The Chronicles of Amber

“And growing more annoyed by the moment, I’m sure,” I added with a smile. “I remember.”

Shaking his head, he left, and the few servants still outside the door followed. Anari started after them, then paused in the doorway to look back.

“Don’t worry,” I told him. “Horace will be fine. I can tell he’s a hard worker. And I’ll watch out for him, you have my word.”

He seemed relieved. “Thank you, Lord Oberon.”

Ten minutes later, I collected Aber from his rooms across the hall and started down for Dad’s workshop. I have always had a fairly good sense of direction, and I unerringly retraced our journey from the previous evening.

As we walked, I asked Aber what had happened at dinner after I left.

“Not much,” he said. “Everyone was too shocked.”

I chuckled. “Shocked? By Taine’s being alive or my being a cripple?”

“A little of both, actually.” He swallowed and wouldn’t meet my gaze. “After dinner—”

“Everyone tried to contact Taine with his Trump,” I guessed. “But it didn’t work.”

“That’s right.”

“So he’s either dead, unconscious, drugged, or protected somehow from your Trumps.”

“That’s how it looks to me.”

We reached Dworkin’s workshop. Two new guards—one of whom I recognized from the dice game in the guardroom—snapped to attention as we passed.

“Is there anything else you can do?” I asked. “Is there any way to just reach through his Trump, grab him whether he’s awake or not, and just drag him through?”

“I wish we could. But Trumps don’t work that way.”

I raised my hand to knock on the workshop door, but it swung open for me. The room blazed with light. I couldn’t see Dworkin for a moment—but then I spotted him on the other side of the room. He hadn’t opened the door, but there didn’t seem to be anyone else present. Ghosts? No—probably just the Logrus again, I realized with a gulp. If he could snatch swords from the other end of the castle, why not open doors from ten feet away?

“Ah, there you are!” Dworkin said. “Come in.”

Disconcerted, I stepped inside.

“Good luck!” Aber said to me, and then the door slammed in his face.

Dworkin sat at a table in a tall-backed wooden chair. The table held a box, and in the box sat what looked like an immense ruby. I must admit I stared at it; I had never seen a jewel of its size before. Surely it belonged to some king… which is what Dworkin probably was in this Shadow.

He chuckled. “Impressive, is it not?”

“Beautiful,” I said. I raised it, studying the carefully faceted sides, which gleamed seductively in the bright light.

“This crystal is special. It holds a replica of the pattern within you.”

“Where did you get it?”

“I… acquired it some time ago. It has unusual properties, one of which may prove useful in your situation. Your Pattern, I now believe, is not a mere distortion of the Logrus after all.”

“Then… you were wrong last night?” I felt a mounting excitement. This might be the answer to my hopes and prayers. “I can walk the Logrus after all?”

“No—that would kill you!”

“But you said—”

“I said your pattern is not a distortion of the Logrus. It is something else… something new. A different pattern.”

I frowned, confused. “How can that be? Isn’t the Logrus responsible for everything… for the Courts of Chaos and all the Shadow worlds?”

“In some ways, perhaps.”

“I don’t understand.” I stared at him blankly.

“Few are the things that cannot be replaced.”

“You mean I really am a cripple. I cannot draw on the Logrus like you do.”

“No!” He threw back his head and laughed. “Exactly the opposite, my boy—you do not need to draw on the Logrus. You have something else to draw upon… your own pattern.”

“My own…” I stared at him dumbly.

“I hold the design of your pattern fixed clearly in my mind now, and it burns with a primal power. You are like that first nameless Lord of Chaos. You hold a pattern—this new pattern—inside you. It is unlike the Logrus! It is a pattern from which whole worlds may spring, once it is traced properly!”

Not the Logrus… 

I felt a sudden joy, a boundless euphoria, as I realized what that meant. Perhaps I could master Shadows the way the rest of my family had. I might yet travel between the Shadow worlds and work the wonders I had seen. Suddenly it all lay within my grasp.

And I wanted it more than I had ever wanted anything in my life. More than a father, more than a family, I wanted my heritage… my destiny.

Only—

“Traced properly?” I asked slowly. “What does that mean?”

He hesitated, and I could tell he was trying to find the words to explain it to me.

“I believe the Logrus exists not just inside, but outside the universe as we know it,” he finally said. “The first Lord of Chaos partly traced its shape using his own blood… putting a form to the formless, making it real in a way that it had not been before. It is my belief that when someone of our bloodline passes through it, the Logrus’s pattern is imprinted forever in his mind, enabling him to use it—to draw on its power and move between worlds.”

“I understand,” I said. I’d heard the whole history-of-our-powers speech already. “You said the Logrus wouldn’t work on me… it would destroy me.”

“That is correct. What we must do for you is something similar to what the first Lord of Chaos did… find a way to trace the unique pattern within you, so that your pattern is imprinted on your mind, much the way the Logrus is imprinted on my mind.”

“All right,” I said. It sounded reasonable enough. And yet… something still bothered me.

Dad hesitated.

“You’re leaving something out,” I said accusingly.

“No…”

“Tell me!”

He swallowed. “I have never tried this before. It may work. It should work, if my theories about the Logrus and its nature are correct. But then again… what if I am wrong? What if I have made a mistake?”

“It might kill me,” I said, recognizing what he had been unwilling to say.

“That, or worse. It might destroy your mind, leaving your body little more than an empty shell. Or… it might do nothing at all.”

I didn’t know which would be worse. My hopes had been raised; it had to work. It would work. I had run out of options.

“What are my chances of living?” I asked.

“I cannot guarantee anything, except that I have done my best.”

“Would you do it?” I asked. “Would you risk your own life on tracing this pattern?”

“Yes,” he said simply. No arguments, no explanations, just a single word.

I took a deep breath. This was the moment of truth. I could risk everything and try to gain power unimaginable. Or I could be safe, forever trapped in the world of mortal men.

Could I live with the Lockes of the world sneering at me, pitying me? Could I live with myself if I passed up my one last chance for power?