The Chronicles of Amber

“Yes, Lord.” Bowing, he ran back the way we had come.

I turned my attention to the fighters, whom I now recognized as my half brothers Titus and Conner. They were workmanlike at best in their swordsmanship, I decided.

“Hold!” the third man said. Titus and Conner drew up short, panting and sweating.

“You’re letting your guards down again,” he said to both of them. I silently agreed with his assessment. “You cannot count on your opponent being as tired as you are. In a real battle, such mistakes would cost you your lives.”

I pushed open the gate and went in. They all paused to look at me.

“Who is this?” Berushk asked.

“Oberon, our brother,” Titus—or was it Conner?—said to him.

“Another soft and useless child?” said the weapons-master with a sneer, giving me a dismissive look from head to heel. “Well, young Oberon, I haven’t seen you here before. Are you lost on your stroll through the roses? Off with you, and leave swordplay to real men.”

I had to laugh. King Elnar’s weapons-master had used almost exactly the same insults the first time we’d met. My temper had been hotter in those days, and as a fresh young officer, I’d had a lot to prove. Of course, I’d taken offense, drawn my blade, and demanded a fight on the spot. He’d obliged… and I’d very nearly killed him, the first student ever to do so. I would have killed him, had several others not dragged me away from the fight.

Only later had I found out that that weapons-masters often goaded new pupils into fights to get a fair assessment of their abilities.

I just grinned at Berushk and said, “I’m happy to show you how it’s done, old man. Do you have a spare sword?”

“Wood or steel?” he asked, grinning back.

“I’ll borrow Conner’s,” I said. “With his permission.”

“Of course.” The twin on the right stepped forward, offering me the hilt of his sword. As he grew close, he turned his back to Berushk and whispered, “Watch yourself, he changes hands in the middle of a fight, and he likes to give dueling scars.”

I gave him a wink.

“Now, let’s see if I remember how this works,” I said aloud. “I believe I hold it so, and the object is to poke you with the pointy end?”

Berushk smiled. “Enough games, boy.” He made little circles with the tip of Titus’s blade. “Show me your best.”

I gave his a quick salute with the blade, then assumed a classical attack stance, right foot forward, left hand on my hip, blade up and ready.

He attacked fast and high, and I parried with little apparent grace or skill, making it seem—once—twice— again!—as though luck more than skill protected me. As sword rang on sword, I yielded ground steadily before him.

When he deliberately left an opening, I didn’t take it. Instead, I hesitated, trying to appear indecisive. Let him think he had me confused and on the run, I thought. I was the master of this fight, not him. I would determine when and how it ended.

Sighing a bit, wanting to get our fight over and done so he could get on with lessons, he attacked with renewed vigor, this time using a quick double-feint designed to get around my guard.

My parry came a beat too slow. He twisted, lunged, backslashed with what should have struck a stinging blow to my right thigh.

Only his blow didn’t land.

This was the chance I’d been waiting for. With the speed of a striking panther, I closed instead of retreating, moving inside his reach. His eyes grew wide. He realized—too late!—what had just happened when his blade whistled through empty air.

I flipped my sword over to my left hand, grabbed his wrist with my right hand, and gave a twist and a jerk. He staggered, off balance and over-extended. Without hesitation, I pivoted and kicked his left leg out from under him, and he sprawled onto his back with a whoosh of expelled air.

Stepping close, I pointed my sword at his throat.

“Yield?” I asked quietly.

He chuckled. “Well done, Oberon. Worthy of a Lord of Chaos. I yield.”

Conner and Titus were staring at me like I’d just grown a second head.

“You won?” Titus said. “You actually won?”

I offered Berushk my hand, and he pulled himself up and dusted off his clothes somewhat ruefully.

“That,” he said to Conner and Titus, “is the way to fight a battle. Never reveal your strengths. Let your opponent misjudge and make the first mistake.” He turned to me. “Who trained you, Lord Oberon? I have never seen the clave-а-main used in such an energetic manner before!”

“My father,” I said evenly. I tossed Conner his sword.

“That would explain it,” Berushk said, smiling. “I have never seen him fight, though tales of his wild youth are still legend in the Courts of Chaos. He must have been quite accomplished.”

“He still is,” I said, thinking back to our battle with the hell-creatures in Kingstown. His swordsmanship had been nothing short of amazing. I went on, “I take it I’ve passed your test?”

“Lord Oberon,” he said, “I fear there is little you can learn from me.”

“I just came for a workout.”

“That,” he said, “we can do,” He looked at Conner and Titus and winked at them a little too happily. “Can’t we, boys?”

Berushk proved true to his word. I spent the next two hours in one of the most grueling exercise sessions of my life, fighting the three of them singly, paired, or all three at once.

I didn’t lose a single contest, not even when Berushk tied back my left arm and put weights on my feet. It left me soaked in sweat and shaking, but I managed to tag them all with a wooden sword before my strength gave out.

“That’s it for me today!” I said, panting.

“Well fought, Lord,” Berushk said. He bowed to me.

I noticed our audience had grown to include a good dozen army officers and castle guardsmen. They began to clap and cheer, so I gave them a quick salute with my sword before returning it to the practice weapons rack. I had a feeling they’d be talking about my workout for some time.

Then I toweled off, thanked Berushk for his time and trouble, and headed inside. The watchers parted silently as I passed through their ranks.

Conner and Titus hurried to join me.

“I think you’re as good as Locke,” Conner told me.

“Maybe better,” said Titus. “Berushk still beats him now and again.”

I laughed. “That’s just because they work out together. They know each other’s tricks.”

“Even so…”

And we spent the walk up to our rooms chatting like old friends. I had found them dour and distant at dinner, but once they relaxed, I found I actually enjoyed their company.

We reached our floor and went our separate ways. That’s when I noticed the door to my rooms stood open. So much for my plans for a quiet rest before dinner.

I peeked around the door frame, expecting the worst.

Instead of lurking assassins, however, I found Freda and Aber waiting inside for me. Freda, at the writing table, had her set of cards out and was turning them over one by one, studying the emerging pattern. She did not look happy.

“Problems?” I asked Aber quietly as I entered. “Doesn’t she like what she sees?”

“The problem is, she’s not seeing anything.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Is that bad?”

“I don’t know.” He folded his arms and frowned. “She won’t tell me.”