Roger Zelazny's The Dawn of Amber

by John Gregory Betancourt

  “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 first-born 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 did leave 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 wa
s 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!”