“The king is close… He will be here soon… He will kill you all and free me…”
Aber gasped. “King Uthor left the Courts of Chaos? Is that what you're telling us?”
“Yes…”
I glanced at my brother. “Is that important?”
“Of course it is!” Aber said. “If the ghost is telling the truth—”
Freda said, “It is the truth. I feel it.”
“I don't understand.” I looked from one to the other. “Uthor should lead his men into battle. It's what kings do.”
“You really don't understand,” Aber said, his voice low and urgent. “King Uthor hasn't left the Courts in six hundred years!”
“What!” I blinked in surprise. “Why not?”
“It is the custom,” Freda said. “His sons or his generals fight his battles. Only a dire emergency could possibly bring him forth.”
An emergency… like the now-corrected Pattern casting a new set of Shadows? Like the creator of those Shadows building a new castle and fortifying it against attack?
Grimly, I smiled. This could easily turn to our advantage.
I said, “Then he's just made his first mistake.”
Chapter 24
“Let me go…!” the ghost cried.
“One more question,” I said, turning to face it again. “Where can I find Uthor's camp?”
“Far from here…”
“He cannot know, truly,” Freda said in a quiet voice. “He is not born of the Logrus or the Pattern. He can neither walk through Shadows nor visualize Uthor's camp in relation to Amber.”
“A pity.” It had been worth a try, though.
“Very well,” I said, giving Freda a nod. I was satisfied; I didn't think we could learn much more from it. “Set the ghost free.”
“Are you sure?” Aber said softly. “Maybe we should keep it here a little while longer, just in case. You might think of another question or two. If we let it go, we won't have this chance again.”
The ghost hissed angrily. “Liars…!” it cried. “I knew you would not let me go…!”
“Be silent!” I snapped. To Aber, I said, “It kept its word. I must keep mine. Freda?”
“I agree,” she said.
Reaching out with the toe of her right shoe, she carefully rubbed at the edge of the circle. It took a few seconds, but when the line broke, the ghost rushed past her with a cry of joy.
Outside the circle, it hesitated and looked back at me. Slowly it turned.
“You kept your word…” it said.
“Yes.” I folded my arms. “I always keep my word.”
“I did not believe you would…”
“A bargain is a bargain. Be on your way. Do not return, spirit.”
Still it lingered. “I will answer the one question you failed to ask…”
Curious, I leaned closer. “What is that?”
“Your true enemy is not Uthor… He spoke of you with something akin to admiration…”
“Huh!” Aber said. “Murder is an odd way of showing admiration!”
I said to the ghost, “Then why did he order you to kill me?”
“Because he fears what will happen if he does not…”
Then, with a sigh, it faded away, gone to whatever afterlife remained.
I puzzled over those parting words. What could possibly happen to Uthor if he failed to order my death? He was the king—his wishes should have been paramount. A real threat must hang over him, something that forced him to take immediate action.
What might he fear? A rival for the throne, perhaps? Someone powerful enough to lead a revolt against him if he appeared weak or indecisive?
Lord Zon, perhaps?
I sighed. If only they saw fit to leave me alone. I had no interest in Chaos or the Logrus. I only wanted to live in peace. Everything I had done so far had been to protect myself… They kept attacking me, after all.
Was the Pattern really that powerful? Had it truly weakened Chaos so much that Uthor needed to move decisively against me to keep lands safe and his subjects satisfied?
We already knew Uthor had time on his side… months to prepare versus days for us in Amber. We would have to move quickly or be caught unprepared.
Freda said, “You understand the threat.”
I nodded. “Yes. He will attack soon.”
“You must be ready.”
She held out her right hand. In it I saw a stack of Trumps, face down.
“More of your future-telling?” I asked with a laugh.
“Humor me, Oberon.”
I shrugged, took the deck, shuffled it twice, and handed it back. Turning, she headed for her room… probably to read them in private. She knew how little I believed in predictions.
“Let me know if there's any good news!” I called after her. “I could use some about now!”
Aber said, “You shouldn't make light of her talents. She is a powerful sorceress.”
“Anyone can foretell the future. The trick is getting it right.”
“Futures can change, you know. That's why so many predictions don't come true. Oh! I have something for you!”
“What?”
He reached into the pouch at his belt and drew out a new Trump. The colors were bright, almost glassy. I accepted it.
“Nice. New paints?”
“I spent the morning yesterday hunting up pigments. These are nothing like the ones I used to have, but they will do.”
It showed the main courtyard of the castle. Quite a nice likeness, too.
“You may have to get back here in a hurry,” he explained. “This is in case Freda and I aren't around.”
I grinned. “Thank you!”
“Oh, it's nothing much.” He made a deprecating gesture, but seemed delighted by the praise. “My small contribution.”
I added it to the stack of Trumps in my pouch, hesitated, then pulled out Dad's. Aber said nothing, but his eyes begged: Please don't!
“I have to,” I said. “He must be told what's going on. He might be able to help in some way. Why don't you come along?”
“You know Dad can't stand me!”
“Oh, he can stand you. He just doesn't like you!”
“And that makes it worse.” Sighing, Aber looked away.
I'd spoken half in jest, but I saw that it had touched a nerve. I hadn't meant to hurt him. I really needed to curb my tongue.
Quickly I added, “I really didn't mean it quite the way it sounded. I—”
“I know what you meant, Oberon!” he said. “Don't worry about it. The truth is painful sometimes, but I'll get over it. I always do. Besides, I'll have the last laugh. I plan to outlive him. Longevity is the best revenge.”
I chuckled. “At least you have a plan.”
Raising Dad's Trump, I concentrated on the picture. The jester slowly changed, becoming a dwarfish man dressed all in brown. He had been puttering about in the basement, in the large meeting room.
“What is it?” he demanded.
“I need to talk to you,” I said. “I killed an assassin in the castle. He had a Trump.”
“What!” Dworkin cried. “Are you hurt?”
“I'm fine.”
He reached out for me, and I took his hand. With a quick step, I was standing in his library. The shelves were a maddening jumble of books and scrolls.
“Where did you get these?” I asked, staring.
“The Logrus.”
I shook my head. Only a few weeks here, and he had already amassed a lifetime's supply of reading matter, true packrat that he was.
He chuckled. “Do not fear the Logrus, my boy. It's the arms of the thing…”
I gave him a puzzled look. “Arms?” Had his dementia returned?
He laughed. “Those who serve its cause. Uthor's men. Thellops. Others.”
I opened my mouth, but before I could reply, someone outside began to ring a loud bell. We exchanged quick glances, then ran for the door. What now?