“I don't know. They seemed interested in the Pattern.”
He nodded slowly. “That makes sense. They would be interested in a new primal power.”
“Do you mean the Pattern?”
“Yes. They were interested in the Logrus… that's what led to the fight with King Ythoc. They wanted to see it. He refused and invaded their lands. Ten years of fighting followed.”
“Dad let them see the Pattern.”
“Probably a wise move.” He frowned. “I wonder if they ever did see the Logrus…”
“Why would they be interested?”
“Who knows. It's not like they need it—they have their Keye, of course.”
“Keye?”
“You know—like the old nursery rhyme. 'What turns no lock but opens all doors? The Feynim Keye of course…' “ His voice trailed off.
“I've never heard that before,” I said.
“It's just nonsense for kids.” He shrugged. “A grain of truth wrapped in sugar and rhyme.”
We spent an hour searching the castle and its surrounding lands, but found no trace of the fake Dworkin. I wasn't surprised; he must have returned to Chaos and made his report to King Uthor by now. Every plan and word and deed made in the castle over the last four months would now be known in Chaos.
Angry and sick at heart, I called Conner through his Trump and brought him back immediately. Four months had changed him enormously. No longer thin and weak from starvation, he had filled out with new muscle and sported a short brown beard, shoulder-length hair, and a sun-bronzed face. He had assumed command of the army and begun setting up our defenses—which included hourly patrols along all the natural borders surrounding Amber, a line of guardposts, and cutting several roads for supplying troops. All in all, a good start.
“It's nice to have you back,” he said, sipping the wine I poured for him. “I don't want to be king.”
“King?”
“Dad—the imposter, I mean—kept telling me that you weren't coming back. That I had to take the crown for myself.”
I chuckled. “I'm glad you didn't! It's only been a few hours for me since I left. The changes everywhere…” I shook my head. “I'm impressed. Everyone seems to have pitched in.”
“Except Blaise. She never liked it here.” He made a face. “We're better off without her.”
“Am I the only one who likes her?” I said with a laugh.
“I think so!”
I shook my head, remembering the trouble she had in getting used to this Shadow. Wherever she was, I wished her well.
After a few more pleasantries had been exchanged, Conner continued telling Dad and me about our new army. It numbered just over ten thousand so far, with most of them stationed along the forest.
“I don't think we will have much longer to wait before Uthor acts,” Conner said. “My men have run across his scouts half a dozen times so far.”
“Did you question them?” I asked.
“They fought to the death.”
“I am surprised Uthor has waited this long,” Dad said. “It is not like him.”
“There must be a reason.” I chewed my lower lip thoughtfully. “Will it be an open attack? Like the one in Juniper?”
“A thousand time worse,” Dad said. “That one was designed to look like a minor personal vendetta, carried out against me personally by a single Lord of Chaos. This time we will face an attack from the throne, with the full force of Chaos behind it.”
“Then we will need fighters,” I said.
“A lot more of them,” Conner agreed. “A hundred thousand couldn't hold Juniper. Must we have a million? Ten million?”
“We will raise as many as we need,” I said grimly. “In that, we have an advantage over Chaos. We can recruit from all the Shadows we want, and quickly.”
Dad said, “True…”
I turned to Conner. “Is there someone you can leave in charge of the army for a few days? I need you off in Shadow recruiting more soldiers, too.”
He nodded. “I have several lieutenants I trust.”
“Good. Assign one to the castle and one to the borders.”
“I will go, too,” Dad said. “And I will take Freda with me.”
“Freda?”
“She can be quite persuasive.”
“All right. We need all the help we can get.”
“What about Aber?” Conner asked.
I frowned. “Someone must stay here to supervise the workers. Fighting isn't to his taste or talents, anyway. He wouldn't know what to look for in an army.”
Half an hour later, I walked alone toward the forest, away from the castle, letting my imagination soar. A hint of mauve in the leaves, a twist of the trail, and the world began to flow and change around me. Taller trees. Oaks giving way to pines. A rocky ground. And people… most especially people.
Each new element I introduced to the landscape brought me closer to my goal. I kept my destination firmly in mind… a land of beautiful fields, clear skies, and matchless warrior-priests, who worshipped me as a god. If such a place existed in Shadow, I would find it.
The forest trail opened onto a road made of jet-black stone. As I walked over a hill, fields of wheat and rye spread out before me as far as I could see, worked by thousands of slaves from conquered nations. Overhead, an eagle soared, its voice raucous.
A pair of golden chariots pulled by high-stepping black horses sped toward me. Two men stood inside each chariot, their long moustaches and golden hair whipping behind them.
I paused in the middle of the road, hands on my hips, waiting patiently. The large yellow sun warmed my back. Scents of thyme and wild lavender rode the breeze. This was a pleasant Shadow; I wouldn't have minded living here.
The two carriages skidded to a halt ten paces from where I stood. Four men—one old, three young, all dressed in beautiful golden armor—leaped to the ground and knelt before me.
They had to be King Olam and his three sons. I knew all their names, just as I knew the history of their world. It had come into my mind, and I had sought it out, following a path through Shadows until everything matched my vision.
Thus had I come to the Kingdom of Ceyoldar… where millions worshipped a warrior-god named Oberon who happened to look just like me.
“Rise, Aslom,” I said, trying to sound godlike. My voice hung in the air, low and powerful. “I am Oberon, returned to lead my chosen people to glory!”
Aslom stood slowly, scarcely daring to gaze upon my face. He looked every day of his fifty-five years. Although decades spent outdoors on military campaign had creased and weathered his face, his eyes spoke of a pleasant temper and a keen intellect. The broken nose and long white scars on his hands and along his left cheek and jawline spoke of battles fought through the years. He was the greatest king and warrior his people had ever known.
“Most exalted Oberon, Lord of Light, Shaper of Dreams!” King Aslom cried, trembling slightly with awe and fear. “Our lives are yours! Command us, I beg you! We live to serve you!”
I gazed beyond him to the three younger men still kneeling in the road with their eyes respectfully downcast. Only the youngest dared to cast wondering glances at me when he thought my attention lay elsewhere. They shared his sharp-hewn features, but few of his battle-scars. Give them time…
“You brought your sons,” I said, smiling.
“All is as the prophecy said, Lord Oberon!”
“All?” I asked. This would be the test. “Where is your fourth son, King Aslom?”
“You must tell me, Lord!”
