To Rule in Amber (17 page)

I hesitated, looking around again, but saw no one else. Since I had a few minutes before he reached my position, I pulled out my Trumps. When in doubt - ask. It was a good rule for interpreting orders.

Raising Dad's Trump, I stared at it and concentrated.
Nothing
. Not so much as a flicker. Dead?

Unconscious? Somewhere I couldn't reach? I had no way of knowing. He hadn't seemed in any immediate danger, just rushed.

I would have to figure it out for myself. Nothing like a quick question-and-answer session to sort things out.

Cautiously I walked around the Pattern and joined the stranger in black. He barely acknowledged my presence. Up close, I realized for the first time how big he was… he towered over me by at least a foot. And he was completely hairless. Smooth white skin like parchment stretched tight over sinewy flesh. He had not a scrap of fat anywhere on his body, which gave him a curiously skeletal appearance.

Everything about him struck me as
wrong
, somehow. There was no reason for it, but I took an instant dislike to him.

"Are Oberon?" he said.

"Yes. Who are you?" I demanded.

"True name meaning. You may call Ish." He smiled, showing long, pointed white teeth. It could have been an expression of friendliness or even reassurance, but I found it unnerving.

"Ish," I said. I swallowed hard. "What are you doing here?"

"That which emerged calls now."

"The Pattern?"

"I not born Chaos, if you fear," he said. Then he calmly stepped around me and continued walking his circuit of the Pattern, taking long hopping steps.

Not born Chaos? What did that mean? Could he be a creature of the Pattern, like me?

"You shouldn't be here," I said, giving chase. "My father - Dworkin - sent me. I think he wants you to leave."

"New. In place." He turned and bowed from the waist. "Apologies. Dworkin work time. This better."

He paused expectantly as I tried to puzzle through his jumble of words. Could he mean he liked this Pattern better than the last one? Had he seen them both?

"You saw the other Pattern?" I asked. "The first one my father drew?"

"Many." His head bobbed twice. "Gift. Son-of-Dworkin?"

He held something small toward me. Without thinking, I stuck out my hand, and he dropped a small, cold, hard object onto my palm.

It was a man's ring. Gold, with what looked like a small ruby set into the top, it caught the light and glinted faintly.

"Uh… thanks," I said. I held it up, examining it.

"Spikard," he said firmly. "Old."

"Gold?"

"
Old
," he repeated. "A power. Yours.
Spikard"

He motioned for me to put it on. After a second's hesitation, I slipped it onto the index finger of my right hand.

At first it seemed much too loose, but then it suddenly tightened. Panicked, I tried to yank it off-but it clung to me like a leech.

"What have you done to me?" I cried.

"
Spikard
," he repeated. "Good."

The ring grew warm. The warmth spread up my arm… but instead of burning, it left me with a sense of great well-being. Full and warm and safe… life was good… the spikard would protect me. I
knew
.

Shivering, I took a step back. This spikard alarmed and frightened me. I was
not
well and safe. I had a strange ring on my finger trying to put reassuring thoughts in my head!

"Stop it!" I cried.

The ring pulsed once, and my unnatural sense of well-being left. I was myself again, or so I hoped.

Ish tilted his head, then pointed at the Pattern. "Walk?"

"What is this thing?"

"Spikard. Good."

It pulsed once as if in reply.

I glanced down at it. "Can you understand me?"

It pulsed again.

"Are you a friend?"

It pulsed four times… an emphatic yes, I assumed.

"Should I walk the Pattern?"

Another pulse.

All right… an intelligent ring. This might lead somewhere interesting.

"I want you off my finger.
Now
."

The ring pulsed, then grew loose. I slipped it off, then fought my sudden impulse to heave it as far away from me as I could. Instead, I slipped it into the pouch at my belt, the one with my collection of Trumps. This spikard might prove valuable or useful once I understood it better. I'd ask Dad and Freda about it.

Ish pointed at the Pattern again. "Walk?"

"I already walked it twice."

"Dworkin walk," he insisted. "Oberon walk."

I stared. "My father walked it?"

"Walk."

"Not this time. I don't know who you are or what you're doing here, but I'm not taking any orders from you." I pointed the sword at him. "Leave.
Now
."

He tilted his head to the side, clearly confused. Then his body flattened and folded into itself almost like a piece of paper. In a second, he had vanished.

I let out the breath I had been holding. I had never seen anything like that before… and I was pretty sure he hadn't used the Logrus or the Pattern.

Stepping forward, I swung my sword through the place he had been standing just to make sure he hadn't turned invisible. He really
had
gone. Hopefully he wouldn't find his way back again. We couldn't have strangers poking around the Pattern… even unarmed, hairless white giants.

Sheathing my sword, I took a deep breath. What now?

The Pattern shimmered.

The sky overhead almost glowed, the deepest, most perfect azure I had ever seen.

I pulled out Dad's Trump and tried it again, but got no response. Then I tried Freda. She answered immediately, and her image was as clear and sharp as if she stood next to me.

Quickly I told her what had happened.

"Do not touch the spikard again," she told me. "It is dangerous." How?

"It is tied to the Keye -"

"The what?"

"The Keye…" She hesitated. "It is ancient, like the Logrus, and very powerful. There is no time to explain. Father must not ask the Feynim for help or protectio -"

"Whoa! The Feynim? Who are they?"

She knotted her hands. "They are ancients. Older than Chaos. You must stop him! He must not deal with them - it is forbidden!"

"I'll try to find him. Do you have any idea where he is?"

"He may be with them… beyond the edge of Chaos." She looked me in the eye. "Walk the Pattern, Oberon. It has great powers. Use it to find him. Hurry!"

By the time I reached the center of the Pattern, I felt drained physically and mentally. It seemed no easier on this, my third try. But I knew it could be done, and I pushed through the pain and all the barriers, and finally I emerged, gasping and soaked with sweat.

I staggered forward. Without a second's hesitation, I visualized my father. "I want to join Dworkin," I said aloud. "Send me to him."

Everything lurched a bit as I stepped forward. Disconnection followed.

Blackness.

I felt a spectral wind through my hair. The smells of dust and decay filled my nostrils.

Cold.

Shivering, I blinked and found myself in a cavernous hall carved from stone. Glowing circles on the walls and floor, in clusters of thirteen, provided a wan light. A cool, moist breeze moaned unceasingly from the left.

A brighter light shone ahead. I peered at it and saw what looked like a table surrounded by high-backed chairs. My father stood there, surrounded by thirteen tall, gaunt, hairless old men. They were clearly of Ish's race.

I approached, clearing my throat gently to make my presence known.

Fast - so fast their movements seemed to blur - the thirteen around the table moved. Swords out,

they surrounded me.

Slowly I raised my hands.

"Who?" one of them demanded. His words were spoken in a strange, ringing language I had never heard before, and yet I understood it.

"My name is Oberon," I said. It sounded too simple, too plain, so I quickly added a title for myself: "Lord of the Pattern. King of Amber."

"My son," Dworkin said.

They murmured to themselves, staring at me with unblinking eyes. Slowly they resumed their seats. I went to stand beside my father.

"Go," said one of them. The leader?

Dad shook his head. "I want an answer first."

"
Go
."

He raised his hand and made a gesture of dismissal. All around us, the air around sparkled.

Everything around us bent and seemed to fold, and then they were gone and we were back at the Pattern.

It all happened too fast. I stared at my father.

"What just happened?" I demanded. "Who were they?"

"The Feynim?" My father shook his head unhappily. "Allies, I hoped, but they refuse to get involved."

"
What
were they?" I demanded. "They weren't like us - or the hell-creatures."

"True. They are not of Chaos or Pattern, but older. Much, much older. And powerful. I am not sure they have a name as we understand it."

I remembered Ish's odd comment about his true name having no meaning.

"One of them was here," I said. "Looking at the Pattern."

"They have some interest in us and our doings. They thrive on other people's discord, I think. I sent you here to make sure they did not destroy the Pattern… or change it subtly to our disadvantage."

"Can they do that?"

"Possibly. Yes. I suspect they changed the last Pattern, but subtly, trying to fix it. They did not succeed, however."

I stared at the Pattern. What powers they must possess, if they could do as much as Dad said.

Changing the Pattern seemed impossible.

Then I remembered the spikard and pulled it from my pouch. It grew warm in my hand, and I fought a sudden impulse to put it on. It
wanted
me to wear it.

"Not now," I said. "Settle down."

The urge passed.

"Where did you get that?" Dad asked, eyes widening.

"Ish gave it to me. He was the one here."

"Give it to me." Dad stuck out his hand.

I started to hand it over, but hesitated. The ring had grown warm in my hand. I had to fight an impulse to put it on again. It
really
didn't want to go to Dad.

"It's not meant for you," I said. "They gave it to me for a reason."

Happy now
? I mentally asked it. I put it back with my Trumps.

Dad sighed, but nodded. "Of course. I understand. Take care of it, my boy. A spikard is a precious gift. Perhaps even…"

"What?"

"Perhaps invaluable against Chaos. I half remember something about them. Something I read or heard a long, long time ago… something about the Feynim and their war against Chaos…"

"They fought Chaos?" I gasped.

"It was a very long time ago. So long that no direct written records of the war survive."

"What happened?"

"I am not sure. All I know is that Chaos lost. The Feynim drove King Ythoc and his army from

their lands, never to return. I think they used spikards for… something in the battle. A barrier?" He shook his head. "I cannot remember."

"Perhaps Freda will know," I suggested. If my spikard could help defeat King Uthor, I would do whatever was necessary to master its powers.

"What do you know about spikards? What can they do?"

"Oh, I know a little of them. They have many uses. And many forms. I have handled two spikards over the years, one in the shape of a sword, one in the shape of a woman's necklace. They are centers of power… an older power than those born of Chaos know and use. I have heard they can keep you young, make you stronger, and help make spells more powerful. Their owners may draw on them for strength when they need it most."

"Then it's a good thing."

"Generally, yes."

"Is it like the Logrus? Or the Pattern?"

"Not really." He pulled out a Trump of his own. It showed the mountain where Amber Castle was being built. "Come, we must get back. The castle will not build itself."

"Don't change the subject. Is it intelligent?" I had to know more. "Can it control me? It seemed to be trying to communicate with me -"

"Did you put it on?"

"Yes. But only for a minute."

"Hmm. Sometimes it's safer not to know."

He raised his Trump again, but I caught his arm.

"That's not an answer. Stop hiding things from me! This is
my
world, Dad.
My
universe.
My
Pattern. It's all part of
me
, and I'm part of it. You may have drawn the Pattern, but you don't have the same connection to it. If I'm going to protect it, I need to know what's going on. I want the truth… about everything. Let's start with spikards."

"The truth…" He chuckled. "You would not believe me if I told you."

"Try it!"

"Suhuy was right. All this -" A sweep of the arm took in the Pattern and all the Shadows it created. "This is but a game, and we are all pawns. Sometimes players make moves that we cannot see and cannot comprehend. Giving you a spikard…" He shrugged. "It changes the powers on the board.

Just a slight shift of power toward us… toward
you
. Now it is another's turn to play."

I snorted. "Let me guess - you're one of the Kindred, like Suhuy."

He threw back his head and laughed. "No. I recognize truth when I see it, though, as should you.

If I choose not to play, if I choose to leave the board and escape my destiny, it is
my
decision - for good or ill!"

"You make the game sound inevitable."

He spread his hands. '"A pawn may still aspire to greatness."

I shook my head. I felt like a pawn, all right - but
his
pawn, not some greater power's. He had lied to me so often now, I couldn't separate facts from his flights of fantasy. For all I knew, Ish and his kind might be cousins on my mother's side. Maybe
they
were unicorns, too. How would I know?

After a moment's thought, I said, "I don't mind playing. I want to win. I
will win
. But it helps to know what the rules are, Dad. Help me understand."

"Well said."

"Go on, then." I folded my arms stubbornly.