“All right,” I said. “I'll present you to him when we get there.”
“Good. Freda said you'd help,” Aber went on. “She saw it in the cards.”
“Not that again.” I rolled my eyes. “I'm half minded to say no, just to prove to you once and for all that nothing is shown in her cards but what we make of it.”
“She knew you'd say that. And she knew you'd let me through anyway, because you're playing with the King of Chaos's life. Uthor won't be happy if he finds you're keeping things back from him. Especially information that might save his life.”
I sighed. He had a point.
“I already said I'd present you.”
We were almost at the center of the camp. Here the press of Uthor's forces kept our pace slow and deliberate; several times we had to wait while wagons full of supplies trundled past.
Finally, though, we reached a series of huge pavilions. Aber and I dismounted and gave our horses' reins to waiting attendants. Flanked by Aslom and Haetor, we followed Nox past lines of guards standing rigidly at attention and into the central area, which had a throne and lines of supplicants waiting to consult with Uthor.
As soon as he spotted us, though, he motioned us forward. He looked old and tired suddenly. Clearly the strain of his struggle against Lord Zon had begun to tell on him.
“Your arrival is most timely,” he said. “Good. The dispatches from home are not promising. We must move swiftly.”
“How soon?” I asked.
“Tomorrow.”
I nodded slowly. “Very well. We are ready and will await your command.”
Aber cleared his throat.
“Ah… my brother has a warning for you from my sister,” I said. “She has some talent in future-telling.”
“The Lady Freda?” He leaned forward, looking at Aber with interest. “Speak. She has a true gift, I know. Any warning she sends will be given proper weight.”
Aber stepped forward and dropped to one knee before King Uthor. “Highness.”
“Rise,” said Uthor. He looked faintly pleased at Aber's obeisance.
“This is for you.”
He pulled something from a pouch at his belt and held it out. I craned to see. It looked like an ancient gold ring, inscribed with characters I could not make out.
“What is this?”
“The Sign of Chaos.”
It seemed to mean something to Uthor and the others around us. Uthor gasped. Everyone else shifted and muttered to themselves. Clearly they had heard of it. And clearly it meant something good.
“What is it?” I asked Nox in a quiet voice.
“An ancient signet,” he said in a hushed, almost reverential voice. “It was lost centuries ago—stolen by the Feynim. To have it back, most especially at this troubled time… it is a great omen!”
Grinning, Uthor stood and held the ring aloft for all to see. Then he turned the ring slowly, studying the characters engraved on side.
With a triumphant grin, he slipped it onto the index finger of his right hand. As he did, his face took on first a puzzled expression, then one of horror.
Suddenly his ring-finger turned black. The blackness spread rapidly up his arm and to his shoulder. When he opened his mouth to scream, no sound came out. His face, frozen in a horrible grimace, turned black as well.
I rushed forward to see if I could help, along with Nox and all the others. But nothing remained to be done. Uthor's whole body had turned to stone.
Off balance, like a statue shoved from its pedestal, King Uthor toppled forward. When he hit the hard-packed ground, his arms and head snapped off. The head rolled over and stopped at my feet, eyes staring blindly up at my face, as if accusing me of treason.
I swallowed hard and took a step back. The soldiers around me began to moan and cry out.
“He did it!” someone shouted, pointed at Aber.
“Me?” My brother folded his arms stubbornly. “You're crazy! The ring did it!”
“That's right,” another soldier shouted. “He brought the ring!”
I stepped forward. “There's no proof my brother knew anything about it!” I said. “The ring might have been poisoned long ago, or magics laid on it—”
“Murderer!” shouted Nox. He drew his sword, face livid.
I dropped my hand to the hilt of my own sword and gave a warning growl. “We are all friends here. We are bound by a treaty.”
“Traitor!” another called. More swords left their sheaths. A shiver ran through me.
“You're wrong!” I said desperately. My brother might be a lot of things, but I couldn't believe he would kill King Uthor and me.
Aber stepped forward. “Let me speak!” he shouted. “Please, let me speak!”
The muttering around us died. I took a deep breath. This situation could still be saved. I just hoped Aber could convince Uthor's men of our innocense.
Already my thoughts turned through the possibilities. If they could be rallied under my flag… if I could lead them all against Lord Zon…
“I didn't know the ring would kill him,” Aber said in a loud voice. “I'm just a messenger!”
“You have a message?” I asked, puzzled.
“That's right.” He swallowed hard then looked me in the eye. “Lord Zon sends his greetings. Ta, brother.”
With an apologetic shrug, he stepped back and disappeared in a sudden flash of light.
Chapter 28
I could only stand there, mouth open, stunned at what he'd just said and done. He had betrayed us. Betrayed me. I couldn't believe it—and yet everything started to fall into place.
How long had he been working for Lord Zon?
A long time, a little voice inside me said.
He must have been the one who let the assassin into my room in Juniper. And he must have been the one who betrayed the location of the first Pattern to King Uthor… All along, he had been working with both sets of our enemies.
A low upswell of voices began around me.
“Quiet!” I shouted. “We must—”
The muttering grew louder. Steel glinted and flashed as Uthor's men drew their weapons. I realized with a certainty I'd never felt before that they intended to have my head—along with my brother's. Only he'd had the sense to flee.
Trumpets sounded… not low, mournful notes as befitted a king's passing, but the sharp tat-tat, tat-tat of an alarm. Men began to shout and run for weapons. Uthor's men paused, looking around with mounting concern.
“Attack! Attack!” came the cries of sentries. “To arms!”
Someone screamed, “Watch for arrows!” as missiles started to rain down in our midst.
I seized the nearest shield from beside King Uthor's throne and raised it against the attack. A heartbeat later, two arrows pierced its thick hide with sounds like the savage thump-thump of a war-drum, their cruelly barbed tips coming to a halt less than an finger's width from my nose and right eye. Two of Uthor's lieutenants weren't so lucky—one caught an arrow in the eye, the other to his neck and chest. Both died instantly.
A distant voice shouted, “It's Swayvil! He's attacking! Swayvil is!” and a brief scream followed.
Forgetting me for the moment, Uthor's lieutenants ran to mount their defenses. They called orders, trying to rally their camp's defense. More arrows fell.
I glanced at Haetor and Aslom, who watched the skies warily and stayed as close to me as possible. They had their swords drawn and looked ready to defend themselves.
We had to get out of here fast. No matter who won the coming battle, I knew my men and I would not be welcome here.
“Find shields and follow me,” I said to them in a quiet voice.
As I jogged I pulled out my Trumps and found Conner's. I tried to contact him, but couldn't—either the magic had been blocked or, more likely, he was too busy fighting for his life to chat right now.