Turning, I headed north. I'd try to make it to our camp before Uthor's men organized and came after us.
The initial volleys of shots ended, and I heard the sound of war-cries and steel ringing on steel from somewhere behind us. The battle had started.
I cast my shield aside. Fortunately, everyone around us seemed to be rushing toward the fighting. Word of King Uthor's death had not yet spread through camp, and no one seemed the least bit interested in stopping us or asking questions.
I glanced over my shoulder. Haetor and Aslom were having no trouble keeping up. We headed as rapidly as possible down the rows of tents. Horned men, men with tails, and things that could never have been men ran and scurried and flapped and flew this way and that, shouting questions and conflicting orders, trying to marshal troops and mount a defense. No one seemed to be in charge.
“Where to, Oberon?” Aslom asked, pacing beside me.
“To rejoin our army,” I said grimly. “Hopefully they will still be there.”
A second volley of arrows rained from the sky, and several of Uthor's officers fell. I recognized Nox among the wounded. I hesitated a moment. He might prove useful later. I'd need a liaison to Uthor's troops, if any of them lived through the coming battle… perhaps some could be persuaded to join our forces.
“Get Nox!” I said suddenly.
Haetor looked started. “Oberon—”
“I have plans for him.”
“Yes, sir.”
Shaking his head, keeping his shield up with his left arm, he and Aslom ran over to Nox, grabbed his arms, and lifted him. Between them, they supported him enough to get him moving again.
Picking up another shield, I led the way through the camp. Men and hell-creatures ran pell-mell through the mazes of tents. More arrows fell. My shield caught another, and one more grazed by thigh. Uthor's troops continued to run around in a panic, throwing on armor and grabbing weapons. Uthor's sentries had failed… we had all been caught by surprise. Damn Aber!
I made it through the rear line of tents and scrambled up the side of the valley. Uthor's men had made plenty of trails, so the going was easy. At the top, I saw an open stretch of land, and then the place where my own men had been sent to make camp. The forces from Ceyoldar had formed battle lines with shields raised, but were holding ranks. Conner, with the cavalry, ranged behind them shouting orders. I saw a few arrows lodged in shields, but apparently they had not yet come under direct attack.
“Run across as fast as you can,” I said to them. “Keep low. Get Nox to a company doctor, and post guards over him. Then report back to me.”
“Are we joining the battle?” Aslom asked.
“Not yet.”
He nodded, then motioning to his son, together they lifted Nox and bore him off toward the lines.
I took a deep breath and raced past them, legs pounding, moving as fast as I could.
“Open ranks!” sentries shouted.
A few arrows whizzed past me, but none hit. Several footmen with shields moved back, and I made it into their protective ranks. Aslom and Haetor followed a moment later.
Conner came racing up. “What happened?” he demanded, swinging down from his horse.
“It was Aber—he showed up and murdered King Uthor,” I said grimly.
“What!” He stared at me. “Impossible!”
I shook my head. “No. It was him. He did it. He's working for Lord Zon.”
“Take my horse,” he said. “I'll get another.”
Quickly I swung up into the saddle and took the reins.
“What orders?” he asked. “Do we stay? Do we fight?”
“No,” I said. “Uthor's forces are finished. They won't follow me now—Aber has seen to that.”
“So it's back to Amber,” he said.
“Yes.”
Turning, he shouted, “Sound ranks!” to the bugler.
Instantly the ta-ta-tat sounded out. Men scrambled to form lines, shields up, arms at the ready.
“Withdraw!” I shouted. “Prepare to march!”
Before I could say another word, sentries shouted, “Arrows!”
“Watch out!” I bellowed.
I threw my shield over my head as a rain of black missiles fell among us. A few men fell with sharp cries of agony, but most had shields up in time. The barrage did little damage.
“Pikemen to the fore!” I shouted, wheeling my horse. “Cavalry—prepare to ride ahead!”
Haetor came running. “Lord Nox is dead, sir!” he announced.
“Damn the luck. We'll probably be blamed for that, too.” Nothing could be done about it now, though. I hesitated a second, trying to figure the best course of action. “Take a squad of cavalry and find out where the arrows are coming from. We have to leave now or we'll be picked off one by one.”
“Yes, sir!” Saluting, he ran, calling for half a dozen men to join him. Hopefully it wouldn't be a suicide mission.
“Marching lines!” I shouted again. The pikemen and spearmen began to assemble, shields still raised over their heads. “Leave the tents and anything not easily carried! Abandon camp!”
I glanced around for Conner, but he was three hundred yards away. Instead of shouting, I pulled out his Trump. This time he answered immediately.
“How about those special troops you promised me back in Amber? We aren't going to make it out of here without help.”
He smiled a wicked smile. “I know just the one.”
“One what? Battalion?”
“No. One who agreed. He should be all you need.”
I blinked in surprise. “Is this a joke?”
“Dragons don't normally cooperate with people. We're more of a snack to them. It took a lot of persuading. And a lot of gold.”
“Did you say… a dragon?”
“Uh-huh.”
I smiled grimly. This might well turn the tide of battle in our favor.
“Where is it now?”
“I made a Trump. I can call him any time. You want him right now?”
“Yes—but do it over here!”
“Right!”
I broke the connection and looked to my men. “Clear a large area!” I shouted. “We have a change of plans—reinforcements are coming!”
Everyone cheered. They drew back a fifty feet in all directions, which I judged a safe enough distance.
Conner reached me then, riding hard, and drew up sharply. He had a Trump in one hand.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yes!”
“Here it is!”
He handed me the Trump. It showed a face… huge, scaled, with eyes like black coals.
I raised it, concentrating. A presence seemed to overwhelm me… something huge… something old and dark and powerful. Something very smart and very powerful.
“Human.” The voice was so low I barely heard it.
“I am King Oberon,” I said. “My brother Conner said you would help us.”
“For a price…”
“Yes. Join us.”
I reached out my hand. A claw touched it, cold as ice and harder than steel. I pulled. It felt like ten thousand pounds on the other end, but slowly it came through the connection. A clawed hand, covered with black scales, an arm—immense, powerful—then chest—neck—head and tail—
With a hop and a leap, it suddenly appeared. It towered over me, forty feet at the shoulder, perhaps a hundred and twenty from tip of snout to tip of tail. As it moved, the ground trembled. Slowly it spread its wings, and then it roared.
Arrows struck its back and sides, but they bounced off. It was well armored.
“This is Ulyss,” Conner said proudly.
“Yes,” said the dragon. “Manling promises gold.”
“As much as you want,” I said, “for your help today.”
“My weight in gold…”
“Agreed.”
“What must I do?”
More arrows pinged down. A man behind me collapsed with a choking gurgle, the long black shaft of an arrow jutting from his throat.