The Dawn of Amber

by John Gregory Betancourt

  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.r />
  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 Three

  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 c
arried 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 . . .