“I crossed the Golgul Wastes on foot, doubling back several times through the Lesser Catacombs, but nothing worked. I gained a few hours' lead skirting the Abyss, but no more. Finally they cornered me at Draak-Bal Forge.
“That's when I began trying every Trump I had left. Finally I reached you, Oberon. Lucky for me.
“And that's the whole story,” Aber finished. “Not very impressive, I admit, but thanks to you, I escaped Uthor's grasp, which has to count for something. No thanks to Blaise.” He gave her a dark look.
“It wasn't safe where I was, either,” she said. “If not for Oberon…”
I cleared my throat and motioned for more drinks from Jamas. He refilled our tankards silently. He had been listening to Aber's story with a bewildered expression, but like any good barkeep, he knew when to keep his mouth shut. I nodded to myself in silent approval. Perhaps he and his son could be persuaded to relocate to my future Shadow kingdom once we began recruiting settlers.
I turned to Blaise. “Did anyone try to contact you by Trump while you were with your aunt and uncle?”
“Yes, nearly every day.” She shrugged. “I ignored them. I didn't feel like talking to anyone. Much good that it did—the lai she'one came for me anyway. Why? Is it important?”
I paused thoughtfully. “I think so. Uthor must have been using Trumps to find everyone in our family. Had you answered, he probably would have located you sooner. That must be how they captured everyone else.”
The sound of horses' hooves came from outside. I glanced at Jamas, endlessly polishing the far end of the bar with a rag as he listened to our gossip.
“Your son?” I asked.
“Ayeh,” he said with a smile. “Back with Doc Hand, I'll wager. He'll fix your Da up, right enough.”
A loud crash came from somewhere upstairs. Aber and I exchanged a startled glance.
“Dad!” we both said.
I leaped to my feet and sprinted up the stairs with my brother at my heels.
Chapter 10
Drawing my sword, I came through the bedroom doorway poised for a fight. I found Dad next to the bed, looking around with wild eyes. He had knocked over the washstand—that's what had made the crashing sound. Its blue basin had shattered on the floorboards, scattering broken pottery and dirty water across the floor.
Aber drew up behind me.
“Dad?” I said. “How are you feeling?”
I stepped forward cautiously, lowering my sword. He hadn't summoned a weapon through the Logrus, which I took as a good sign.
“Where is he?” Dad said in a hard voice.
“Who?”
“Thellops, my boy! We were just arguing—”
“He's not here,” I said quickly. “You've been sick. Unconscious for hours.”
“Hours? No!” He sat heavily on the edge of the bed, shaking his head. “What did he do to me? How long has it been?”
“I'm not sure.” I hesitated. He seemed a lot better, and yet… subtly different. I couldn't quite put my finger on what had changed. “I found you unconscious at the Pattern a few hours ago, Dad, and brought you here.”
“Where is this place?”
“Just an inn in a Shadow.”
“Time moves differently there… we may still have time.” He stood again, looking around with some confusion. “You must come back with me, of course. And Aber, too…” He frowned, eyes distant. “And Locke. Where is he? I need him.”
“Locke is dead,” I said softly. He had to be very confused, if he'd forgotten his first-born son's death in Juniper.
“Was it Thellops?” He paused. “No… no…”
“That was a long time ago,” I said quickly. Better to steer him back to the subject at hand. “What about Thellops? Has he done something? Is it important?”
“Yes. Thellops.” He looked at me, and I saw a raw anger in his eyes. “The three of us together should be enough.”
“For what?” Aber asked.
Dad stood, then looked down. “What have you done to my boots? The laces are gone. And where is my swordbelt? Thellops is a crafty devil. We must be prepared this time.”
“I have your swordbelt. It's downstairs.” I took his arm and eased him back onto the bed. “Sit down for a minute. Tell me how you're feeling. You took a few blows to the head. Do you remember anything from the Pattern?”
“The Pattern is fine. I drew it, after all.”
“After that…”
He blinked and his eyes grew distant. “Tired. Hungry.” He looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. “Where am I?”
“At an inn,” I said reassuringly. He was repeating himself… and not thinking too clearly. Then I glanced at the door. What was taking Old Doc Hand so long? Maybe he could help.
Dad frowned. “I… already asked that, didn't I?”
“Yes,” Aber said, folding his arms. “Try to focus, Dad. What about Thellops?”
“Thellops?” He looked at me. “Did I kill him, Locke?”
“I'm Oberon, not Locke. I don't know if you killed him. Were you fighting?”
“Yes…”
“Then we'll find out soon enough.”
Dad leaped to his feet. “He got away!” Pulling free from my grasp, he paced like a caged animal.
“Do you know who I am?” I asked.
He glanced at me. “No more games, my boy. We don't have time for nonsense. We have to find Thellops before…” He frowned. “It may be too late now. We will see, we will see…”
I glanced over my shoulder. I couldn't see the stairs, but now I heard a man's heavy footsteps coming slowly up them.
“The Pattern!” he said suddenly. His eyes suddenly widened. “You tried to kill me.”
“No, Dad.” Quickly, I told him what had happened. I wasn't sure how much of it he understood, but he listened, shaking his head now and then. I glossed over our fight—no need to rub his nose in it.
“Sorry, my boy,” he said. “I… was confused.”
“You're better now,” I said reassuringly.
“Yes.”
Just then a short, white-haired man dressed all in black, from a round flat hat to his narrow pointy-toed shoes, came clumping into the room. He carried a small black bag in one hand and a cane in the other.
“Someone sent for me?” He smiled in a kindly way and nodded to each of us.
“Yes. You must be Doc Hand,” I said.
“Ayeh. Are you the patient?” he asked. His watery blue eyes peered up into my face.
“No, our father,” I said, turning to indicate Dad. “Lord Dworkin.”
“Lord?” Doc Hand raised bushy eyebrows. “It's not often the noble-born call on me.”
“Get out,” Dad said brusquely, motioning toward the door. “I need you like I need a hole in the head. Less, in fact.”
Doc Hand chuckled and set his bag on the bed. “Now, now, your Lordship, let me be the judge of that. Seizures, is it?”
“Oberon—” Dad began in a warning tone.
“He seems to be doing a lot better,” I said almost apologetically to the doctor.
“I am fine,” Dad growled.
“Nonsense.” Doc Hand leaned forward and peered at Dad's eyes. “You are certainly not fine,” he said. “You have a concussion, sir. I see it clearly in your eyes. You were beaten severely… twice, I would say, from the looks of that bruising. Once yesterday, once this morning. You got the concussion yesterday. Now, are you going to let me treat you, or do I get these strapping lads to sit on your arms while I do my work?”
Dad glared at all of us. I tried to look firm but menacing. A concussion explained a lot.
“Oh, very well,” Dad finally snapped. He perched on the edge of the bed. “Get on with it!”
I looked at the doctor with new admiration. This was the first time I had ever seen anyone intimidate Dad. Aber seemed equally impressed.
“Hmm,” said the doctor. He skinned back each of Dad's eyelids in turn, peering deep inside. Then he felt Dad's skull for bumps. Finally he stepped back.
“Seizures?” said the doctor. “I see no sign of them. You are quite the brawler, though. I see scars from dozens of swordfights over the years. But who gave you that concussion, eh? There was no fight. Something hit you from behind… a sap, maybe?”