a bird flew past, twittering loudly. I sat up, startled. A bird—the first animal I had yet seen in this world! It seemed the unicorns had left more than mere greenery and magical trees in their wake. I watched the bird land twenty feet away. It picked up a piece of grass, then flew to a nearby tree, where it seemed to be building a nest. If this world had animals, what else might there be? Perhaps… people?

Rising, I turned slowly, searching for any sign of civilization—houses, smoke from cooking fires, anything that spoke of a human presence. My gaze lingered a long time in the direction the unicorns had gone.

A perfect stream, surrounded by cattails and thick green reeds, burbled happily through the picturesque little valley. Iridescent dragonflies buzzed over the water, and a frog hopped from the bank into a blue-green pool with an audible splash.

“What are you looking for?” asked the tree.

“Shh!” I held up one hand for silence. Something felt subtly different…

Stealthy movement caught my eye. A single white unicorn moved with dainty steps from a copse of trees beyond the stream, lowered her head, and drank deeply from the frog's pool. She had something around her neck… something that looked like a giant ruby on a chain.

I gaped. It had to be the jewel my father had shown me in Juniper… the one he used to trace the new Pattern. This unicorn had to be the one that had helped Dad and me.

When she raised her head and she saw me staring at her, she stamped her right forefoot and tossed her head. I took a step in her direction. As I did, she turned and slipped into the trees. There she paused long enough to glance over her shoulder.

Follow me, she seemed to be saying. Follow me to your destiny.

Chapter 3

“All right,” I called. “I can take a hint. I'm coming!”

I started after her.

“Do not leave me!” cried the tree.

“What?” I demanded, looking back in surprise. “I thought you couldn't wait to be rid of me!”

“… Please?”

I hesitated. King Elnar might be dead, but my sense of duty remained. Almost reluctantly, I turned back to the tree. That unicorn could wait another minute.

“What is it you want from me?” I said.

“I… I think I know you.”

“You'd better, after all those accusations you made.” Then I paused, as a horrible suspicion bubbled up inside me—what if he really didn't know me? I had to ask: “What's my name?”

“I think… Ar… Orl… Erlock?”

“You called me Obere,” I said gently. “But my real name is Oberon.”

“Obere… Oberon… yes. Yes, that sounds right. I know you. Obere. Oberon.”

“What happened in Kingstown? Do you remember?”

“I… cannot remember. You said I was a tree. But I think I used to be a man. Was I a man?”

“Yes, long ago,” I said. The hell-creatures had done their work well if he couldn't remember such simple details. Everything he had said, everything he had done since his death, must have been due to their foul magics. Only now had he begun to recover.

I went on. “Do you remember anything about me? Do you remember fighting hell-creatures in Ilerium? Do you remember anything more of your old life?”

It gnashed its wooden teeth, but made no reply. Apparently it didn't remember. Considering how I'd destroyed King Elnar's head the last time we met, the tree's lack of memory probably shouldn't have surprised me. With his brains scattered across a battlefield on another Shadow, how could he remember much of anything?

“Do you know your own name?” I asked. If I pressed him for information, perhaps he would recall more.

“Ev… Agg… Ygg… ?”

“You don't remember,” I said sadly. I had hoped, for a moment, that more of King Elnar remained. “Do you recall anything of your days as a man? Do you remember your kingdom?”

“So much darkness…” it whispered. “Shadows fill my mind… there is nothing left…”

“Think!” I cried.

It gave a sob. “I cannot! My memories are gone! I cannot recall anything before I awoke here!”

I glanced at the unicorn. She stamped her feet impatiently and slipped into the trees. Time to go. She wanted me to follow.

Hurriedly, I said, “I have to leave. If you'll talk to me instead of calling me names, I promise I'll return when I can.”

“I agree… Oberon.”

“Thank you, old friend.”

Giving it a brief salute, I took a deep breath and faced the stream again. Snorting, the unicorn moved farther into the trees, dark gray on black beneath a canopy of leaves, drifting away. The reddish glint of her eyes seemed almost catlike as she watched me now. I knew she hadn't enjoyed waiting, but after all, she and her kind had brought King Elnar back; what could I do?

Briskly I hiked after her, splashing across the stream and entering the cool, moist-smelling forest. No birds sang here, nor did any insects chirp or buzz or wing through the air. Each leaf, mushroom, and splay of sunlight filtering down through the treetops took on a special sharpness, as though each line had been carefully etched with a needle-sharp tool. We were cutting across Shadows, through world after world after world. The air almost sang with power.

When I reached the spot where she had been standing, a faint flash of white, ahead and to the left, drew me farther into the trees. The faintest of trails wound among the ancient oaks and pines, skirting rocks, twisting and climbing into low hills.

So it went. Over the next half hour, she lead me through the forest, then into grassy hills dotted with the round shoulders of ancient boulders. We crossed lush but empty valleys where wind sang a single mournful note, and then again entered a long stretch of primal forest where a peaceful, hush hung over everything. I could not tell if we were traveling through Shadows, but I didn't think so.

Finally, we pushed through a thick hedge and entered a broad clearing. Here, in its center, on top of a huge stone slab that must have been a hundred and fifty feet wide, shone the Pattern that my father had inscribed with his own blood. It glowed with a clear bluish-white light, cold and beautiful… more beautiful than the last Pattern, perfect this time in every way.

Slowly I approached it. Waves of energy came off its sleek lines, humming deep inside me. It felt good. Strange, unlike anything else, but good.

I basked at its edge, eyes shut, just feeling its nearness. Warm all over, strong and more alive than I had ever felt before, I might have stood there for days had a snorting bark of sound not jarred me from my half-sleep.

The unicorn. It still wanted something. Almost reluctantly, I forced my eyes open.

As my gaze swept across the length of the Pattern, searching for her, I noticed a curious lump in the exact middle. Aesthetically, it didn't belong. I stared at it, puzzling, and slowly realized it was the body of a man. Dark shirt and pants, graying hair… my father?

Panic surged through me. The longer I stared, the more certain I became. It had to be him.

“Dad?” I called, taking a step forward. “Are you all right? Can you hear me? Dad!”

He didn't so much as stir. How had he gotten there? I'd watched him disappear after creating the Pattern, teleported off to gods knew where. Why had he returned? Had he left something undone and returned to finish, only to be attacked? Or had he been hurt somewhere else and fled here for safety?

Or maybe it wasn't him.

Swallowing hard, I drew up short. Considering how powerful our enemies seemed to be, this might be a trap of some kind.

I glanced toward the place I'd last seen the unicorn, but she had disappeared again—probably watching from cover. Clearly she had brought me here for a reason, though. Why else but to save my father?

I didn't think she would lead me into a trap, but nevertheless I circled the Pattern warily, keeping a close watch on the body. When I finished my circuit, I found myself no closer to an answer. Nothing unexpected had happened. No hell-creatures had jumped from the hedge with swords raised. No barrage of arrows had flown at me. No sorcerers had hurled flames or lightning-bolts in my direction.

My every instinct said it wasn't a trap. If someone wanted to kill me, the perfect opportunity had already come and gone.

And Dad still lay unmoving in the middle of the Pattern.

I took a deep breath. Nothing to do now but investigate.

With a last glance around, I stalked toward the body. As I reached the edge of the Pattern, though, I seemed to run into an invisible wall. As much as I tried, I couldn't force my way through. The wall wasn't physical, as far as I could tell. But I couldn't get past it no matter how hard I pushed.

Circling to the right, I tried several more times to get to my father but met the same impenetrable barrier. I couldn't cross onto the Pattern no matter how hard I tried.

I stepped back to think. Dad or the unicorn must have put the barrier in place to protect the Pattern. It made a certain amount of sense. If King Uthor, Lord Zon, or anyone else from Chaos found a way to get here, we didn't want them destroying the Pattern.

Only that didn't help Dad or me right now. If I couldn't get to my father, how could I help him? For all I knew, he might already be dead.

I frowned. Think, think, think!

Dad always said every problem had a solution—you just had to find it. I tried to look at the situation from a different point of view. If I couldn't get to him… perhaps he could get to me.

“Dad!” I called again, as loudly as I could. “Listen carefully! It's Oberon! Can you hear me? Can you stand up? Give me a sign! Dad!”

No answer. He didn't so much as twitch.

He might have been lying there for days or weeks. Time moved strangely from Shadow to Shadow. How long had I been trapped in that gray fog, anyway? I had no way of knowing.

Until I found out otherwise, I had to assume he was alive but merely unconscious. Perhaps creating the Pattern had done something to him—exhausted him to the point of collapse. Maybe the unicorn had brought him back here for his own safety. I couldn't rule anything out.

I paced around the Pattern, trying to figure a way through. If I had a Trump showing the center of the Pattern, I could use it to travel there. I supposed I could always try to draw one… but with what? I had no pen, no ink. I could use my own blood, I supposed—but then I didn't have any paper or vellum.

“Dad!” I called again. “Wake up! Dad!”

Still no response. I looked around for the unicorn. Never a divine being when you needed one… she seemed to have abandoned me here.

I recalled how I had once traveled across an image of the Pattern inside the unicorn's ruby. It had been difficult, but not impossibly so. If this version worked the same way, maybe I could work my way through it to reach him.

I headed toward what seemed the obvious starting point: the place where Dad had begun tracing the Pattern with his blood. Here, when I stretched out my hand, I felt a curious pins-and-needles sensation in my fingertips… but no barrier blocking the way. Apparently I could enter the Pattern here, treading its long, convoluted line like a path.

“Hesitation is for cowards,” I told myself with more courage than I felt. Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward. No turning back now.

The moment my foot touched the Pattern, my peripheral vision flickered faintly. The tingling sensation spread from my fingers through my entire body, and I shuddered involuntarily.

With my second step, a needle of pain shot through my head. As a low drumlike throbbing began in the back of my skull, a curious ache spread through my head and into my eyes.

I can do this.

I took a deep breath.

Keep moving.

Once more the Pattern seemed to radiate power in waves. A strange giddiness ran through me, and I almost giggled. It actually felt good in a way I couldn't properly explain. Strength coursed through me. I took another step, and then another.

Suddenly everything got harder. Keeping my head down, I had to concentrate on moving my feet one at a time. With every step, a strange and slightly unpleasant jolt shot up each leg and into my thighs.

Don't stop.

One foot after another.

Keep going.

My gaze followed the sweep of the path as it wound into a series of long and graceful curves. I knew every twist and turn already, just as I knew the battle-scars on the backs of my hands. The pattern was a part of me, forever seared into my mind. Blindfolded, I could have followed the Pattern's line without missing a step.

I entered the first curve and suddenly walking got really hard. My legs dragged; I forced myself to pick up each foot and put it down again. Sparks swirled around my boots, rising to my knees, and every hair on my body stood on end.

Don't stop.

One step, then another, then another.

Things got easier at the end of the curve, and I let out my breath in an explosive gasp. My head pounded. My shirt clung to my back, uncomfortable and clammy with sweat. Nothing I could do now, though. I couldn't exactly turn around and go back. Besides, I had come at least a third of the way.

After a brief period of easiness, the path started to grow hard again. Sparks swirled up to my waist. I seemed to be slogging through mud.

Another step. Then another. Then another.

My legs went numb. Then the numbness spread to my chest, and I had to force myself not only to walk, but to breathe. It would have been all too easy to give up, but I refused to take the easy way out. Dad needed me.

Rounding another curve, the numbness passed and I could move easily again. Blue sparks ghosted across my clothes and skin. I had the sensation of thousands of insects crawling over my body. I had never felt anything like it before.

Not much farther now.

Keep moving.

Halfway there.

I tucked down my head and pressed on. The path curved back upon itself, then straightened. Still I slogged on through what felt like miles of heavy mud that sucked and pulled at my feet.

Slowly, the end grew near. I could see my father's face clearly now. His open eyes stared up into space. Dead? Had I come for nothing? Then his eyes blinked—he was alive!

“Dad?” I gasped. “Dad—can you—hear me—?”

A crunching sound filled my ears. The hair on my neck and arms rose again. I had to force myself to take each step forward. If I stopped, I didn't think I would be able to get started again.

The path curved sharply, and all of a sudden I found I could walk almost normally. Gathering my strength, I strode forward as quickly as I could, but then a heaviness grew on me. I found it harder and harder to advance, as though chains now dragged on my arms and legs and chest. I might have been pulling a ten-ton weight.

Gritting my teeth, I pressed forward. One step. A second. A third. Each took more effort than the last. When I raised my hand, sparks poured like water from my skin.

Through!

Suddenly, I could walk again. Sparks dashed and flew all around me. I felt hot and cold, wet and dry, and my eyes burned with a fire that could not be quenched. I blinked hard many times.

One more curve.

Almost there.

Dizzy, I reeled through another curve, a short one. Then straight, then another curve.

It was the hardest yet. I could barely move, barely see, barely breathe. My skin froze, then boiled. Sparks blinded me. The very universe seemed to beat down upon my head and shoulders.

I concentrated on one foot at a time. As long as I kept moving, I drew closer to my goal. Just another inch at a time—anything to keep going—

I could barely see the Pattern. Unable to breathe, I used the last of my strength to take a final step.

Then I was through. I had made it.

My legs felt weak. Drawing on final reserves of strength I didn't know I had, I staggered to my father's side.

“Dad?” I said. It came out barely a whisper. “How about helping me out here?”

He didn't move. Somehow, I managed to kneel, then roll him over. I checked him for wounds, but he seemed whole—nothing worse than a slight bruise on the back of one hand.

“What's wrong, Dad?”

Slowly his lips moved. He seemed to be trying to speak.

I leaned close, straining to hear. He kept saying what sounded like, “Thellops… Thellops… Thellops…”

“Thellops?” I demanded. “What in the seven hells is that!”

He stared blindly off into space. His lips continued to move. Clearly he hadn't heard me. What could be wrong with him?

“Come on, Dad!” I said. I shook him. “Wake up! I can't get you out of here by myself! Dad!”

Still no response.

Grabbing him under the arms, I hauled him to his feet. Maybe he'd come out of it if I got him up and moving. His head lolled forward. When I draped his arm across my shoulders, he was so much dead weight. He made no effort to support himself.

“Attention!” I barked like a drill sergeant. “On your feet, soldier! Move!”

That would have gotten me up, no matter how hard or painful—as a soldier in King Elnar's army, obedience to orders had been drilled into me. You didn't make Lieutenant without it.

“Dad!” I said, urgently. “I need you awake now! Dad!”

I shook him again, but all he did was drool. Just great. Could things get any worse?

With nothing left to try, I slapped his face. He blinked and moaned. Then his eyes closed and opened several times in quick succession. He seemed to come out of his stupor enough to turn his head toward me.

“Can you stand?” I asked him.

“Not… real…” he mumbled.

“Of course I'm real. It's me—Oberon.”

“Imagining…”

I slapped his face again, just enough to sting. That seemed to bring him around a bit more.

“Look at me!” I said. “Can you stand, Dad? Do you need help walking?”

Mumbling, he shrugged away my hands. For a second he wobbled, but then he seemed to draw on inner reserves of strength. He straightened his back and stood rigidly upright, and an odd, slightly bewildered expression flickered across his face.

“Where… ?” he whispered.

“You're back at the Pattern,” I said. “Do you know how to get out?”

“The Pattern… yes…”

“Good. You do remember.” I turned and gazed along the shimmering path I had just walked. With all those twists and turns, it seemed a lot longer than I had first thought. “Is it easier when you're leaving?” I asked. “Can you walk? I'm not sure I can carry you back out.”

The faintest hiss of steel leaving a scabbard sent a shiver of alarm through me. Instantly, I threw myself to the left, tucking into a quick roll. I came up on the balls of my feet, fists ready.

I'd acted just in time—my father had drawn his sword and lunged at me. If I hadn't been fast, he would have run me through.

“Thellops!” he roared, advancing on my position. He had a half-crazed look in his eyes. “Never again!”

Chapter 4

“Dad!” I cried, backing away desperately. Had he lost his mind? Didn't he recognize me? “It's Oberon—your son! Dad!”

Howling, he lunged again.

Fortunately, he barely had enough strength to hold his blade. Batting his sword aside with my arm, I closed fast and punched the side of his head as hard as I could. The force of my blow sent a shock of pain the length of my arm and sent him reeling.

That blow would have been enough to knock out or even kill a normal man. Not my father, though. Dazed, the tip of his sword dragging across the stone, he gave a low groan and rushed me again, slashing.

“Dad, look at me!” I said, dancing back to safety. Somehow, I held my temper. I knew he wasn't thinking clearly. I just had to make him understand.

Staggering back, he raised his sword with a grunt and seemed to be gathering his strength for another rush.

“Why are you doing this?” I demanded. “Think about it, Dad! Reason it out!”

Clutching the hilt of his sword with both hands now, he rushed straight at me. It was a clumsy move that no master swordsman in his right mind would have tried.

Dancing easily to one side, I gave him another punch to the head. He stumbled, then reeled back, slashing at me. He missed by several feet.

“Damn Thellops,” Dad muttered.

“What is Thellops?” I demanded. “Talk to me, Dad!”

Staggering, he almost fell. I took the opportunity to draw my own sword. He might be my father, but I wasn't taking any chances. I couldn't stand here and let him attack me again and again. It only took one lucky swing.

“Won't do,” he muttered. “Won't do.”

“What won't do?” I demanded.

Shaking his head, once more he charged straight at me.

This time we met with a clash of steel on steel. I had planned to disarm him quickly, but as our blades locked, his strength returned. He hurled me back with a powerful surge of his muscles, then launched into a blistering series of double-feints and lunging attacks that I barely managed to turn aside.

“Dad! Stop it!”

“No more tricks!” he cried.

“It isn't a trick! It's me, Oberon!”

“Thellops!”

Not that again. Backing away warily, I kept my gaze on the tip of his sword. It darted from side to side like a wasp looking to strike.

“I don't want to hurt you,” I said, “But if you keep this up, I'm going to have to!”

He feinted, then slashed at my head. I parried, giving way, then parried again as he pressed the attack. This time he used a complicated series of feints and thrusts. Even crazy, he was the greatest swordsman I had ever seen.

He got first blood. On a swift feint-and-riposte, he came in under my guard and nicked the back of my right wrist. I never saw it coming. A second later, he gashed my right forearm. Nothing life-threatening, but blood poured down my hand. In a few seconds I wouldn't be able to grip my sword properly.

He threw back his head and howled with laughter. If I fell down, would he think he'd won? I would have to keep that as a backup plan, in case he hit me again.

Before the blood ruined my grip, I switched sword-hands. Clearly I couldn't fight him on even terms. If I didn't do something fast, he'd kill me.

“This is your last chance,” I bluffed. “Put up your sword, or I won't hold myself back!”

“Thellops!” he growled. “Never again!”

So much for diplomacy.

He might be a better swordsman than I, but in the real world, I knew the best didn't always win. The smartest did. And if I couldn't out-think a madman, I didn't deserve to live.

He attacked again. I fell back before him, yielding ground quickly, concentrating on fighting defensively. There had to be a weakness in his attack. I just had to find and exploit it.

His sword blurred and darted, testing my defenses, trying to find a way past my guard. Still I parried frantically, retreating in slow circles. His every attack seemed perfect. He fell into a rhythm now: attack, rest, attack, rest.

The next time he paused to catch his breath, I took a moment to study him carefully. That's when I noticed the huge bruise purpling around his left eye—at exactly the spot I'd punched him twice. I figured the swelling must have cut into his field of vision. If I played to his left side, taking advantage of that injury…

He launched a blistering attack again. This time, though, I circling to my right. He kept blinking and shaking his head. The faster I circled, the more I noticed his pauses and hesitations.

He started to tire again. As he drew up short, his sword dropped out of position.

My turn.

I came in low and from the right, hitting him fast and hard. I hammered at his blind side. He reeled back, turning my sword frantically. Then I deliberately over-extended my reach, letting my sword's point drop. He never saw it coming—the swelling blinded him—and even if he had, I don't think he had the strength left to stop it.

My sword's point bit deep into his right foot. I jerked it free, and blood spurted.

Yowling, he slashed wildly. His blade whistled through the air, missing my eyes by inches. When he landed on his bad foot, his leg started to give way. He staggered and almost fell.

Got you! Leaping forward, I caught his frantically windmilling free hand, whirled, and heaved in one smooth motion. He sailed over my shoulder and landed flat on his back ten feet away. The breath whooshed from his lungs. He lay there stunned.

I leaped, pinning his sword-hand beneath my boot. He released his weapon, gasping. He couldn't move, could barely breathe. I kicked the sword away, sending it skittering twenty feet across the stony ground to the very edge of the Pattern.

“This is your last chance,” I said with more calmness than I felt. “Yield, Dad, and we'll have a drink and a laugh about it later.”

Tired and hurt as he was, he tried to throw me off. I had to give him credit for that—I wouldn't have had the heart to continue the fight. Unarmed, how could he hope to continue?

Suddenly he rolled to one side and made it to his feet in a convulsive movement. Before I could react, he whipped a knife from his belt.

“Die!” he roared. He dove forward and tried to stab me in the chest.

“Dad,” I said in a warning tone, dancing back to safety, “give it up! You don't have a chance!”

He growled, so I clouted the right side of his head with the hilt of my sword. It made a meaty thunk. He fell to his knees, stunned.

“Enough!” I kicked the knife away, then booted him in the stomach. He doubled over, gasping hard.

“Sorry, Dad,” I said, more heartsick than angry. “But you brought this on yourself.”

I punched the side of his head with the hilt of my sword again. He fell face-down, struggling to rise.

“Thellops!” he cried.

Without hesitation, I threw myself onto his back. I got a knee between his shoulder blades and pinned his arms behind his back.

He couldn't possible attack me now—or get up, for that matter.

“Tell me what I did to piss you off,” I said in his ear. “What in the seven hells does 'Thellops' mean, anyway?”

Still growling, he turned his head and bit deep into my left wrist. With a yelp, I jerked free, then punched him twice in the back of his head. He started to whimper again.

“Dad,” I said in a hard voice, “I'm going to help you. But you've got to stop trying to hurt me. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

He tried to bite my hand again.

After that, I lost my temper. I punched him until he passed out. Father or not, I would only put up with so much. I'd given him more than enough chances.

When I'd caught my breath and regained control of my temper, I tied his wrists with strips of cloth torn from his shirt. I wasn't sure how well they would hold, so I searched him for weapons and removed a second knife, this one with the head of a unicorn worked into the hilt. Very nice. I tucked it into my own belt for safekeeping.

Finished, I stood. The cuts on my hand and forearm had already stopped bleeding; I had always been a fast healer. The bite marks on my wrist would leave a half-moon shaped bruise, but nothing worse. He had gotten far worse than he'd given.

I picked up my sword, sheathed it, then sat down cross-legged next to him to think. What should I do with him? I couldn't cart an unconscious—or worse, wide awake—homicidal lunatic around with me.

He moaned and twitched suddenly. When I glanced over, I found him staring at me through slitted eyes. Great, not a moment's rest. With his face bruised and his nose bloody, he looked more pathetic than dangerous, but I knew better. His jaws slowly worked up and down, but no words came out.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” I said.

“Thellops,” he whispered.

“Don't start that again.” I'd had just about as much of this “Thellops” as I could tolerate.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I stood and stretched the stiffness from my neck and back. Then I retrieved his sword, sheathed it, and slung the second swordbelt across my shoulders. No point leaving it here.

“Thellops… kill…” he muttered.

I sighed. First things first… I had to get us out of here. How?

In Juniper, Dad had somehow projected me into the unicorn's ruby. I had walked the length of the Pattern inside the gem. At the end, when my thoughts turned to Ilerium, the Pattern had sent me there.

Maybe the same thing would happen after walking this version of the Pattern? If it had the power to somehow read my mind and send me wherever I wanted to go, that would be our surest way out.

No time like the present to find out. I climbed to my feet.

“Come on, Dad.”

I picked my father up and threw him none-too-gently over my shoulder. He weighed less than I'd expected. If this worked, if the Pattern really could send me to another Shadow, I didn't want to leave without him.

Now—where to go? Ilerium and all the other Shadows I'd known were gone… destroyed when Dad destroyed the first Pattern. I needed someplace safe. A Shadow close to this one, but protected from the worst of Chaos's influence. A warm, comfortable world like Juniper had been… but more easily defended.

“Ready?” I asked.

He moaned again, but made no protest. Lucky for him, he didn't try to bite me again. I didn't want to have to pound him back into unconsciousness.

“Then let's go!”

I visualized the Shadow in my mind, took a step forward—and the Pattern vanished.

Chapter 5

I found myself standing on a grassy mountainside, gazing down at a sparkling blue sea. An inlet with a ribbon of white sandy beach lay directly below, as beautiful as that at any seaside resort I had ever seen before. All it needed was a line of brightly colored canopies and pavilions. A warm, steady breeze carried the smells of salt and brine up to me as the low murmur of surf mingled with the raucous cries of gulls and other sea birds. As sunlight danced and sparkled on the waves, I glimpsed dolphins leaping a hundred yards out from shore. A good omen.

Setting Dad down on the ground—he moaned and grunted several times, but lay still—I continued to turn, studying the terrain around me. To my right the mountain rose higher, strewn with the occasional boulder and oak tree; to my left lay a dense old forest, ready for logging. Behind me lay miles of open grassland, ideal for a town or perhaps farming—or both.

“Thellops…” I heard Dad whispering faintly. He struggled to free himself, but I ignored him for now. He couldn't do much while tied up. “Not in time… Thellops…”

I frowned. What exactly was this Thellops? Not in time for what? It might prove important. I'd have to find out as soon as I knew this Shadow would be safe for us.

Turning, I picked my way among the boulders, climbing toward the top of the mountain. I remembered how the rocks had moved in Chaos, but thankfully these seemed perfectly normal and completely stationary.

At the crest, I shaded my eyes and peered into the distance. I could see for miles in each direction. Dense forests lay to either side, then distant snow-capped mountains. The sea below sparkled endlessly.

All in all, a very pleasant world, full of promise. It had everything I had wished for… except an insane asylum. A castle could easily be built here.

If this Shadow had a flaw, it had to be the lack of inhabitants. We wouldn't be able to draw on the locals for help. Well, workers could always be brought in from other Shadows; there was very little gold couldn't buy, if you have enough of it. I had seen Aber's tricks with the Logrus often enough that I now knew anything could be found, and fairly fast, if you knew where to look for it in other Shadows.

I sat down on a large sun-baked rock to consider my options with greater care. Dad came first. I looked down at him with a measure of concern—at least he had stopped struggling to free himself and lay quietly. Clearly he needed real medical care. That meant doctors.

Where to start? The Courts of Chaos? Doctors there (did they have doctors in Chaos?) might be able to help him. Unfortunately, we would undoubtedly be arrested if not killed on sight.

I supposed I could carry him to other Shadows looking for help…

Then I felt a flicker of mental contact. Someone was trying to reach me through a Trump. Aber? Freda? I would take whatever help I could get.

Opening my thoughts, I found myself gazing at my half-sister Blaise, but uncertainly, as though through a hazy, flickering tunnel. I saw part of a bed over her left shoulder. Her private chambers? I noted a smudge of dirt across her right cheek, and her normally elegantly coiffed hair now hung in disarray. I had never seen her looking this bad before.

“Oberon!” she gasped.

“What's wrong?” I gave a bitter smile. That might easily become our family greeting.

“You are alive!” She smiled in relief.

“I could say the same thing about you. How are you? What's going on there?”

She smoothed her low-cut gown. Its shimmering green material, which accentuated her stunning figure, looked as though she'd slept in it for many days in a row.

“I have been better. Where are you now? Safe?”

“Yes,” I said. “I'm in a Shadow with Dad.”

“Good. I had given you both up for dead.” She glanced almost casually over her shoulder. I heard a distant pounding noise and the clash of steel on steel. Swordplay?

“What's going on there?” I said sharply. “Where are Freda and Aber?”

“I'm about to be arrested by King Uthor's men,” she said with calmly measured tones. “I don't know what happened to the others. I haven't seen Freda in two weeks, and I haven't seen Aber in a month. Are you going to bring me through or not?”

A loud banging noise, metal striking on wood, carried to my ears. She glanced over her shoulder again. The door behind her suddenly splintered.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“In the Courts,” she said. “Visiting Aunt Tana and Uncle Snoddar.” I had never heard of them. At my puzzled look, she went on: “They are all that's left of my mother's family. Unfortunately, things are not going well. Uncle is dead, and I think Aunt Tana just fled to the Beyond without me. I heard her carriage racing outside. Now, if you don't mind—”

“Does Uthor have anyone else?” I asked.

She nodded, eyes growing wide. “He ordered our whole family arrested. They already have Titus and, oh, I don't know how many others!”

“And I'm your last hope for rescue,” I said with a sigh. It figured I'd be the last one she'd call.

“Who else but the family champion?” She smiled almost desperately. Behind her, the door snapped in two; the top half sagged off its hinges. “Don't make me beg. Bring me through like a good brother.”

Why not? I had nothing against her. In fact, my original low estimates of her had proved quite wrong. She had more of steel than lace in her blood, a true daughter of our father.

“All right,” I said.

She swallowed visibly. “And, if you wouldn't mind hurrying u—”

I reached out to her. “Come on!”

She seized my hand with bone-crushing force, and I pulled her through to join me on the mountaintop. The bedroom scene behind her disappeared just as the first of Uthor's snake-faced troops came through the door.

Blaise gave a cry and collapsed into my arms. A jolt of alarm went through me. Had she taken a knife or crossbow bolt to the back?

Gently, I eased her onto the grass, searching for any sign of a wound. I couldn't find so much as a scratch. And yet she lay there gasping.

“Are you injured?” I asked.

“No…” she whispered. “I just feel… very strange… it hurts… all over… very sleepy now…”

Mental alarms went off. The same thing had happened to me the first time I entered the Beyond, the part of Chaos where Dad had his lands and keep. I had not been prepared for it, and I lay unconscious for most of three whole days as a result.

Her head fell back and her eyes closed. She snored softly.

“Oh, no you don't!” I cried. I shook her until her eyes opened Wearily. “Stay awake!”

“Wha—why—?” she murmured blearily.

“This Shadow is affecting you,” I said. “Fight it. Talk to me, sing to me, curse at me—anything! Just stay awake.”

Her brow furrowed. “But I've been in a thousand Shadows before—”

“Not like these,” I said. “Dad redrew the Pattern that's casting them. It's all different now, but subtly. Can't you feel it?”

“Different?” Her eyes widened. “How? Where is this Pattern?”

“Uh-uh.” I shook my head, smiling. “It's best if you don't know. Safer for you, too. Uthor would kill to find out.”

She sighed. “Everyone's already trying to kill me… what can one more secret hurt?”

“Not everyone.”

“Need to sleep…” she whispered, head sagging toward her chest.

“No! No sleeping! On your feet! Now!”

I lifted her easily, and she slipped one arm around my waist for support. For a second she looked up at my face. Then, seemingly against her will, her eyes closed and her chin slowly lowered again.

“Blaise!” I shouted.

“I'm awake!”

Her eyes blinked fast several times, then closed. She couldn't help it, I knew.

No more fooling around—this time I slapped her as hard as I could, leaving a scarlet handprint across her left cheek.

Her eyes flew open. A wolfish snarl came over her usually smooth features, and she twisted away from me.

“How dare you!” she snapped. She punched my chest hard enough to stagger me back a foot. Like everyone in my family, she had a temper to reckon with. And fists of steel.

I had the strangest feeling I might have gone too far. I had never seen her so furious. Still, it was too late to back down now, though not too late to apologize.

“I'm sorry,” I said quickly. I rubbed at my chest. “Keep in mind, though, that I was only trying to keep you awake and alive!”

“That's not good enough! Never touch me!”

She caught my hand. Her grip tightened painfully.

“That hurts!” I said, trying to keep my own temper. “Let go. We shouldn't be fighting among ourselves.”

“I've killed men for less than that,” she said. Her voice had a dangerous edge.

“I'm sure you have.” I smiled my most charming smile, which had been known to melt the heart of the iciest widow back in Ilerium. “It was the only thing I could think of to wake you up. I won't do it again if you don't go to sleep, okay? It's important.”

“Explain it to me.” Yawning, she let go of my hand. At least she managed to keep her eyes open this time.

“The same thing happened to me in the Beyond—I slept for three whole days. Dad and Aber finally got me up and wouldn't let me go to sleep. Dad was afraid I might never wake if they left me alone. I don't want that to happen to you.”

“Where is Dad? You said he was here.”

“Down the mountain.” I jerked my head toward him. “He's sick, too.”

“Everyone in Chaos is looking for him. He has to go back. Is he asleep?”

“No, tied up.”

“What!”

“It couldn't be helped.” I shrugged. “He isn't well. Not sleepy, really, but… kind of crazy.”

“Crazy?” She stared at me. “What do you mean? What's wrong with him? If you did something—”

“No, no, nothing like that.” I hesitated. “Maybe you'd better see for yourself. I think it might have something to do with the Pattern. It's obviously affected you. Maybe it's affecting him, too.”

“Show me.”

I escorted her down the slope, one hand on her elbow to keep her steady. When we reached our father, she gave a mew of unhappiness and bent to untie him.

I held her back. “Don't. It isn't safe to let him go. He tried to kill me.”

“He's hurt—”

“He'll live. I was just about to find him a doctor. I don't suppose you know anything about medicine…?”

“A little.” She knelt beside him, pressing one hand to his forehead. Then, with the hem of her gown, she wiped a line of drool from his chin.

“He's been badly beaten,” she said. “Who attacked him? King Uthor's men?”

“I'm afraid it was me.” It came out apologetic. “I didn't have a choice, though. He was trying to kill me.”

“Why?”

“I don't know.” Shrugging helplessly, I knelt beside her. “He was acting crazy. He attacked me with a sword when I turned my back, and if he had been a little stronger, he would have killed me. He's a better swordsman than I am.”

Her eyes narrowed, studying my face intently. “What did you do to him? He never does anything without good reason. Did you say or do something to make him mad? Did you threaten him in some way?”

“No, I didn't do anything. I found him unconscious and was trying to help.”

She touched the red handprint on her cheek. “Like you helped me?”

“No. I shook him, but…” I shrugged.

“Hmm.” She fumbled with the bindings on his wrists. “Help me get these off. Maybe—”

“Don't do that!” I pulled her hands back. “I told you, he's dangerous. He fought like a demon. Next time, he might get lucky and kill me—or both of us!”

“You have to let him loose. He's the only one who can save us.”

“Save us?” I stared at her, puzzled. “Save us how?”

“He caused the Shadows,” she said urgently. “Everyone in Chaos is talking about it. If he gets rid of them, maybe the king will let us go home agai—”

I drew back. “Impossible.”

“Why? Don't you want to go home?”

“This is home. I need the Shadows like you need the Logrus.” I thought back to the unicorn and the Pattern, and suddenly the half-formed suspicions in the back of my mind came out: “Besides, the Pattern can't be destroyed. It isn't Dad's creation.”

She stared at me. “Of course it is! Everyone knows he made it!”

“He drew it, but it existed long before him. It's in me… and it's in other places, too.” I thought of the ruby hanging around the unicorn's neck. “There are forces at work which I don't understand yet. I think they used Dad to create the Pattern. If he hadn't done it, they would have found someone else… me, probably.”

“So it was inevitable?” she said, gaze distant. “Is that what you're saying?”

“I think so. Yes.”

“But why did it have to be my family?” Her voice rose in a wail. “Why must we suffer for it? I just want to go home!”

“Look around!” I said, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet. I took in the whole of this virgin world with a sweep of my arm. “Here is a kingdom ripe for the taking. I'm going to build a city here. If you're not happy, there are more Shadows than you can possibly visit in your lifetime. Anything you can dream up exists somewhere out there. You just have to find it. You want to be a queen, or a goddess? Go ahead! You want jewels or riches? Take them! It's your right. You are a creature of the Pattern, just as Dad is… like I am. It's in you, too, at least partly. It's in all of us. I can feel its presence. You might as well enjoy your true heritage.”

“No!” she cried. “That's not what I want! I didn't realize how much I missed the Courts until I went home!”

“The Pattern is in your blood!” I said emphatically. “Look within yourself. Can't you feel it?”

“No!” she cried.

More gently, I said, “The Pattern is here to stay whether we want it or not. If that means you can't go back to the Courts of Chaos—well, we'll make our own version here. Call them… the Courts of Dworkin.”

“Don't make fun of me.”

“I'm not,” I said. She just needed time to get used to the idea of living in Shadows for the rest of her life.

“Chaos is beautiful… a tide of unending change… music made flesh—and the powers we command there…”

“Used to command.”

“You don't understand,” she said bitterly.

“You're right,” I said, letting a hard note creep into my voice. “I don't understand. I hated every minute of my time in Chaos. The only way you'll get me back there is if I'm dead!”

“That's why you tied Dad up, isn't it?” she demanded, turning on me suddenly. “He wanted to destroy the Shadows, and you wouldn't let him—”

I actually laughed at her.

“Stop that!” she cried. “It's not funny!”

“Don't be a fool, Blaise. Everything I've told you is true. You can see it, if you'll let yourself. Dad has gone crazy in a dangerous way. He can't help us now. We have to help him.”

“He must have had a good reason to kill you. You did something to him, or he knew you were a danger to Chaos, or—”

I sighed. She didn't want to listen to reason.

“No,” I said slowly and calmly. “As I told you, it wasn't like that. I found him lying unconscious in the middle of the Pattern. He kept saying the same strange thing over and over… 'Thellops.' Does it mean anything to you?”

She looked startled. “Thellops?”

“Yes.” I saw the recognition in her eyes. “You know what it is, don't you?”

“It's not a what, it's a who.” She licked her lips. “Thellops guards the Logrus.”

Chapter 6

“A Lord of Chaos.” I snorted. It always came back to our enemies. “I should have guessed.”

“He is more than that,” Blaise said. “He takes care of the Logrus. It's a sacred trust. After the king, he is the most important man in the Courts.”

“So he attacked Dad?”

“No. He's harmless… old and doddering. His mind drifts. Everyone says he's crazy, but no one does anything about it.”

“He's crazy?” That caught my attention. “How? Like Dad?”

“He… he talks to the Logrus. Treats it like a person. Wanders around mumbling to it all day long. I've seen him do it. It's… unnerving.”

Dad hadn't gone quite that far around the bend yet. At least, I knew who Thellops was now. Perhaps the answer lay somewhere close at hand, and I just didn't see it yet.

“How well do you know Thellops?” I pressed. Maybe she could get him to come here and help us. “Would he take a look at Dad, if we asked? Or would he betray us to King Uthor?”

“I don't know. I never paid much attention to him before.”

“But you've met him,” I said. “He knows you?”

“Yes.”

“And Dad?”

“Of course. We've all met him. Everyone in Chaos has. He decides when—and if—you can enter the Logrus. And sometimes he gives you advice, whether you want it or not.”

That piqued my interest. If magically powerful objects were anything alike, maybe Thellops's advice about the Logrus could be applied to the Pattern, too. If I could only master the Pattern and its powers, I had a feeling everything would be a lot easier for all of us.

“What sort of advice?” I asked. “What did he say to you about the Logrus?”

“When my turn came to enter it, he told me to bring a mirror with me. I did, and it became enchanted.” Her voice grew husky. “Though I've lost my mirror now, of course.”

“Can't you get it back?” Aber, after all, could summon almost anything across vast distances using the Logrus. Something as small as a mirror ought to be fairly easy. And an enchanted one might prove very useful to us here…

Blaise shrugged. “I will try later. I miss her.”

“Who—the mirror?”

“Yes.”

“What did it do?”

“She showed me the truth, always. Even when it hurt.”

Interesting. Unfortunately, truth didn't strike me as particularly useful right now. I already knew the truth: we had a lunatic for a father and no clear way to help him.

What I needed more than anything else was a plan of action. If there was even a chance that Thellops could help Dad, we had to find a way to get him here. But how?

I took a deep breath and slowed myself down. It never helped to rush into things. I tried to take a mental step backward. It always helped me to try to look at problems from a different angle.

Instead of bringing Thellops here… might we somehow bring Dad to Thellops? King Uthor might have a price on our heads, but I could change my appearance at will. From what I'd seen, others in Chaos had that ability, too… maybe even Blaise? If we could disguise our father and smuggle him back to the Courts of Chaos for Thellops to cure…

Then I almost chuckled out loud. Ridiculous—we couldn't just walk into our enemy's stronghold with a vague hope someone might be able to cure our father. We might as well stroll up to the palace gates and ask to be captured or killed.

I chewed my lip thoughtfully. Again I tried to take a mental step back. There had to be another way.

“Tell me more about Thellops,” I finally said. Understanding him better might provide a third solution.

“Everyone says he's a harmless old man. I don't know what else to add.”

“Is he Uthor's man?”

“I don't think so.”

“Why not?”

She hesitated. “It's just a feeling I have. The way he's always looked at the king… with more annoyance than respect, I'd say.”

“If I wanted to talk with him, how would I go about it? Is there a place I might find him alone and unguarded?”

“Maybe at the Logrus…”

“Does he ever leave the Courts?”

“I don't think so.” She hesitated. “He's old. And crazy. Where would he go? Nobody wants him.”

I started to pace. “Tell me more about the Logrus. Is it guarded? Could I get to it?”

“It's not guarded… it doesn't need to be.”

“What about Thellops?”

“He doesn't carry any weapons, if that's what you mean. Maybe, if you caught him by surprise, you could bring him here before he could stop you. He doesn't look very strong.”

“You never know. Appearances can be deceiving, especially with creatures of Chaos.” I shook my head. “No, kidnapping him wouldn't work, anyway. We need him in a cooperative mood. Might we appeal to his sense of duty? Or friendship? How well does he know Dad?”

“Not well, I think. I have never heard Dad mention him before, except off-handedly.”

“Thellops!” Dad suddenly muttered, as if on cue.

I glanced down at him. He seemed to be asleep. His arms and legs twitched like a dog chasing dream-rabbits.

Then another thought struck me.

“What if Dad was trying to warn me about something?” I said slowly. “Could Thellops have done this to him? It might explain Dad's behavior. He called me Thellops before he tried to kill me.”

“I don't know…” Blaise hesitated. “Freda might be able to tell. Was Dad ever out of your sight? Could they have met without your knowing it?”

I remembered how Dad had vanished from the center of the Pattern. Where had he gone? And how long had he been there? I had no way of knowing.

“It's possible,” I admitted. “We got separated.”

“How long were you apart?”

“I don't know. Time got weird.” How long had I been trapped in that gray fog? After Dad redrew the Pattern, I fell and lost all sense of time. It could have been an hour. It could have been days or weeks. I had no way of telling, especially since time ran differently among all the Shadows. At least a month had passed in the Courts of Chaos, according to Blaise.

With a sigh, Blaise continued, “Thellops is very powerful. He has to be, since he works directly with the Logrus. But, assuming he really is to blame for what happened to Dad, I have to ask—why? It doesn't make sense to me. Why would he attack Dad? And why would he make Dad crazy?”

Good questions. I wished I had an answer.

She went on, “Thellops has never been involved in politics, as far as I know. He doesn't carry a sword or fight duels. Why would he interfere? Why wouldn't he let King Uthor and the lai she'one take care of Dad? It doesn't make sense to me.”

“How about revenge?” I suggested. “No one but Dad and me seems to want the Shadows.”

“And Aber,” she said, pulling a sour face. They had never gotten along. “And Freda, of course.”

I nodded. True, they both seemed to love the Shadows as much as I did. We were all more alike that I'd thought… children of the Pattern, all.

Blaise said, “Besides, many people in the Courts have grown up with the Shadows and enjoy playing in them. But the rest of us…” Her voice trailed off. “The Shadows just don't seem right to me, somehow. They don't belong. I think everyone feels that way now. When the storms came—”

“But that was years ago!” Aber had told me about the terrible magical storms that swept in from the Shadows after they first appeared, wrecking havoc on the Courts of Chaos and killing thousands.

“No,” Blaise said firmly. “More storms struck Chaos—a lot more—over the last month.”

“They must have happened when Dad drew the Pattern again,” I said.

“I don't know.” She sighed heavily. “They were horrible, Oberon, pounding at the Courts and the Beyond until we thought the universe itself was coming to an end. I never want to experience anything like that again!”

“I'm sorry about the Shadow-storms,” I said, “but they're gone and nothing can be done about it now. You survive—”

“No thanks to you!” she said with a snort.

“—and I find it hard to care about anyone else in Chaos, beyond our immediate family. In fact, I wish the storms had killed off Uthor and Lord Zon and everyone else who stands against us. I'd send more storms, if I knew how!”

“Don't even think that!” She looked horrified. “You have no idea how horrible they were! I wouldn't wish it on our worst enemy—think of the thousands of innocent people who would die!”

I snorted. “You have a soft spot in your heart. I would kill our enemies in one quick swipe, if I could. No matter the cost.”

“You would only make more enemies.” She shook her head. “We're a hardy lot, we Lords and Ladies of Chaos.”

“Almost as hard to kill as Dad and me.”

“You'd be surprised at how much it takes to kill a Lord of Chaos.” She shrugged. “The Pattern storms served as a wakeup call. When the Courts are weakened and Chaos itself is threatened, everyone will put aside their differences and join the king.”

“Against Dad and me.”

“If you want to put it that way, then yes. Everyone blames Dad, but they want us all dead. You, me, Freda, Dad—everyone. It's in our bloodline, they say… traitors breed more traitors. If we are dead, the problem goes away… or so the reasoning goes.”

“I think I'm finally beginning to understand,” I said. In a sudden flash of inspiration, the truth came to me. We weren't really fighting over the existence of the Shadows or the devastation caused by Pattern storms. We were fighting over power.

The Pattern rivaled the Logrus… might even be more powerful than the Logrus. Sure, purebred Lords of Chaos could change their appearance, move through Shadows, and summon objects from far away. But I could do most of that already using just the Pattern. And, unlike Chaos, the Pattern cast a seemingly infinite number of Shadow-worlds across the universe.

I had to ask myself, If the Pattern holds such power, why would anyone need the Logrus?

Dad was like the first Lord of Chaos, the one who discovered and experimented with the Logrus, mastering its gifts to forge an empire. This first King of Chaos must have wielded powers unimaginable to all who came before him. And he had used that power to conquer his enemies and create the Courts of Chaos, which he and his descendants had ruled for untold thousands of years.

A shiver of excitement and anticipation ran through me. I wondered… could the Pattern do the same? Once mastered, would it make Dad—and me!—the undisputed rulers of both Shadows and Chaos?

I swallowed hard. No wonder King Uthor wanted us dead. He feared not only the Pattern and its powers, but what we might become if we mastered it.

And he had good reason to fear. If I had the ability to strike, I would have used the Pattern against him without a second's hesitation.

I had missed part of what Blaise was saying and forced my attention back to her.

“—can you blame them?” she said. “Those Pattern storms killed hundreds and destroyed a dozen keeps! The Pattern is a menace and must be destroyed for everyone's safety!”

Half amused, I smiled down at her. She suddenly seemed almost childlike, prattling on about insignificant details in the mistaken belief they might somehow be important.

“Forget about getting rid of the Shadows,” I said. “I told you, it isn't possible now.”

“King Uthor will destroy them. And the Pattern.”

“He can try.”

She snorted. “Do you really think you can stand against the king?”

“If necessary. I'm not going to roll over and give up.”

Blaise shook her head wonderingly. “You're either incredibly stupid or incredibly brave.”

I grinned. “Maybe a bit of both. Now, about Thellops…”

She rubbed Dad's forehead gently. “It doesn't make sense. If Thellops wanted Dad dead, why not kill him outright? Why make him crazy?”

“Maybe Dad escaped. Or maybe Dad won… we have no idea what happened. Or Maybe Thellops thought madness was a better punishment.”

She shook her head. “Maybe… but it doesn't feel right. I think there's another answer. Something that hasn't occurred to either of us yet.”

I had to agree. None of it quite fit. Somehow, I had the feeling we had missed an important detail or two.

Blaise stifled a small yawn. “Anyway, it's best to do nothing if you don't know what the problem is. You might make it worse.”

“I don't think it can get much worse.”

“I'd say death is worse. Dad is still alive.”

“True.” She had me there.

“Wait and see if Dad recovers his senses,” she said. “Then you can ask him why he keeps saying 'Thellops.' Maybe he's dreaming of old friends.”

“I don't think Thellops is a friend.” I had to smile. “Dad wanted to kill me. And he put a lot of effort into it. Old friends don't generally go around trying to murder each other.”

“It could be something you said or did to Dad.” Blaise yawned again. “It's nothing a good night's sleep can't fix. Speaking of which…”

“No!” I raised my hand as if I planned to slap her again, and her eyes flew open.

“All right, all right!” she snarled, eyes narrowing to slits. “I'm awake now! Honestly, Oberon, you can't go around hitting people. The next time you try, I'll break your arm!”

“Promises, promises.” I smiled and shrugged. “As I said, you have to stay awake. I can only carry one unconscious relative at a time.”

“I'm not going to fall asleep.”

“Uh-huh. Not with me on watch, anyway.”

I studied her face carefully; her eyelids already drooped. What could be causing her sleepiness? Our proximity to the Pattern?

Maybe she would feel better if we moved farther away from it. It was worth a try.

“Come on, let's get moving. We'll find a place where you can rest safely.”

“All right.” She climbed unsteadily to her feet. “What about Dad?”

“If you can walk, I'll carry hi—”

“I will walk.” She sounded determined.

“All right. Follow me. Shout if you can't keep up. I'll slow down.”

“Don't worry about me, brother dear.”

“Fair enough.”

Picking Dad up, I started for the forest at a brisk pace. A clear destination filled my mind. As I walked, I let my imagination soar, and the landscape around us began to flow and change: a hint of pink around the sun, bunches of white flowers at the curve in the path, a covered bridge spanning a creek. A tame fawn paced us, nuzzling our pockets for treats.

Blaise laughed in delight. I glanced back and smiled. We didn't have enough laughter in our lives.

Then, letting my stride lengthen, we left the deer loping through the underbrush, playing hide-and-seek in the bushes with rabbits, skunks, and other forest creatures.

Forest, to grasslands, to gently rolling hills lush with ripening wheat and rye, and on through pastures of fat cows and rotund sheep. Here and there prosperous-looking farmers worked the fields with sons. All waved and drawled the friendliest of welcomes. Two boys came running, carrying packs. They both eyed our father curiously. Neither asked why I had a tied-up old man in my arms; that would have been rude, and they weren't the prying types… a restful Shadow indeed. We needed calm natives who wouldn't try to kill us or betray us…

“May we offer you a drink, sir?” they asked. “Or a sandwich, ma'am?”

“No, thanks.” I paused and looked back as my sister caught up. “Blaise?”

“A drink would be lovely,” Blaise said. She brushed a dangling strand of hair off her forehead. Without makeup, with her hair in disarray, she had a harder edge to her face. I remembered the strength behind her punch and wondered not for the first time if I had somehow underestimated her.

“Here.” The oldest of the two fumbled a clay jar from their pack and poured water into a cup held by his brother. They both handed it to her.

“Thank you.” She drank deeply, coughed, gasped, and handed it back quickly.

“Good?” I asked with a grin.

“It was… water.” She gave a horrified shudder.

“More?” Both boys grinned up at her, thinking she had enjoyed it.

“I'm fine now.”

They looked at me again. “Sir? Perhaps for the old gentleman?”

“We're both fine,” I said. I glanced up the road and frowned. There would be an inn just ahead, beyond the grove of trees over the hill… a rambling old inn with a railed porch around the front. Dad could rest easily there. A brilliant physician lived on an estate not far beyond. He could help us.

It had to be so. My vision made sure of it.

Chapter 7

Sure enough, the small town came into view when we topped the hill. As places go, it was nothing fancy, perhaps two dozen buildings, but a sprawling old inn sat facing us. Smoke drifted lazily from a pair of tall brick chimneys, carrying smells of fresh bread and roasting meat. Three gray-bearded old men sat on the porch in rocking chairs, whittling away at wooden blocks. As we approached, they all looked up and called cheery good-mornings.

“Somethin' wrong with that fellow?” one of them asked me idly. He stared without concern at our father's bruised face and bound wrists.

“He has seizures,” I said. It came out sounding more exhausted than convincing; it had been a long day. “I tied him up to keep him from hurting himself. That last seizure almost killed him.”

“Ayah.” Nodding sagely, he settled back into his chair and began rocking slowly once more. “You'll be wanting Doc Hand, then.”

“Not Young Doc Hand,” said the second old-timer, still whittling. “The one you need is Old Doc Hand.”

“Ayah,” said the third whittler. “Old Doc Hand, he's the best for seizures, sure enough. He lives over the short hills, nearer to Haddoxville than to Barleyton, at Manor-on-Edge.”

“Thanks,” I said. Old Doc Hand would be our man.

The first whittler said, “Have Young Jamas fetch Old Doc Hand for your daddy. Young Jamas ought to be inside, behind the counter more'n likely. He won't mind the trip. His girl's in Haddoxville, right enough.”

“Ayup,” said the second whittler rocking slowly. “Young Jamas won't mind 'tall.”

I glanced at Blaise. “How are you doing?”

“I feel much better,” she said, giving me a look that said the worst for her had passed. “Though after that foul farm beverage, I need a real drink.”

“Jamas has the best wine in seven counties,” said the third whittler.

“Thanks,” I said. “When you're thirsty, come in and I'll buy you all a round of drinks.”

“Thank you kindly!” said the first. “We'll be along presently, once Jamas has you settled in, sure as you're standin' there!”

I carried Dad inside. As my eyes adjusted to the dimness of the low-ceilinged common room, I saw scattered tables and a long counter. A pot of something hearty-smelling simmered in the fireplace.

Behind the counter stood a red-haired man of middling years. He looked up from polishing the thick oak slab used as a bar and gave a friendly nod. Could this be Young Jamas?

“Mornin',” he said with a pleasant smile. “Somethin' wrong with that fellow you're carryin'?”

“He's ill—having seizures.” I decided to stick with that story.

“Need a room, then?”

“Three of them.”

“Have your pick upstairs.” He nodded to the steps at the far end of the room. “There's no one else stayin' here at the moment. It's nothin' fancy, mind you, but the beds're warm and the food's good and plentiful.”

“That's all we want.” I started for the stairs, then hesitated. Better take care of Dad first. “The men outside said to ask for Young Jamas. That wouldn't be you, would it?”

He chuckled. “I haven't been Young Jamas in nigh on twenty years. That's my eldest boy. I'm just Jamas now.”

“Not Old Jamas?” I joked.

“Nope. Old Jamas is my Da.”

“Pleased to meet you, Jamas.” I nodded politely. “I'm Oberon. This is my sister Blaise. We were hoping your boy might go to Haddoxville for Old Doc Hand.”

Jamas nodded. “Old Doc Hand is the one you want, sure enough, for somethin' like seizures. Always go with experience, I say. My boy's out back getting wood for the kitchen. He'll be back in a few minutes. I'll send him straight for the doc. He won't mind.”

“Thanks.”

“Don't mention it.”

Turning, I carried Dad up the narrow flight of steps to the second floor. I pushed open the first door on the left with my foot, finding a small chamber with mismatched pieces of furniture: a high-canopied bed, a narrow armoire, and a battered washstand with a chipped blue basin. It would do quite nicely for Dad.

“Here, let me get the bed.”

Blaise hurried around me and drew back the patchwork quilt. I slid Dad between the sheets. He was drooling again. I sighed and wiped his mouth on his shirt.

“Can I untie him now?” she asked. “I don't think he's dangerous.”

“All right. But be careful—if he wakes up, he might get violent.”

“He wouldn't hurt me.”

“You can't trust a madman.”

Silently she untied our father's wrists, rubbing at the deep red marks they left. Dad stirred a bit and murmured softly. Then, to my surprise, she reached down and removed a knife with a unicorn-hilt from his right boot. I hadn't known he carried one there. It matched the one I'd taken from him earlier.

“I keep my eyes open,” she said with a grin, as if in answer to my thoughts. She passed the knife to me, and I tucked it into my belt, next to its mate. “Not that it will do much good—he can always get another one with the Logrus.”

I hadn't thought of that, and I frowned. What use to disarm someone who could get a new weapon any time he wanted?

“Maybe we should leave him tied up…” I said.

“If he gets loose, he gets loose. I'll help you catch him next time, if it comes to that.”

I raised my eyebrows. Again, I sensed the warrior within her that she kept so carefully hidden behind silks and lace. I did not doubt her word: if she said she'd help catch him, she would do it.

“Come on,” Blaise said. “I want that drink now.”

“Me too.”

We started for the door, where I drew up short.

“Wait!” I felt a sense of contact from a Trump.

“What's wrong?” Blaise asked.

“Someone's trying to reach me—”

I concentrated, and through a strange, flickery tunnel I saw a shadowy figure. He—I thought it was a man—seemed to be saying something. I couldn't quite make out the words, though.

“Who is it?” Blaise asked.

“I can't tell,” I said.

“Oberon…” The man's voice echoed faintly.

“Aber?” I said. His image flickered, then grew clearer. It definitely was my brother—but much thinner than the last time I'd seen him. His cheekbones stuck out and dark circles rimmed his deep-set eyes.

“… alive!” he said. His voice faded it and out. “I've… to reach you… days!”

“Time runs differently here. Where are you?”

“About… killed!” he howled. He sounded desperate. “Get… before…! Hurry!”

Chapter 8

“Here!” Without hesitation, I reached toward him.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes growing wide, then seized my wrist with both hands. It felt as though he weighed a ton, but I gritted my teeth and hauled him forward. He tumbled into my arms.

“O—!” Aber stretched out his hands and staggered. He couldn't seem to get his balance. “There's something wrong here—”

He would have fallen if I hadn't supported him. Could the same thing that happened to Blaise be affecting him, too?

“You just need to get your Pattern-legs,” I said wryly, with more confidence than I felt. When he didn't so much as smile at that private joke, I knew he had to be in pretty bad shape. More concerned now, I helped him sit on the bed next to Dad.

He had lost a lot of weight, and his face had a desperate, hunted quality I'd only seen in game animals before the kill. Although he wore his usual blue pants and shirt, yellowish dust covered him from head to toe. The knees of his pants had been torn to shreds, like he'd just crawled through a rock garden… which, for all I knew, might have been trying to eat him. Rocks had strange properties in Chaos.

“What's wrong with Dad?” he asked, staring at our father. “Did someone attack him? Is he all right?”

“He's sick,” I said.

“Great,” Aber muttered, putting his head down in his hands. He took a deep shuddering breath and let it out slowly. “I figured he'd be able to fix everything.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “You want him to destroy the Pattern.”

He glanced up. “No! But… maybe if he gave himself up, Uthor would spare the rest of us.”

“Self-sacrifice? That doesn't sound like Dad.”

“No, I guess not,” he said, a note of bitterness creeping into his voice. “Though, of course, we could always sacrifice him ourselves. Maybe the king would make a deal…”

“No,” I said flatly. “We're family, and we're going to stick together.”

“You and your idealism! Dad would sell you out in a heartbeat if he thought it would save his own skin.”

“You aren't doing him justice,” I said. Dad had gone to great lengths to protect me during my childhood. “Take a minute to catch your breath. Then you can tell me all about what happened in the Courts. Maybe I can help some other way.”

“I don't think anyone can help now.” He studied the floorboards. “They're after us all. I think Uthor's caught everyone but you and me and Dad.”

“And Blaise, of course,” I said. “She's free.”

“Blaise? That's just great!” he said sarcastically. I remembered there was no love lost between them. “Of course she would be the one to get away.”

“Thanks for caring, Aber,” Blaise said coolly from behind me.

He glanced up in surprise.

“I thought you were dead,” he said to her.

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Why didn't you answer my calls?”

“I must have been busy.”

Aber opened his mouth for an angry retort, but I waved him to silence.

“Go downstairs,” I told Blaise. “We'll join you at the bar in a few minutes. I need to talk to Aber alone.”

“Oh, very well. I need that drink anyway. Especially now that he's here.” She stomped off into the hall without another word.

“Bitch,” Aber muttered under his breath. To me, he said, “I tried to reach her five or six times over the last few weeks, when I really needed help. She didn't answer. I assumed she had been captured. It figures she wouldn't bother to answer me.”

“She had her own problems,” I said. “I got her out of the Courts of Chaos just in time—hell-creatures were breaking down the doors to her room.”

“You should have left her there.” He folded his arms stubbornly. “Some people aren't worth rescuing.”

“She's still family,” I said. I tried to look stern. We couldn't let arguments divide us, not with so many enemies after our blood. “If what you say is true, there are few enough of us left now. And I'm sure Blaise will prove useful once we're settled in again.”

He gave me an odd look. “She wouldn't help in the Courts when I needed her. I'm not going to forget that!”

“I didn't say you should. Be aware of her limitations and know you can't count on her. She may be difficult, and you may not enjoy her company, but we have to stick together whether you like to or not.”

“That's a good way to get us all killed,” he grumbled. “I keep telling you not to trust anyone!”

“Except you.”

“Of course!” He laughed, a bit of his old spirit returning. “And Freda, of course. But Blaise? Certainly not! I wouldn't be surprised if she turned out to be the traitor who almost got us all killed in Juniper.”

“Don't worry.” I shook my head. “I don't trust anyone right now. She wants me to destroy the Pattern, after all.”

“What!” He gaped. “And destroy the Shadows?”

“Don't worry, I won't do anything so drastic.” I chuckled. “Even if I knew how to destroy it. Which I don't.”

He sank back. “Good.”

“You said Uthor has everyone else?”

“I think so. As soon as those storms came, he issued orders to arrest everyone in our family.”

“I'm not surprised.” I would have done the same thing, in his place.

“How were the storms created?” Aber asked. “Did Dad really send them to destroy Chaos, the way everyone says?”

“If he created them, it was by accident.” I shrugged. “When he retraced the Pattern, it destroyed all the old Shadows and made new ones. The force of that destruction must have carried as far as Chaos. I can't think of any other explanation.”

“The Pattern—are you sure he made it correctly this time?”

“Yes. I can feel it in the back of my mind, the way you must feel the Logrus.”

“Really?” he brightened. “That is good news! Since you're determined to keep it, there's only one thing to do.”

“What's that?”

“Learn to control its powers. Maybe Dad…”

His voice trailed off as he looked at our father again. He leaned closer, studying the bruises, cuts, and split lip. At least the swelling had started to go down.

“What happened to Dad?” he asked. “It looks like a ton of rocks fell on his head.”

“Making the new Pattern did something to his mind. He's been acting crazy. He tried to kill me this morning, and I had to defend myself.”

“So you did this?”

“Afraid so,” I said half apologetically.

He whistled, then looked at me with new respect. “Except for Locke, Dad was the best swordsman in the family; you must be even better.”

I didn't deny it. Let him think so… a dangerous reputation never hurt anyone.

Aber continued, “All I can say is—good for you! About time someone put Dad in his place. I only wish I'd been there to see it. Do you really think he'll be okay?”

“Sure,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “He just needs time and rest. We've already sent for a doctor. Just a matter of waiting for him to show up.”

“Good.”

“How about you?” I asked. “Are you feeling better now?”

He thought for a second. “Actually, yes.”

“Up for a drink?”

“Almost.” Aber stood unsteadily and began straightening his clothes and brushing himself off. Clouds of yellow dust puffed out from his pants and shirt. “So, where have you been, Oberon? I've been trying to reach you for weeks. I had just about given up!”

I shrugged apologetically. “Time runs differently here. I don't think it's been more than a few hours since I last saw you. At least, that's what it feels like. How long has it been since you've seen me?”

“I'm not sure.” He frowned. “At least four or five weeks. Maybe longer. I've been on the run most of that time just trying to stay alive. The lai she'one finally cornered me in the Beyond, right after the last of the storms let up. That's when I started trying every card I had left.”

“Did you reach Freda? Anyone else?”

“No. I couldn't reach anyone except you.”

I felt my heart plunge.

“If Freda's been hurt or killed…” I said.

“I imagine King Uthor has her, but…” He shrugged. “I don't know. She wasn't publicly executed, at least. Not like Mattus and Titus.”

“What!” I stared at him, shocked. “When? How?”

“Uthor put them to the sword about two weeks ago.” At my horrified expression, he went on grimly, “Their heads are on pikes outside the palace gates. I'm surprised Blaise didn't tell you.”

“No, she didn't say anything.” I swallowed hard. Two brothers, dead. Freda, my favorite sister, probably captured. And all the others… Right now, Uthor might be torturing them… or worse. I remembered how Lord Zon had used my other brothers' blood to spy on Dad in Juniper.

My thoughts turned back to Freda. Just a few hours ago, as these Shadows reckoned time, she had tried to contact me through my Trump. Had I missed my chance to save her? By not answering, had I gotten her captured or killed?

Unfortunately, there was nothing I could have done at the time—those unicorns would have killed us both if I'd tried to bring her through to join me. I sighed.

“Let me try her now,” I said.

“I just did. But go ahead.”

Quickly, I pulled out my deck of Trumps, riffled through them until I got to her card, and held it up. I concentrated hard, staring at her picture.

Nothing.

“Well?” Aber asked.

I just shook my head. Lowering the card, I returned it to my deck. Until I saw her body, I refused to believe anything bad had happened. I'd try again later… and as many times as it took to reach her. If that failed, we would have to find a way to rescue her. I couldn't leave her in Uthor's clutches.

“What about Conner?” I asked quietly.

“I don't know. I couldn't reach him, either. Nor Fenn, Isadora, Syara, Pella, or Leona. Have you heard from anyone other than Blaise?”

“No.”

He shook his head slowly. “I'm not surprised. With the king's whole army out hunting for us, we didn't have much of a chance.”

“You're still alive.”

“By the skin of my teeth. What about you? Have you heard from anyone else?”

“From Freda a few hours ago. But time is running so slowly here, it must have been weeks ago in Chaos.”

“A pity.”

I nodded. Bad news, indeed. For now, I could only hope at least some of our siblings were alive and in hiding. After all, we came from a big family. If Blaise and Aber had escaped, others might have, too. We would work on contacting them as soon as we had a safe place to gather our forces.

Aber looked around the room. “Where are we, anyway? This isn't Juniper, is it?”

“No, Juniper is gone. This is a small tavern in a Shadow cast by the new Pattern. If it has a name, I don't know what it is.”

“Are we safe?”

“As safe here as anywhere, at least for now. I wouldn't risk much magic using the Logrus, though, just in case.”

“Fair enough.” He stood. “I need to get cleaned up. I'll tell you everything else after a long, hot bath… I assume there are long hot baths here?”

“There you go.” I jerked my thumb toward the small basin on the washstand against the far wall “Jump in.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You're kidding, right? I want a real bath, with scented oils. Then a massage. Then a good hot meal—a light cream of mushroom soup, then salad and braised lamb chops, followed b—”

I couldn't stop laughing.

“What is it?” he demanded.

I said, “Do I look like I'm kidding? You aren't going to get any of those things here. If you're lucky, maybe the innkeeper can get you a bowl of whatever stew he's got simmering in the fireplace. You might be stuck with bread, cheese, and wine.”

“I'll settle for a steak if there's nothing better. Or I can always get it myself.”

“As I said, I don't think it's a good idea for you to use the Logrus here. What if Uthor has a way to track you when you use it?”

“Magic doesn't work that way.”

“Humor me.” I shrugged. “I never claimed to be an expert, just paranoid.”

“No bath. No servants. No food.” He shook his head glumly. “This isn't going to work, Oberon. There's nothing here. A Lord of Chaos could walk right in, kill us all, and destroy the Pattern.”

“First he has to find us. Then he has to kill me. And then he has to find the Pattern. It's not as easy as it sounds. It's been hidden, just like last time.”

“Where is it, then?”

“Safe. And it's going to stay safe from now on. I'm not telling anyone.”

“Even me?”

I chuckled. “Especially you. You were on King Uthor's payroll, remember?”

“Unwillingly! They threatened to kill me, remember. And anyway, look where it got me—hunted through the Beyond and a dozen other Shadows of Chaos,”

“Even so.”

He shrugged. “Okay. It's not like I need to know. Or particularly want to.” Rising, he started for the washstand. “If I'm going to avail myself of your so-called bath, the least you can do is find me some decent clothes while I'm getting cleaned up!”

“Would you settle for a towel?”

“I'll get my own.” He reached into the air and plucked a towel from nothingness—using that Logrus trick again to summon whatever he needed.

“I said no Logrus tricks!”

“Oh—sorry. It's instinct, I guess. I wasn't thinking.”

I sighed. “Just don't do it again.”

For the first time, I wondered if the Pattern would let me do the same sort of summoning-trick. I'd have to experiment with it later. Maybe I could get him to explain how it worked with the Logrus…

“I'll meet you downstairs,” I said as he stripped off his shirt and began splashing water onto his face. “I want to hear about everything I missed. And I'm sure Blaise does, too, whether she admits it or not.”

I carried Dad's sword downstairs with me and had Jamas put it away for safekeeping. Then Blaise and I passed a pleasant half hour sitting quietly at the bar, sipping a cool, fruity red wine and sharing a comfortable silence. We both had a lot to think about.

Jamas had just informed Blaise and me that his eldest son had left to fetch for Old Doc Hand when Aber trooped down the staircase and joined us. My eyes widened in surprise. He now wore a shimmering blue tunic, deep blue hose, and black riding boots with heavy silver kickplates at the toes. His brown hair, brushed straight back, glistened damply. With the dust and dirt scrubbed from his face and hands, he looked even more gaunt than before.

“Much better,” I said. Then I sighed. “But you used the Logrus again, didn't you?”

“Uh… sorry.” He gave a sheepish grin and pretended contrition. “Really, I couldn't help myself. I hate being dirty. Besides, no one can trace us when we use the Logrus. Ask Blaise if you don't believe me.”

“Blaise?” I glanced at our sister.

“How would I know?” She shrugged. “I don't care how the Logrus works. I'm just glad it does!”

“Considering our enemies,” I said, “I'd still rather err on the side of caution. They seem to know more about how magic and the Logrus works than anyone else here—including you and Dad.”

“True…” He sighed. “I'll be more careful. Besides, we aren't going to be staying here long, are we?”

“Just long enough to get Dad well.”

Aber took the stool next to mine, on the other side from Blaise. I caught a whiff of lavender—he'd even perfumed himself. I shook my head in disbelief.

“What are you drinking?” he asked, peering over the rim of my tankard.

“Stout.”

“I'll have a pint, too,” he said to Jamas.

“Aye.” Jamas squinted at Aber as he drew a pint from a keg.

“Didn't see you go upstairs, sir.”

“I'm pretty quiet,” Aber said with an half smile. “People don't notice me much.”

“Not quiet enough,” Blaise murmured to herself.

“Better quiet than blathering.” Aber glowered at her.

Blaise suddenly found it necessary to study her fingernails.

“Cut it out!” I told them both. “We don't have time for such childishness. If we're all that's left of our family, we will get along. Got that?”

“You're right, of course, dear Oberon,” Blaise said. She put her arm around my shoulder and gave a not-so-subtle wink. “I'm sorry, Aber,” she said. “You certainly didn't deserve that. I'll try to be more kind?”

“You're not my sister,” Aber said darkly. He drained half in stout in one long gulp. “The real Blaise would never apologize. It's not in her nature.”

“You don't know anything about her nature,” Blaise said. “My nature, I mean.”

“Whose nature?”

“You're an idiot!”

He brightened. “Now that's the Blaise we know and love!”

I sighed. So much like little children… I half wished I could spank them both and send them off to bed without supper. But Blaise would probably break my arm if I tried.

Better to simply change the subject.

“Tell me what I missed in the Courts,” I said to Aber. “What happened to you?”

“It's quite a tale.”

“I'm not going anywhere.”

“Neither am I,” said Blaise somewhat contritely. She leaned on the bar, pillowing her chin in her hands. “Tell us of your heroic cowering in basements.”

“Blaise…” I said warningly.

“Don't mind her,” Aber said. “No one else does.”

Chuckling, he drained the rest of his stout, then motioned for Jamas to refill his tankard. With a new drink in hand, he cleared his throat, leaned back, and launched into his story.

Chapter 9

After I left you and Dad at the Pattern,” Aber began, “I returned to our home in the Beyond. A week or more must have passed while we were away. The house was strangely quiet—it had that echoey, empty feeling a place gets when there's no one left alive. Even the torches had gone out.

“'Hulloo!' I called several times. I got no answer. Where had the servants gone?

“I used a quick spell and sent several balls of light spinning toward the ceiling. Their glow revealed a dozen corpses up there—on the ceiling. Each one had been beheaded. From their uniforms, they all belonged to the household guard.

“After that, I moved cautiously through the house, looking at all the damage. Every piece of furniture had been smashed, and every door had been torn from its hinges—even the magically protected doors. That took a lot of power. Uthor's men—at least, I assumed it had been Uthor's men—had not been fooling around.

“I counted thirty-nine headless bodies on the ground floor. The second and third floors had also been trashed. In my own rooms, someone had poured all the paints, pigments, and inks onto the floor, then smashed the empty jars against the walls. It made a huge sticky mess. Of course, I could replace it all; what really hurt was the loss of my storage trunks—and, with them, my most treasured possessions, including hundreds of Trumps I'd painted over the years. Those Trumps showed places I'd been, friends and classmates, and, most of all, relatives. I could easily imagine Uthor's men using them to round up our family.

“Dad's workshop had been cleaned out. Everything, from the largest of his inventions to the smallest scrap of notepaper, had been taken away. Not so much as a piece of lint remained. That didn't particularly worry me, of course—Dad hadn't looked at any of those things in decades. His last ten years of work and research had taken place in Juniper, after all.

“Finally I made a methodical search of the building from attic to basement. It didn't take me long to determine that nothing of value remained anywhere. I counted ninety-four bodies in all, all guards. None of our servants lay among the dead—they must have either run away or been taken prisoner… or, considering how hard it is to find good help these days, perhaps they were, ah, shall we say—forcibly hired away?

“Finding a mostly intact couch in one of the spare bedrooms on the fourth floor, I flopped down and tried to rest. I didn't know what else to do. From the looks of things, the lai she'one had gone through the house so thoroughly, they wouldn't need to come back. I felt safe enough for the moment.

“Exhaustion overcame me. I fell asleep.

“When I finally awakened, hours must have passed. But instead of feeling rested and refreshed, a strange uneasiness settled over me. I had never felt anything like it before. An odd pressure filled my ears. My nerves jangled in warning. The very air itself seemed curiously charged, almost as though a lightning storm were about to break. More than anything else, I wanted to crawl into a hole and pull it closed after me… and yet I could not have told you why.

“Something was coming. Something bad. I felt it in my bones.

“It took more courage than I thought I still had, but I forced myself to go downstairs. Cautiously, I crept to the front doors—one lay flat on the ground; the other hung off its hinges at an angle—and I peeked out.

“The sky looked strange. Clouds boiled and churned, lit from within by constantly striking bolts of blue lightning. All across the courtyard, balls of fire rained down, smoking and smoldering. The air shimmered with odd hues of blue and gold. Then, as I watched, the ground shuddered and rippled like a lake in a windstorm. The rocks lay still.

“When I looked up, beyond the outside wall I saw a shimmering yellow-gold curtain of light slowly moving toward me. It must have been a hundred and fifty feet tall—maybe taller. I stepped outside to see better. Through the open gates to our estate, I saw the ground beneath it churning and breaking apart as it advanced.

“This was my first glimpse of a storm from the Shadows. I had heard tales of them before—they hit Chaos many years ago, I assume when Dad drew the very first Pattern and first created all the Shadows—but I had never thought I would see one this close.

“I backed up in sudden panic, then turned and fled into the house. The walls and floor shook; corpses slid across the ceiling. Colors bled like ink in water, and that sense of pressure building in my head grew so bad, I could barely see straight.

“I fled deeper inside, looking for a place to hide. Small balls of light appeared everywhere, rolling across the floor and walls and ceiling, pooling in the corners. Where could I go? Underground, maybe?

“As I ran toward the kitchens and the nearest staircase to the basement, the walls started to bubble and dissolve. A rushing, ripping, grinding noise rose to deafening levels. I would never make it—the storm had caught me.

“The walls started to peel away and fly into the air. An odd tingling began in my hands and feet. When I raised my arm, I found my flesh had grown translucent—I could see through it. If I didn't do something fast, I wouldn't live through the storm.

“I pulled out the first place-Trump I could find—it showed Triffiq Square in the Courts of Chaos—and used it to jump straight there. I barely made it in time. When I came through, I collapsed and couldn't get up for a few minutes. My arms and legs wouldn't work. I must have been babbling incoherently—I remember strangers helping me up and asking me questions I couldn't understand—but everything else is jumbled and fragmentary.

“Someone there must have recognized me and reported my arrival to Uthor's spies. By the time I came to my senses, the lai she'one were on the lookout for me. I spent the better part of a day losing them. Of course, the Shadow storm helped—between earthquakes, lightning storms, and squalls of destruction like the one that hit our house in the Beyond, not even their urhounds made much progress that day.

“For two days, I hid out and watched and tried not to attract any attention. The storm-darkened sky continued to show spectacular light-effects. Now and then the ground shook—a lot more than it should have, anyway—but the storms that reached the Courts were nowhere near as bad as the ones in the Beyond.

“Over the next few days, I tried repeatedly to reach family members. I managed to contact Conner and Freda. Conner was in the Beyond, safely ensconced with Titus at their Uncle Clengaru's keep, which had been spared from the worst of the Pattern storms; Freda had taken refuge with one of her aunts in the Courts. Neither could take me in, so that left me in something of a quandary. With the Shadows gone, our ancestral home destroyed, and the lai she'one searching for all of us, I didn't have many choices left.

“Finally, in desperation, I returned to the Beyond. Our home had been devastated; what the lai she'one hadn't destroyed, the storm had. The walls had melted, the roof had been ripped away, and little remained beyond a misshapen puddle of melted stone, wood, and glass. Only one wall still stood from the main building, and at its tallest, it couldn't have been more than six feet.

“For a while, I searched among the debris, but found nothing of any possible use. Everything had melted and run together. It was a complete loss.

“I took shelter in one of the small guardhouses that had been part of the wall surrounding our keep. Miraculously, it had escaped unharmed—though I couldn't say the same for the three men whose bodies lay inside. The lai she'one had beheaded them and left their bodies rotting on the ceiling. I dragged them outside, released them, and let them drift into the sky. That took care of the worst of the stench.

“I stayed there for a week, hiding out and waiting to be discovered. Using the Logrus, I snatched food and drink—along with books and anything else I needed for comfort—from nearby Shadows. I talked with Freda several times a day. The one time I reached Conner, he told me he didn't think he and Titus would be alive much longer… people in his uncle's household were giving them strange looks, growing silent when they entered rooms, or just refusing to talk to them or dine with them. He said they blamed Dad for the Shadow-storms. He didn't know what to do or where else to go.

“Of course, I offered to bring them both through to join me, but he wouldn't hear of it. Better dead than living like an animal, he told me scornfully.

“Every day I watched as new storms came through the Beyond, each a little less severe than the last. Fortunately none of these hit near me, and I waited them out in relative comfort and safety.

“Two weeks passed. The towering Shadow-storms had all but ceased, though tiny squalls continued. When I tried to reach Conner, I suddenly got no response. Freda told me she feared what might happen if she ever left her aunt's house. An angry mob had tried to drive her out the day before.

“That was the last time I talked to her. The next day, I couldn't reach her anymore. I assumed she had been killed or arrested, too, like Conner. I would probably be next.

“Another week passed. Loneliness finally got the better of me, I couldn't hide in the ruins for the rest of my life. I had to go out and see what had happened.

“Shapeshifting has never come easily to me, but I changed my features as best I could. Disguised as an old man, I returned to the Courts to see what I could learn.

“When I arrived, a strange mood hung over the streets—anxious, apprehensive, and most of all afraid. People in the streets and plazas stood in small knots, talking and looking around apprehensively. I half expected guards and soldiers to appear, dispersing the crowds, but none did.

“And, as I walked, I couldn't help but notice all the damage. Many buildings had collapsed from the force of the earthquakes and the storms. Giant stones—the kind normally found in the wildest parts of Chaos—nosed among the wreckage like grazing cattle. Women cried and men searched among the debris for loved ones.

“I wandered slowly through the Courts, pausing now and then as I caught interesting bits of conversation. Everyone seemed to be voicing the same thoughts:

“'Dworkin betrayed Chaos.'

“'How many more storms will Dworkin send to destroy us?'

“'Dworkin must be stopped.'

“As I got closer to the palace, I noticed a distinct change in the tone. Instead of 'How will the king stop Dworkin?' it became, 'The king can't protect us anymore. Someone else must!'

“At any other time, such words would have been treason. And to hear well-respected citizens openly saying such things in the streets! Incredible!

“When I got to the palace, I found the gates shut and barred. Grim-faced guards stood at all the entrances, swords out. I tried not to stare, but they were so preoccupied with watching the crowds that they wouldn't have noticed me anyway.

“Then I noticed two severed heads hanging from the spikes to either side of the gates… Mattus and Titus. Signs hung from both—BORN OF A TRAITOR. A coldness touched my heart. King Uthor must have executed them to try to appease the crowds. Only it hadn't worked. Everyone wanted Dad's blood. Nothing else would satisfy them at this point.

“And, I realized, if anyone caught me here, I would probably share their fate.

“At least no other grisly trophies decorated the gates. Perhaps Freda and all the others were still alive in one of the dungeons. I could only hope.

“With no place to go and no plan in mind except to stay alive as long as possible, I went to a small tavern I knew and settled in at a corner of the bar. As I sipped a beer, I listened with interest to all the gossip and talk of Uthor's failings around me. No one mentioned any family members other than Dad—and they mostly cursed his name.

“Then they began to speculate about what the king would—or wouldn't—do to protect Chaos. Several people openly said King Uthor ought to step down in favor of one of his sons.

“'He's too old,' one man said.

“'He cares more for his palaces than his people,' said another, nodding.

“Everyone echoed those sentiments. Then talk turned to how Dad ought to be killed when he finally got caught. Slowly grinding him to mincemeat, starting with his toes, seemed the most creative solution.

“Finishing my drink, I left, and once more wandered the streets. If anything, the crowds had grown larger, and the mood had grown darker. A new storm seemed to be coming: the air had grown darker, and a strange pressure filled the air, just like it had back home in the Beyond. You could feel the people's tension mounting.

“Finally, the lai she'one appeared. They marched toward the largest groups of people, shouting: 'Clear the streets! By the king's order—clear the streets now! Back to your homes or you will be arrested!'

“No one dared protest, but many men gave them angry looks, and I noticed a few fingering their swords or knives. If any had dared start trouble, I think the crowds would have rioted.

“But everyone began to disperse. In twenty minutes, the streets grew relatively empty—the few people still out moving with purpose on personal errands.

“I turned away from the others and took shelter in the ruins of a once grand home. I found a corner where two corner walls and part of the second floor still stood and took shelter just as the storm struck.

“It wasn't nearly as bad as any of the storms I had seen in the Beyond. The walls and ground shook; colors ran into puddles at my feet, and lights played weird tricks on my eyes—glowing and pulsing, they came in waves that left me disoriented and confused.

“When stones fell from the crumbling walls, I crawled under a table. That kept me safe for the next hour.

“The storm passed quickly. By the time I felt well enough to crawl out from the wreckage of the house, criers wandered the streets, shouting the latest news and proclamations—fifteen thousand dead, the hunt for Dad going on, another son of Dworkin captured. I wondered who it could be.

“In Triffig Square, an angry mob burned Dad in effigy. I had never seen so many people out for blood. Our blood.

“I spent another week in the Courts, carefully keeping up my disguise. I listened to the news and kept to myself. Several times people tried to contact me by Trump, but I ignored them. With so many sets of Trumps now in King Uthor's hands, I could not trust anyone.

“Subtly, I made enquiries of old friends, feeling them out for their loyalties. They had all turned against us. I had no one to fall back on for help. At night, I tried several times to contact family members… you, Blaise, Freda, Conner. I even tried Dad a few times. I knew Dad was still free, from all the rumors circulating about him putting together an army to attack Chaos. But he never answered.

“Unfortunately, the stress of keeping up my disguise proved too great. My control over my new face slipped one day as I was walking through the streets by the palace—I tried to go every day, to see if any more family members had been executed. When my old face returned, someone must have recognized me. The next thing I knew, lai she'one were running toward me, packs of urhounds baying as they picked up my scent, and I had nowhere to hide.

“I fled into the wilder Shadows of Chaos. I used every trick I could think of to hide my trail. I crossed the Beyond, then passed through the Gates of Stygia and into Ellysiom. I rode the back of a wild stone through the Mad Lands, and passed through Lyric's Furnace. The heat seared me half to death, and still they followed.

“If not for the urhounds, I probably would have escaped. But they had my scent and wouldn't let go. No matter how far or how fast I fled, their baying voices came behind me.

“I crossed the Golgul Wastes on foot, doubling back several times through the Lesser Catacombs, but nothing worked. I gained a few hours' lead skirting the Abyss, but no more. Finally they cornered me at Draak-Bal Forge.

“That's when I began trying every Trump I had left. Finally I reached you, Oberon. Lucky for me.

“And that's the whole story,” Aber finished. “Not very impressive, I admit, but thanks to you, I escaped Uthor's grasp, which has to count for something. No thanks to Blaise.” He gave her a dark look.

“It wasn't safe where I was, either,” she said. “If not for Oberon…”

I cleared my throat and motioned for more drinks from Jamas. He refilled our tankards silently. He had been listening to Aber's story with a bewildered expression, but like any good barkeep, he knew when to keep his mouth shut. I nodded to myself in silent approval. Perhaps he and his son could be persuaded to relocate to my future Shadow kingdom once we began recruiting settlers.

I turned to Blaise. “Did anyone try to contact you by Trump while you were with your aunt and uncle?”

“Yes, nearly every day.” She shrugged. “I ignored them. I didn't feel like talking to anyone. Much good that it did—the lai she'one came for me anyway. Why? Is it important?”

I paused thoughtfully. “I think so. Uthor must have been using Trumps to find everyone in our family. Had you answered, he probably would have located you sooner. That must be how they captured everyone else.”

The sound of horses' hooves came from outside. I glanced at Jamas, endlessly polishing the far end of the bar with a rag as he listened to our gossip.

“Your son?” I asked.

“Ayeh,” he said with a smile. “Back with Doc Hand, I'll wager. He'll fix your Da up, right enough.”

A loud crash came from somewhere upstairs. Aber and I exchanged a startled glance.

“Dad!” we both said.

I leaped to my feet and sprinted up the stairs with my brother at my heels.

Chapter 10

Drawing my sword, I came through the bedroom doorway poised for a fight. I found Dad next to the bed, looking around with wild eyes. He had knocked over the washstand—that's what had made the crashing sound. Its blue basin had shattered on the floorboards, scattering broken pottery and dirty water across the floor.

Aber drew up behind me.

“Dad?” I said. “How are you feeling?”

I stepped forward cautiously, lowering my sword. He hadn't summoned a weapon through the Logrus, which I took as a good sign.

“Where is he?” Dad said in a hard voice.

“Who?”

“Thellops, my boy! We were just arguing—”

“He's not here,” I said quickly. “You've been sick. Unconscious for hours.”

“Hours? No!” He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, shaking his head. “What did he do to me? How long has it been?”

“I'm not sure.” I hesitated. He seemed a lot better, and yet… subtly different. I couldn't quite put my finger on what had changed. “I found you unconscious at the Pattern a few hours ago, Dad, and brought you here.”

“Where is this place?”

“Just an inn in a Shadow.”

“Time moves differently there… we may still have time.” He stood again, looking around with some confusion. “You must come back with me, of course. And Aber, too…” He frowned, eyes distant. “And Locke. Where is he? I need him.”

“Locke is dead,” I said softly. He had to be very confused, if he'd forgotten his first-born son's death in Juniper.

“Was it Thellops?” He paused. “No… no…”