He shrugged helplessly. “I tried, but couldn't reach her. I don't know if she's busy, or…”
Uneasy now, I began to pace. “What else did Dad do?” I asked. “Could he have been a spy from Chaos? A shape-shifter, perhaps?”
Aber hesitated. “No… I'm fairly certain it was Dad.”
“How?”
“He, er, went out of his way to insult me. Called me a layabout and a worthless piece of horseflesh. Among other things.”
I chuckled and relaxed a bit. That did sound like our father.
Aber continued, “But then he asked where you were—he didn't seem to remember you all left yesterday. Like I said, it was strange. He seemed confused, but he wouldn't admit it. I thought his concussion might be bothering him again, or…”
I nodded thoughtfully. “Hmm. But with an imposter running around, we must be careful. Is he still there?”
“I left him in his workshop fifteen minutes ago.”
“What was he doing?”
“Damned if I know. I didn't feel like hanging around and getting insulted, so I left.”
I frowned as another possibility occurred to me. “Maybe you should get Doc Hand again…”
He shrugged. “If you ask me, Dad could use a few
“Okay. Keep an eye on him. I'm going to try to reach Freda. Maybe she knows what happened to him.”
“All right. For all we know, his mind started to go again, so she sent him home.”
I nodded. “Do me a favor—post a guard on his workshop. Watch him. Let me know if he tries to leave Amber.”
“Okay.”
I covered his card with my hand, breaking our connection. Then I took out Freda's card and concentrated on it. It took her a moment to answer. She was somewhere in near darkness; I had to squint to make out her tired- looking face.
“What is it, Oberon?” She sounded half asleep. “It's past midnight here.”
“What happened to Dad?” I asked. “Did you send him home?”
“What are you talking about?” She blinked and yawned. “I didn't send him anywhere.”
“I just talked to Aber. He says Dad just got back to Amber, and he's acting strangely. He can't remember anything.”
“Impossible. Wait a moment.” She rose, turned up an oil lamp, and went into the hall in her dressing gown, carrying the Trump. “We are both staying in a comfortable inn. Dad should still be in the next room.”
I waited impatiently while she pounded on his door. Then Dad whipped it open, bare sword in hand. He had a wild look in his eye. Leaning out, he glanced up and down the hallway.
“What's wrong?” he demanded.
“Oberon says you just returned to Amber,” she told him. “Have you left your room tonight?”
“Certainly not!”
To Freda, I said, “Get back to Amber, both of you. See if you can find that imposter and hold him. I'll return tomorrow morning with troops… a lot of them.”
She nodded curtly. “I will let you know if we catch him,” she said. Then she broke the connection.
I put her Trump down and began to pace again. It seemed Uthor and his spies knew a lot about us… enough to fool Aber, anyway. Showing up and heaping abuse on him appeared to have been exactly the right thing to do.
Well, it wouldn't work for long. Never mind Kelionasha—I had to get ready to leave Ceyoldar.
At dawn, I planned to be on the road to Amber.
Chapter 22
When Freda called me again an hour later, I was on the road leading King Aslom's forces down out of the city. I spurred my horse and rode twenty feet ahead so I could talk to her privately. “We have him!” she announced. “Father caught him in his room. He is bound now, magically and physically.”
I felt a rush of excitement. “Can you hold him there until I get back?”
“I think so. He can do no harm where he is.”
“Good. I have a hundred thousand warriors with me, give or take a few thousand. Tell Aber to start laying in supplies. Since Uthor knows where we are anyway, he might as well use the Logrus to save time.”
“Excellent. I will let him know.”
It took me two days to lead King Aslom's forces back to Amber. It was neither terribly far nor a hard march; but the sheer logistics of getting so many people up and moving at the same time took far longer than I would have expected. My own experiences in Ilerium, as one of King Elnar's lieutenants, proved less than adequate to the task. Elnar's army had numbered in the low thousands, and I had commanded scarcely a hundred and fifty men. Here I commanded nearly a thousand times as many.
Finally, though, the horses and wagons and war-chariots and miles-long lines of infantrymen all came within sight of the forest. A road had been cut straight through to the castle—visible from here only as a faint smudge on a distant mountainside—and we were quickly challenged by a squad of armed men.
I rode forward to greet them.
“It's the king!” one, then another, began to mutter. Quickly they knelt, heads bowed.
“Rise,” I said, reigning in my stallion. “You must be vigilant. We caught an imposter at the castle pretending to be my father, Lord Dworkin, two days ago. Challenge everyone who passes, whether you know them or not.”
“Yes, Your Highness!”
“You—” I pointed at a sergeant. “What's your name?”
“M-Mevill, Sire!”
“I must go ahead. You will take my horse and escort King Aslom and his men to Castle Amber.”
“Y-yes, Sire!”
I rode back to King Aslom and his sons, who had drawn to a halt in their golden war-chariots, and apprised them of my plans. They nodded agreeably. After all, who were they to question the great Oberon?
Dismounting, I turned my horse over to Sergeant Mevill, pulled out a Trump of the caste's courtyard, and stepped through. It must have been quite a sight for Aslom and his sons—more proof, if any were needed, that I was a god.
I found Freda and Dad in the main hall. They hurried over to greet me.
“Is that imposter still here?” I asked.
“Yes,” Dad said. “He is trapped in my room. We have been waiting for you before questioning him.”
“Good. Let's have a look at him.”
They led me upstairs, back to the room whose door I had kicked open three days before. The door hadn't been repaired yet and still hung open.
Inside, someone who looked just like my father sat on the edge of the canopied bed. He had bitten his thumb and was dribbling a thin line of blood slowly onto the floorboards… trying to draw a Trump, by the looks of things. Only it wasn't working. I felt no power coming from the spattered red lines.
He looked up, saw me, and said: “By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.”
“Very funny,” I said. I turned to Freda. “Do you recognize that picture?”
She stared at it, tilting her head slightly. “Yes. It is the Third Tower. It lies well beyond the Courts of Chaos.”
“What is it?”
“A place of ancient power and prophecy.”
