“This is not a good time.”
“I may be about to walk into an ambush. I need your advice.”
“Wait“
And then there was nothing. I couldn't tell if he had deliberately severed our connection, or if something else had interrupted it.
After trying twice more to contact him without success, I went downstairs, got a small crossbow from the guards' armory on the ground floor, loaded it with a bolt, and returned to my room. I stayed long enough to write a note explaining what had happened and where I was going. If Dad showed up, he'd be able to follow me; if Aber and Freda found it, they would know what had happened… and that the man who was almost certainly impersonating Locke had probably betrayed and killed me. Then I buckled on the enchanted sword that Aber had swiped for me from our father's rooms.
“I'm going out,” I said to Port. “The next time Freda or Aber come past, let them in. Tell them I left a note for them on my desk.”
“Very good, sir!”
I took two Trumps, Dad's and the one of my bedroom that Aber had made, and put them into a pouch at my belt. Then I used the Trump that fake-Locke had sent and went through to Tsagoth Square half an hour early.
As the picture had indicated, Tsagoth Square was a small paved courtyard with huge flagstones underfoot. Dark buildings rose on all sides. Four moons moved through the heavens in different directions overhead, and stars swirled like fireflies. I looked around by the half-light they provided and spotted a few statues of hideously deformed men holding swords at the far end. They offered the only cover, so I hid behind them, where I could see the center of the square, but not be seen.
I drew out my father's Trump and stared at it. I felt a faint distant stirring, but no direct contact.
“I'm in Tsagoth Square,” I said. “If you can hear me, I could really use your help now.”
Nothing happened. No reply, no sense of his presence, not a word. I sighed and put the Trump away. So much for parental loyalty. I should have known better.
As I'd expected, I didn't have long to wait. Suddenly, the false Locke stepped into the square. He was alone. Drawing his sword, he stood ready to attack me when I tried to enter through the Trump he'd sent. Had I been on time, I would have been quickly killed.
That settled it. I rose silently, aimed, and fired the crossbow at his back.
He seemed to sense the bolt coming; whipping around, he batted it out of the air harmlessly.
“So,” he said, stalking toward me, “you know.”
“Yes.” I drew my sword and bounded into the open. The blade fit my hand like it had been made for me. I advanced on him, too. “Fenn gave you away. You spoke to him. He's in our house now.”
He shook his head and sloughed off his face like a snake shedding its skin. I stopped and stared, bewildered and horrified. It wasn't Locke. I'd expected that. But the face underneath… Ulyanash?
“You're dead,” I said. “I killed you!”
“You are as stupid as your father,” Ulyanash sneered, wiping bits of skin away from the corners of his eyes. “You have no power here, unholy mongrel! You do not know our ways. You could not hope to stand against a Lord of Chaos who wants you dead.”
“I did it once.”
“That was my cousin Orole. I could not attend Lady Lanara's party and kill you myself, so I sent him in my place. We look much alike. Everyone is fooled whenever we switch places.”
“I killed him, and I can kill you.” I shrugged. “I can't imagine you're a much better fighter than he was.”
“That shows how little you know.” He raised his sword and advanced on me again.
“Explain it to me,” I said, trying to draw out information. I circled, keeping twenty feet between us. “Don't let me die in ignorance.”
“Born in ignorance. Raised in ignorance. What harm to die in ignorance?”
Leaping forward, he closed quickly, then lunged. I parried, still backing away. Best to keep him talking. He seemed as slow-witted as Aber and Rhalla had claimed. Why else take time to brag in the middle of a fight?
“I know more than you think,” I said.
“Tell me something, then.” He slowed his advance. “Maybe you can buy your life, if you have the information I want or need.”
I chuckled. “Or maybe you can buy yours. How about we trade?”
He shrugged. “You are going to die anyway. Why not? There are things I want to know.”
“I'll go first,” I said. “Who is the serpent in the tower of skulls?”
He looked surprised. “Lord Zon, for all the good it will do you. My turn now. Does Dworkin really have the Jewel of Judgment?”
“I don't know,” I said honestly.
“Wrong answer.”
Without warning, he lunged. The silvered blade of his sword slid past my frantic parry, nicking my left shoulder. The wound was minor—little more than a scratch, really—but it stung, then turned cold. An icy feeling began to spread down my arm toward my fingers. His blade was poisoned, I realized with shock.
“Want to change your answer?” he asked, drawing back a pace.
“I cannot change the truth. I have never heard of the Jewel of Judgment. What is it?”
“A ruby, a little smaller than a man's fist.”
“Ah.” I nodded, knowing the one to which he referred. When we were in Juniper, my father had somehow taken me inside the gem. It had opened up my mind to the Pattern within me.
“Then you
“Yes. I didn't know it had a name.”
“Where is it?”
“My father has it. Why is it important?”
I felt a strange warmth in my right hand. The sword's hilt… perhaps it was doing something to counteract the poison? I tightening my grew. The numbness no longer seemed to be spreading from my wound quite so quickly.
“It is… a key to controlling the Logrus. My turn. Where is it now?”
“I don't know. The last time I saw it, Dad had it in his workshop in Juniper. It may still be there.”
Ulyanash regarded me silently for a moment, then nodded. “I believe you,” he said. “Fair enough.”
“My turn again,” I said. “Who does Lord Zon work for? I know it's not King Uthor.”
“Lord Zon works for himself. One day soon, he will be King of Chaos.”
“And you'll be his right hand man? That sounds like a plot worse than my father's.”
He smirked. “In a way, your father made all this possible. Uthor is weak because of him. His followers waver in their loyalty. When we strike…”
I saw movement over Ulyanash's left shoulder. A man was entering Tsagoth Square, stepping into it from empty air. Obviously he was using a Trump. Aber?
No—it was my father! And he had his sword drawn. It seemed he'd gotten my message and followed me here after all.
I took a deep breath. My whole left side felt heavy and cold. The warmth from the enchanted sword could not hold it back. Numbness spread into my chest. No wonder Ulyanash had won so many fights, if he poisoned his weapons. When the coldness reached my heart… I did not like to think what would happen.
“I seem to have run out of questions for you,” he said. He raised his sword. “Prepare yourself, son of Dworkin!”
Dad began to creep up behind him, moving as softly as a cat. I had never been so happy in my life to see someone. I had to keep Ulyanash talking for just a few seconds more.
“I have one last thing to ask,” I said. I let my sword sag down as if I couldn't hold it up any longer. “I need to know—who was behind the attack on our family in Juniper? Was it you?”
“Of course.” He laughed.
I let my head fall to my chest. “I thought so.”
He stepped forward, sword ready.
