The Chronicles of Amber

them.

Dworkin certainly had been busy over his 200 years. Almost all of them had different mothers on different Shadows. Most had been raised with the knowledge that they were children of Chaos, and all had gone through the Logrus in the Courts of Chaos except for me. I felt a pang whenever they mentioned it.

Freda must have sensed it, for she touched my arm and murmured, “Your turn will come,” she murmured. “You must have patience.”

Patience… I’d had too much of that already. So I simply smiled a little sadly and made no reply: little sense in letting them know my bitter news just yet, I thought.

I did find out some interesting facts. Locke turned out to be more than eighty years old—though he looked no more than thirty. Our whole family aged quite slowly, it seemed, which explained not only Dworkin’s condition despite his advanced age, but how he had managed to sire so many offspring. He had left more than a few women—or had them leave him, as with Locke’s mother, a Lady of Chaos—but most had been normal humans found on Shadows such as my own. They had died of old age while he remained young and hearty.

And at least twice Freda hinted that time moved at different speeds in different places. A year in the Courts of Chaos might well be two or five or ten years on other Shadows.

It was Aber who broached the question I had hoped to avoid. “So, Dad,” he said happily, and I could tell he thought he was helping me, which made it all the more painful. “How soon will Oberon go through the Logrus?”

“Never,” Dworkin said flatly. No tact there, just a sharp and unpleasant truth.

I looked down, studying the tablecloth, fingering my napkin. Never. It had a final ring.

“What!” Aber sounded honestly shocked. “But not even King Uthor can deny Oberon his birthright. He must gain power over Shadow!”

Dworkin shook his head. “Though he is my son, Oberon does not carry the Logrus within him. It is so distorted, it has become nearly unrecognizable. He cannot try the Logrus… ever. It would destroy him, as it destroyed my brother Darr.”

Chapter 11

Utter silence followed. I took a quick glance down the length of the table. To a one, my every half-brother and half-sister, even Locke, had a look of stunned disbelief on his or her face. They took their magical powers for granted, I realized. That one of their own might be unable to use them—unbelievable!

And yet it was true. Despite my anger and hurt and earlier denial, I could find no reason for Dworkin to lie to me. If anything, he needed me to go through the Logrus… needed another strong son to help defend Juniper. Clearly such a task now lay beyond my meager, mortal abilities.

“How can that be?” Freda finally asked, looking troubled. “Anyone born of Chaos carries the Logrus within. It is a part of our very essence. You have said it yourself many times over, Father.”

Dworkin said, “He does carry it… only it has gone wrong within him.” Slowly shaking his head, he regarded me thoughtfully. “I do not know why or how, but the problems we have all had—except of course you, Locke—with the Logrus are so much the worse in him.”

“But to forbid him from ever trying the Logrus!” Aber protested. “That has never been done before!”

“I did not forbid him,” Dworkin said sharply. “I said it would kill him.”

“It is the same thing,” I said.

“Perhaps the problem is simpler than you realize,” Locke said, leaning back and regarding me with a half taunting, half triumphant smile. He clearly scented my blood and was moving in for the kill, the strong attacking the weak. “Perhaps his mother whored around on you. It wouldn’t be the first time we had a bastard in the family.”

I rose from my chair smoothly and silently. “Take that back,” I said, voice cold as a grave, “while you still can.” If I’d had my sword, I would have drawn it.

“Oberon! Sit!” Dworkin barked. “Locke, apologize.”

My nerves stretched toward their breaking point. Nobody had ever insulted my mother and lived. If not for Dworkin, I would have leaped across the table and twisted Locke’s head off with my bare hands—brother or not.

Instead of responding, my half-brother slowly tilted his chair back on the rear two legs and grinned mockingly at me. “The pup thinks he has teeth.”

My voice was hard. “More than enough to rip your throat out.”

He shrugged, “My apologies, brother.” I noticed how he emphasized the word, like he doubted its truth. “I chose my words with insufficient care. I meant—”

So softly I almost missed it, Freda hissed, “Shut up, Locke, or I will make you wish you had. This is dinner.”

Locke glanced at her, looked away, didn’t finish. Clearly he didn’t fear me. But could he be afraid of Freda?

She touched my hand softly. “Sit, Oberon. Please.”

It was not a command, but a soft, kind suggestion, and somehow it took the fight out of me. I let out my breath and did as she instructed.

Pointedly, she said, “Bickering is forbidden at dinner, as our brother knows.” And her voice carried the same insulting inflection Locke had used.

In that instant I discovered I liked her even more than I had known.

“Thank you,” Dworkin said to Freda. He cleared his throat. “Now, where was I?”

Dutifully picking up my spoon, I returned to my soup. I wasn’t really hungry anymore, but I couldn’t let Locke know he’d spoiled the meal for me.

“Oberon is my son,” Dworkin said with conviction. “I have known it since the day he was born. And my tests here today proved it. The problem lies with the Logrus… it is a damnable mystery still, even to me. Its pattern is within Oberon—without any doubt, it is there—but some trick of fate, or our family’s poor degenerate blood, has distorted its pattern in him more than in the rest of us. That is the true and only answer.”

Silence stretched again. My siblings stared at the table or the walls or went back to their soups, now and then glancing furtively at each other or Dworkin—anywhere but at me.

“Well done, Locke!” Aber finally said after more than a few awkward minutes had passed. He began clapping. “That’s the way to make a new-found brother feel at home and brighten up the dinner conversation.”

“Shut up!” Locke growled at him.

Then Freda began clapping, then Blaise and Pella, then most of the others. Dworkin threw back his head and howled with laughter.

I stared from one to another, bewildered. This was hardly the reaction I would have expected.

Locke glared around the table, gaze settling first on Aber then me, but he must have remembered Freda’s threat because he said nothing. Instead, rising, he threw down his napkin and stalked from the room.

“Send up my meal,” he called to one of the servants. “I prefer to eat with civilized company—alone!”

If anything, the applause grew louder.

“First time that’s ever happened,” Aber said brightly, the moment Locke was safely out of earshot. “Can’t say it will hurt the dinner conversation.”

He picked up his bowl and spoon and made a big show of moving to Locke’s former place. As he settled in, he gave me a quick wink.

“Hey!” he said to everyone down at the other end of the table. “The food tastes better up here!”

That got a laugh… from everyone except Davin, who sat next to him. He was Locke’s right-hand man, I reminded myself. Clearly he took that position seriously. He frowned, and I half expected him to rise and leave, too, in a show of solidarity… but he didn’t.