“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.
TWENTY
he 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 to our 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.
TWENTY-ONE
ith 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 F
enn 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.
Roger Zelazny's The Dawn of Amber Page 21
