Oberon's Dreams

by Aaron Pogue

  She sighed so loudly Corin heard it in the sitting room. “The law is law, my lord. It’s not for me to choose how it’s applied.”

  “It’s not,” the gentleman boomed condescendingly. “That’s why you’re not in charge. That’s why I am.”

  “My lord—” she tried to object, but he spoke over her.

  “I am Oberon’s right hand,” he said. “I am the lord protector and prince of Hurope. If I request a writ of provender—”

  “It’s not the note itself! It’s the goods you want.”

  “I am the lord protector! What else would I demand?”

  “My lord,” she persisted, “I would not challenge your intent, but law is law. All you need is Oberon’s approval.”

  “I have it! I have it in my titles and my name!”

  “But not on paper,” she said soothingly. “Forgive me, lord, but paper is my world.”

  “You would thwart me for a scrap of parchment?”

  “You would stoop so low as to ask one of me?” she answered. “A writ of provender by my hand is worth what it is worth because I follow law.”

  “And I would pay what it is worth, but you insist—”

  “I insist for both our sakes,” she interrupted smoothly. “For your safety as much as mine.”

  “Only because you support these foolish games! I grow tired of your rules, outlander. And yes, I know who writes these rules for Oberon.”

  The money changer lowered her voice until Corin could barely catch the words. “These rules make the world.”

  “You’re wrong. The magic of my people makes the world. Your rules only constrain it. If we are to play by such rules, we should be gods above the manling crowd. Not slaves to paperwork.” With a casual gesture he struck the pile of carefully prepared forms from her hands. “If you earn my ire, outlander, Oberon himself would not protect you.”

  He raised his hand as if to strike her and, unthinking, Corin took half a step to intervene. His ankle buckled at the barest weight, and he collapsed into the room. He caught himself on hands and knees, grinding his teeth to stop the screams of agony. When he could breathe again, he found them both staring down at him.

  The gentleman arched an eyebrow. “Your drunk is listening in doorways.” His hand fell to the hilt of that magnificent sword.

  The money changer darted between them and spoke breathlessly. “I’m sure he means no harm.”

  Corin struggled up to lean against a wall. “No. I just…I just want to go home.”

  The gentleman sneered. “And where do you call home? I do not recognize your fashions.”

  “Another time,” Corin said. “Another place. Some kind…some kind of magic.”

  The money changer turned to him, eyes wide and worried. “Hush. Be still. Your whiskey’s talking.”

  “No,” the gentleman said. “No, I would like to hear what he has to say.”

  She turned to him. “My lord, he isn’t well. He’s had a nasty fall.”

  “Even so—”

  Before he could say more, the bell above the outer door announced the physician’s arrival. The gentleman looked that way and then harrumphed.

  “I should have known you’d summon another like you. Tend to your manling gutter trash. I will be back with the scraps of paper you’ll respect.”

  The shopkeeper didn’t answer, and neither did the new arrival. The bell jangled once again, the door slammed shut, and Corin let himself collapse upon the floor.

  Who was this man? Oberon’s right hand? The prince of all Hurope? Corin shook his head. The Godlands had no prince. They never had. Or, rather, they had dozens. Maybe hundreds. If this man held a fraction of the power he claimed, he’d be as powerful as any lord alive.

  And Corin would play him like a lute. The nature of the man was utterly transparent. This prince had arrogance enough to drown a whale; he was a bully well accustomed to his privilege. Just another posturing Ethan Blake.

  But Blake had won. The thought caught Corin broadside, but he shook his head. Blake had been even more a fool than Corin had believed. And when the darkness had cried out, Corin’s crew had let him down. They’d answered stupid confidence instead of reason. It wasn’t Blake who’d won, but Corin’s crew who’d failed him.

  He’d learned a lesson there. That was the key. He knew Ethan Blake, and he knew this prince. Down to the core. All Corin needed now was an audience. With ten minutes’ time, he’d be a trusted confidant. With half an hour, he’d have some way back home. The man had mentioned the magic of his people, hadn’t he?

  Corin rolled onto his side as a shadow fell over him. The figure looming there was unimpressive. Not one of the lords and ladies so common on the street, but…plain. An average height and build for any Godlander, but dressed in fine, strange clothes like the shopkeeper.

  Was that what the gentleman had meant by “outlander”? Corin had thought of the graceful townsfolk as alien, something like the legendary elves from the Isle of Mists. But perhaps they were the natives here. Perhaps Corin’s own people had come from somewhere off.

  Or perhaps these outlanders were something else altogether. In size and shape, this new arrival might have fit in on the streets of Aerome, but his clothes were strange. His tunic and trousers alike were made of some flat, untextured blue, and over all he wore a long white coat. His shoes were strange, as was the bracelet on his wrist. He lingered for a moment in the door, then glanced back behind him to the money changer.

  “He isn’t one of ours?”

  “I sure don’t think so.”

  “Then what’s he doing here?”

  Corin called out, surly, “He’s wasting away while you ignore him.”

  The new outlander turned back to Corin. He knelt beside him at the bottom of the stairs, all the while watching Corin like he was some wild beast. Resting on his heels, elbows on his knees, he showed Corin a big, bright smile.

  “How you doin’? My name’s Jeff.”

  Corin waited for more. When the stranger didn’t offer it, Corin frowned. “I have never known a name like Jeff. Although…there was a Geoffrey Kirkwood at the university…”

  Jeff laughed. “Just Jeff. Plain old Jeff. And you are?”

  “Corin. Corin Hugh. Captain of the Diavahl.”

  “Yeah. And Jeff is weird.” Still chuckling, Jeff slipped a knapsack off his shoulder and tore it open, rummaging within its contents until he brought out a broad white box, an extraordinary pen, and a small book. He flipped through to a blank page and scratched at the page with his pen. Then he glanced up at Corin again.

  “Can you read, by any chance?”

  “Not a lot.”

  “Uh-huh. Where are you from?”

  He said it casually, but Corin spotted the tension in his wrist and across his shoulders, the pinched lines around his eyes. Still…he could think of no good reason to lie. “Born in Aepoli. Sailor these last nine years.”

  “Nine! You’re lying! You don’t look a day past eighteen.”

  Corin didn’t answer.

  The money changer stepped up close behind him and mumbled something in his ear. Jeff whistled softly and scratched something else in his book. “One more question, then I’ll see you right. Got it? Good. What year is this?”

  Behind him, the money changer gasped. Jeff threw an irritated look over his shoulder, and that gave Corin half a heartbeat to think. What year? Was that the secret to this place? Had he stepped out of time?

  Again, he couldn’t guess what would make a useful lie, so he reluctantly settled for the truth. “It’s the ninth of Ippolito.”

  The outlanders both looked puzzled.

  Corin bit his lip. “It’s…I believe the twenty-third of Francis. And something in the thousands south of the Meddgerad, but they don’t count by kings.”

  The money changer frowned. “You do?”

  Jeff said, “How many thousands? Two? Or ten?”

  Corin shook his head. “One. One thousand, two hundred and…eight? Eighty? I don’t know.
I only heard it once.”

  Jeff leaned back. “Twelve hundred years. We’re already past that now, so they must be counting from some other date.”

  “Gesoelig’s founding?” the money changer guessed.

  “No. That wouldn’t give the northern nations time to adopt a new time scheme.”

  “Then what?” the lady asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jeff said. “I suspect it hasn’t happened yet.”

  Corin said, “Perhaps it’s me.” A stab of pain spoiled the joke, and he doubled over clutching at his calf.

  Jeff spat a curse and ripped open the low white box. “Close your eyes,” he said. “I’ll have you better in a moment. Just…close your eyes. You’ll be glad you did.”

  Corin had seen chirurgeons at work before. He quickly complied. He tried not to hear the rustle of strange instruments as Jeff set about his work.

  Jeff asked, “What’s he doing on the floor?”

  He clearly meant the question for the money changer, but Corin was glad of the distraction. Eyes still closed, he answered. “There was a man here threatening the lady.”

  “Threatening?” Jeff asked, alarmed.

  “I’ll tell you later,” the money changer answered. “Just get this one taken care of.”

  Corin shook his head. “No. I need to know more about that man.”

  Something sharp and hot lanced into his ankle, but it wasn’t yet the bone saw. It lasted for a moment and then relented. Corin fell back, gasping. After that moment of liquid fire, the background agony of his broken ankle seemed to be relenting. He caught a dozen panting breaths and pursued his questions.

  “Please,” he gasped. “I need information.”

  “What do you want to know?” the money changer asked.

  “Who is he? What is he in this town? Where can I find him?”

  “Don’t go looking,” Jeff warned. “He isn’t nice at all.”

  “But he does like to give speeches,” Corin said through gritted teeth.

  Jeff laughed at that. “They all do. Something in their…hardwired in their souls, I guess. God bless ’em.”

  The money changer grumbled some frustration then answered Corin seriously. “That was the prince and lord protector, though I suspect you might have heard that.”

  Corin shook his head. “I…wasn’t listening. Too much pain.”

  “Of course,” she said. “He oversees our defenses and our police forces. Our watch, I mean. He doesn’t have much patience for strangers.”

  “Oh, I think I can win him over.” Eyes still shut tight, Corin smiled. He felt light. The pain had dwindled till he barely noticed it. “A man like that…he always needs a helping hand.”

  Just then, Jeff caught his calf in a sure grip. Corin tensed despite himself. This would not be fun. He fought to take slow, calming breaths while a tight pressure clamped around his lower calf. Next would come the saw blade. Or did they use a knife to cut away the muscle first? He clenched his teeth and waited for the searing pain.

  It didn’t come. Jeff clapped his hands together once and gave a sound of satisfaction. “That’s broken bad,” he said. “I can’t do much for it here, but at least the pain is gone. You’ll want to keep it elevated and stay off it for at least two weeks. It’s mostly set, but if you’ll come with me to my office, we’ll get it cast.”

  “Set? Cast?”

  Corin snapped his eyes open to meet Jeff’s gaze, and the leech looked startled. Nervous.

  The money changer barked a laugh. “You never even try.”

  “There’s not much room for role-playing in modern medicine,” Jeff shot back.

  Corin looked from one to the other. Then he glanced down at his foot. There’d been no saw. There’d been no amputation. Instead, he wore some kind of boot. It seemed stiff as steel plate, but light as leather. It gripped tight around his calf, but below that, his whole foot was numb.

  He looked at Jeff. “What did you do?”

  Jeff threw a miserable glance at the money changer, then almost whispered, “Just a local anesthetic.”

  Corin frowned. “A what?”

  “Druid magic,” the money changer said. “All of this is druid magic.”

  Corin’s brows shot up. “Oh! Oh, you are druids?”

  “Yep,” she said. “Right off the ship. We meddle in things man was never meant to understand.”

  Jeff said, “That’s hardly fair.”

  She shook her head. “It’s how it has to be.”

  Corin looked back and forth between them, mystified. At last he shook his head. All this was beyond him, but he had a question far more pressing. He said, “The prince.”

  “No. Forget him,” the money changer said.

  “I don’t believe I can. What is his name?”

  Jeff answered, though the money changer tried to stop him. He didn’t seem at all concerned. He shrugged and said, “That’s Ephitel. Ignore him.”

  Ephitel. He had looked a bit familiar. But Corin hadn’t thought to compare him to the ancient marble friezes or the etchings carved in stone. But aye, the resemblance was there.

  So that was Ephitel. The tyrant god of all Ithale.

  Corin closed his eyes and groaned.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Of all the gods in all the world, why did it have to be Ephitel? But of course it was. That arrogant bravado. That sneering swagger. It was the hallmark of the whole Vestossi clan, and they’d been Ephitel’s anointed throughout Ithale for years.

  How many years? The druid’s question struck Corin again. How many thousands? What was this place? When was this place?

  Corin caught Jeff’s sleeve. “Who are you, druid?”

  “I think that hardly matters,” Jeff said. “The real question is who are you?”

  Corin pointed toward the door. “That was really Ephitel? The Ephitel? I’d heard stories he once served Oberon, but…”

  Jeff frowned. “What do you mean, once?”

  The money changer stomped her foot. “Don’t you say another word! Jeff, we are so far outside the strictures—”

  Perhaps the druids’ magic could send him home. Or perhaps Oberon’s. Strange as these creatures were, Corin needed their aid. He raised his voice before the money changer could stop him. “Ephitel is chief among the gods. Where I come from. He’s a scurvy dog, but he runs things.”

  The money changer rolled her eyes and collapsed into a wide armchair. “See? That’s the kind of thing we should not have heard.”

  Jeff rounded on her. “Are you mad? Do you have any idea what this could mean?” Back to Corin. “How can Ephitel be chief? What about Oberon?”

  Corin’s mouth fell open. He’d heard more than a touch of affection every time they’d mentioned Oberon. After a moment Corin snapped his mouth shut. They didn’t know. After a moment more, he looked away. “Oberon’s…gone. Forgotten. Just a legend.”

  Jeff turned to the money changer. “Emily—”

  “Aemilia!” she snapped. “My name here is Aemilia.”

  “This is not the time for that. Do you understand what he’s saying?”

  “No!” She threw herself to her feet to confront the leech. “I don’t understand a word of it, and neither do you. You’re pretending. You’re guessing. And you’re about to do something rash based on no understanding of the strange magic in this place. That’s why we have the strictures.”

  “Em—”

  “No. No. No. We are not supposed to talk of these things at all.”

  Jeff rolled his eyes. “Only in front of the sons and daughters.”

  “Well, what is he?” she asked, stabbing a finger at Corin.

  “I don’t know what he is! This is unprecedented.”

  “And why don’t you take that as a warning?”

  Before they could argue more—before Aemilia could chase Jeff away—Corin chimed in. “I’m a Godlander. That is all. Born and raised in Aepoli. I’m nothing strange.”

  Both the druids stared at him for a moment. Aemilia thre
w her hands up in disgust.

  Jeff smiled. “There is no such place. What is a Godlander?”

  Aemilia hissed at him. “You need to shut up. Now.”

  Corin tried his best smile on her. “Are you so determined to keep me here on your couch?”

  She blushed. “I never suggested—”

  “And I would never impose on your hospitality,” Corin said, climbing awkwardly to his feet. Aemilia was no use to him, but Jeff seemed more than ready to talk. Corin held out a hand. “This gentleman said something about his office?”

  “No. You’re not going with him.”

  Jeff stiffened. “He’s my patient, Emily.”

  “He’s dangerous, and you know it. He’s out-of-bounds for both of us. We must send him to the palace.”

  Jeff rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on! You heard what he said. If Ephitel gets his hands on this guy…”

  Corin did not like the sound of that. “Please, my lady. I am lost and afraid and most grievously injured. Entrust me to your companion’s care. I’ll see no harm comes of it.”

  She shook her head, firm, and Corin flashed a look of abject defeat. He let his shoulders stoop and turned away. Over his shoulder, he said, “I understand. I’ll go. Thank you for your aid.”

  Aemilia only grunted. Corin took a tender step toward the door, showing his limp. Then on his second step, as his weight settled on the damaged ankle, he collapsed, clutching theatrically at the strange boot. “Stormy seas! That hurts!”

  “You see?” Jeff whined. “He needs my care.”

  She only rolled her eyes and dragged Corin back to his feet. “You can play a role almost as well as one of us, but I can see what you’re after, and you won’t get it from Jeff. He’ll pretend because he’s nosy, but once he’s shot you full of penicillin, he’s exhausted his usefulness.”

  Jeff tried to object, but she rounded on him. “What do you know about time travel? What do you know about geography and politics?”

  Corin shook his head. “If he knows anything at all, it’s more than I.”

  “No,” she said. “I will not allow it. I’ll give you both to Ephitel myself before I’ll let you have that conversation.”

  Jeff bristled. “You wouldn’t.” He did not sound sure.