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 i
nto 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.
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