The Chronicles of Amber

“Then promise you won't hurt me!” he shouted back.

“Do you take me for a fool?” I demanded.

“Yes,” he said with a light laugh. “But don't be offended. I'm smarter than everyone in the family. Even Dad, though he doesn't realize it.”

“Wait for me!”

We reached a small clearing, and I found him standing there with his arms crossed, a little smile on his lips.

I drew up. “I'm sick of games!” I told him. I raised my sword. I would make his death as quick and as painless as I could, for Freda's sake. “Why did you come here? What did you possibly think would happen?”

He sighed and shook his head. “Look behind you.”

“If I do, you'll disappear again.”

“If you don't, you'll be dead.” He shrugged. “It's my last warning for my favorite brother.”

Suddenly I had a very bad feeling inside. I glanced over my shoulder.

And just as suddenly I wished I hadn't.

Chapter 34

I saw myself standing there. Or, rather, I saw my double. Face, hair, shape of chest, length of legs—I might have been looking in a mirror. And he even held a sword exactly like mine.

This had to be the man who kidnapped Fenn from Amber. We had all assumed Suhuy sent him. Apparently it had been King Swayvil… or Aber.

“Who are you?” I demanded of him.

“I am Oberon,” he said.

I snorted. “I don't think so.”

“I am and will be the rightful King of Amber,” he growled. “You stole my place. I will take it back.”

“You may have my face, but you aren't me?”

He raised his sword. “I am. I will be.”

“Incredible,” Aber said. He looked from the double to me and back again wonderingly. “You really are identical. I didn't quite believe it.”

“The difference,” I said grimly, “is that I'm real. And after I've killed your creature—whatever it is—I'm going to kill you.”

“I think not,” he said.

“I'm real enough,” said the fake Oberon. “Look at me! I am you in every way…”

And, as I would have, he leaped without warning, hammering at me with a series of bone-jarring blows. I parried his first attacks, sending our swords ringing, then threw him back and riposted. Again our blades sang and danced, steel on steel, blurring with the speed of our every move. We each strained to throw the other one back. His muscles knotted like mine. His neck corded; his face grew red and veins bulged at his temples.

We both leaped back at the same time too, swords up, panting hard. He looked as winded as I felt.

Slowly, we circled each other, swords up, feeling each other out. Though I hated to admit it, we seemed equally matched.

“I think the Pattern copied you,” Aber said casually. I let my gaze flicker over to him for a second. He sat down under an oak tree and crossed his legs, relaxing. For all the care he showed, he might have been attending a picnic.

“Explain!” I said.

“I'm not sure I can.” He laced his fingers behind his head. “But, in a way, I think you're both Oberon.”

I leaped forward, a whirlwind of thrusting, lunging, slashing. My double gave way before me. Although I could have countered each such attack easily, he seemed to be having trouble keeping up. An advantage? Did he lack my stamina?

We both drew back, panting, glaring at one another.

“Oberon?” Aber continued, “Do you want to know where I found him?”

“Yes!”

“Then I'll tell you. You will find it amusing.” He cleared his throat. “I went back to the new Pattern after Dad made it. You thought I didn't know where it was, but I did. I saw Dad start to draw it, and I made a Trump to get back there. It worked. Dad was just finishing when I arrived. He attacked me—I don't know why, since I never did anything to him. He did it without warning—just drew his sword and stabbed me!”

I nodded. “He did the same to me. But I defended myself. He was crazy.”

“Yes. I didn't realize it at the time.” Aber paused. “Watch out!”

My double came at me again, sword swinging. I parried, then drove him back with an attack of my own, raining down blow after blow.

Still Aber talked. “I wished myself away—anywhere else—and the Pattern sent me outside the pattern. I crawled into the bushes, thinking I was going to die. Dad collapsed, like it had been too much for him. So I lay there, too weak to move, just watching and waiting. That's when you showed up. You walked the Pattern, woke Dad up, knocked him senseless, and then picked him up and disappeared.”

Panting, my double and I drew apart again, glaring at each other. I had never fought a man so much like me. He knew all my moves, just as I knew his. Neither of us seemed capable of gaining an edge on the other.

“Go on,” I told Aber.

He smiled. “A few seconds after you left with Dad, the whole Pattern kind of flickered. Then he appeared. Another you. Only he was out of his head, too, like Dad had been. He didn't remember anything—how you betrayed King Uthor, tricked Dad into making a new Pattern for you, how you planned to set yourself up as ruler of all the Shadows.”

“That's a rather twisted way of looking at things,” I told him.

He shrugged. “The truth is in the eye of the beholder. Anyway, I took him back to Chaos with me, kept him hidden, nursed him back to health. But he wasn't quite like you. He's found it's more rewarding to follow King Swayvil. And he isn't trying to kill me. So, dear brother, I've backed my other dear brother.”

“You want him to kill me,” I said, “and take my place.”

“That's right.”

“And the two of you will rule the Shadows… with Swayvil's kind permission?”

He chuckled. “Something like that. Yes. You're smarter than you look.”

I gave a double feint—one of our father's tricks with the sword—and my blade slipped under my double's guard. I put all my weight on my forefoot and lunged, gashing his right arm to the bone.

He punched me in the face with his left fist. I reeled back, stunned for a heartbeat, but he didn't follow up with an attack of his own.

I stared into his eyes. He made no sound, but I could tell he was in pain. He was losing a lot of blood fast. I must have hit an artery. His face went white.

“Yield,” I said.

“I cannot,” he replied.

“Why? Because of him?” I jerked my head at Aber.

“No. Because there can only be one of us.”

He switched the sword to his left hand. As I watched, the wound on his arm closed up. It seemed we shared another talent—he could change shape as well as I could. And he'd done it to cover up his wound and stop the bleeding.

I would have done the same thing.

Unfortunately, he would have to use part of his strength and concentration to hold his new form. With all other things between us being equal, that gave me an edge.