"To Rule in Amber" - читать интересную книгу автора (Betancourt John Gregory)

Chapter 4

“Dad!” I cried, backing away desperately. Had he lost his mind? Didn't he recognize me? “It's Oberon—your son! Dad!”

Howling, he lunged again.

Fortunately, he barely had enough strength to hold his blade. Batting his sword aside with my arm, I closed fast and punched the side of his head as hard as I could. The force of my blow sent a shock of pain the length of my arm and sent him reeling.

That blow would have been enough to knock out or even kill a normal man. Not my father, though. Dazed, the tip of his sword dragging across the stone, he gave a low groan and rushed me again, slashing.

“Dad, look at me!” I said, dancing back to safety. Somehow, I held my temper. I knew he wasn't thinking clearly. I just had to make him understand.

Staggering back, he raised his sword with a grunt and seemed to be gathering his strength for another rush.

“Why are you doing this?” I demanded. “Think about it, Dad! Reason it out!”

Clutching the hilt of his sword with both hands now, he rushed straight at me. It was a clumsy move that no master swordsman in his right mind would have tried.

Dancing easily to one side, I gave him another punch to the head. He stumbled, then reeled back, slashing at me. He missed by several feet.

“Damn Thellops,” Dad muttered.

“What is Thellops?” I demanded. “Talk to me, Dad!”

Staggering, he almost fell. I took the opportunity to draw my own sword. He might be my father, but I wasn't taking any chances. I couldn't stand here and let him attack me again and again. It only took one lucky swing.

“Won't do,” he muttered. “Won't do.”

“What won't do?” I demanded.

Shaking his head, once more he charged straight at me.

This time we met with a clash of steel on steel. I had planned to disarm him quickly, but as our blades locked, his strength returned. He hurled me back with a powerful surge of his muscles, then launched into a blistering series of double-feints and lunging attacks that I barely managed to turn aside.

“Dad! Stop it!”

“No more tricks!” he cried.

“It isn't a trick! It's me, Oberon!”

“Thellops!”

Not that again. Backing away warily, I kept my gaze on the tip of his sword. It darted from side to side like a wasp looking to strike.

“I don't want to hurt you,” I said, “But if you keep this up, I'm going to have to!”

He feinted, then slashed at my head. I parried, giving way, then parried again as he pressed the attack. This time he used a complicated series of feints and thrusts. Even crazy, he was the greatest swordsman I had ever seen.

He got first blood. On a swift feint-and-riposte, he came in under my guard and nicked the back of my right wrist. I never saw it coming. A second later, he gashed my right forearm. Nothing life-threatening, but blood poured down my hand. In a few seconds I wouldn't be able to grip my sword properly.

He threw back his head and howled with laughter. If I fell down, would he think he'd won? I would have to keep that as a backup plan, in case he hit me again.

Before the blood ruined my grip, I switched sword-hands. Clearly I couldn't fight him on even terms. If I didn't do something fast, he'd kill me.

“This is your last chance,” I bluffed. “Put up your sword, or I won't hold myself back!”

“Thellops!” he growled. “Never again!”

So much for diplomacy.

He might be a better swordsman than I, but in the real world, I knew the best didn't always win. The smartest did. And if I couldn't out-think a madman, I didn't deserve to live.

He attacked again. I fell back before him, yielding ground quickly, concentrating on fighting defensively. There had to be a weakness in his attack. I just had to find and exploit it.

His sword blurred and darted, testing my defenses, trying to find a way past my guard. Still I parried frantically, retreating in slow circles. His every attack seemed perfect. He fell into a rhythm now: attack, rest, attack, rest.

The next time he paused to catch his breath, I took a moment to study him carefully. That's when I noticed the huge bruise purpling around his left eye—at exactly the spot I'd punched him twice. I figured the swelling must have cut into his field of vision. If I played to his left side, taking advantage of that injury…

He launched a blistering attack again. This time, though, I circling to my right. He kept blinking and shaking his head. The faster I circled, the more I noticed his pauses and hesitations.

He started to tire again. As he drew up short, his sword dropped out of position.

My turn.

I came in low and from the right, hitting him fast and hard. I hammered at his blind side. He reeled back, turning my sword frantically. Then I deliberately over-extended my reach, letting my sword's point drop. He never saw it coming—the swelling blinded him—and even if he had, I don't think he had the strength left to stop it.

My sword's point bit deep into his right foot. I jerked it free, and blood spurted.

Yowling, he slashed wildly. His blade whistled through the air, missing my eyes by inches. When he landed on his bad foot, his leg started to give way. He staggered and almost fell.

Got you! Leaping forward, I caught his frantically windmilling free hand, whirled, and heaved in one smooth motion. He sailed over my shoulder and landed flat on his back ten feet away. The breath whooshed from his lungs. He lay there stunned.

I leaped, pinning his sword-hand beneath my boot. He released his weapon, gasping. He couldn't move, could barely breathe. I kicked the sword away, sending it skittering twenty feet across the stony ground to the very edge of the Pattern.

“This is your last chance,” I said with more calmness than I felt. “Yield, Dad, and we'll have a drink and a laugh about it later.”

Tired and hurt as he was, he tried to throw me off. I had to give him credit for that—I wouldn't have had the heart to continue the fight. Unarmed, how could he hope to continue?

Suddenly he rolled to one side and made it to his feet in a convulsive movement. Before I could react, he whipped a knife from his belt.

“Die!” he roared. He dove forward and tried to stab me in the chest.

“Dad,” I said in a warning tone, dancing back to safety, “give it up! You don't have a chance!”

He growled, so I clouted the right side of his head with the hilt of my sword. It made a meaty thunk. He fell to his knees, stunned.

“Enough!” I kicked the knife away, then booted him in the stomach. He doubled over, gasping hard.

“Sorry, Dad,” I said, more heartsick than angry. “But you brought this on yourself.”

I punched the side of his head with the hilt of my sword again. He fell face-down, struggling to rise.

“Thellops!” he cried.

Without hesitation, I threw myself onto his back. I got a knee between his shoulder blades and pinned his arms behind his back.

He couldn't possible attack me now—or get up, for that matter.

“Tell me what I did to piss you off,” I said in his ear. “What in the seven hells does 'Thellops' mean, anyway?”

Still growling, he turned his head and bit deep into my left wrist. With a yelp, I jerked free, then punched him twice in the back of his head. He started to whimper again.

“Dad,” I said in a hard voice, “I'm going to help you. But you've got to stop trying to hurt me. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

He tried to bite my hand again.

After that, I lost my temper. I punched him until he passed out. Father or not, I would only put up with so much. I'd given him more than enough chances.

When I'd caught my breath and regained control of my temper, I tied his wrists with strips of cloth torn from his shirt. I wasn't sure how well they would hold, so I searched him for weapons and removed a second knife, this one with the head of a unicorn worked into the hilt. Very nice. I tucked it into my own belt for safekeeping.

Finished, I stood. The cuts on my hand and forearm had already stopped bleeding; I had always been a fast healer. The bite marks on my wrist would leave a half-moon shaped bruise, but nothing worse. He had gotten far worse than he'd given.

I picked up my sword, sheathed it, then sat down cross-legged next to him to think. What should I do with him? I couldn't cart an unconscious—or worse, wide awake—homicidal lunatic around with me.

He moaned and twitched suddenly. When I glanced over, I found him staring at me through slitted eyes. Great, not a moment's rest. With his face bruised and his nose bloody, he looked more pathetic than dangerous, but I knew better. His jaws slowly worked up and down, but no words came out.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” I said.

“Thellops,” he whispered.

“Don't start that again.” I'd had just about as much of this “Thellops” as I could tolerate.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I stood and stretched the stiffness from my neck and back. Then I retrieved his sword, sheathed it, and slung the second swordbelt across my shoulders. No point leaving it here.

“Thellops… kill…” he muttered.

I sighed. First things first… I had to get us out of here. How?

In Juniper, Dad had somehow projected me into the unicorn's ruby. I had walked the length of the Pattern inside the gem. At the end, when my thoughts turned to Ilerium, the Pattern had sent me there.

Maybe the same thing would happen after walking this version of the Pattern? If it had the power to somehow read my mind and send me wherever I wanted to go, that would be our surest way out.

No time like the present to find out. I climbed to my feet.

“Come on, Dad.”

I picked my father up and threw him none-too-gently over my shoulder. He weighed less than I'd expected. If this worked, if the Pattern really could send me to another Shadow, I didn't want to leave without him.

Now—where to go? Ilerium and all the other Shadows I'd known were gone… destroyed when Dad destroyed the first Pattern. I needed someplace safe. A Shadow close to this one, but protected from the worst of Chaos's influence. A warm, comfortable world like Juniper had been… but more easily defended.

“Ready?” I asked.

He moaned again, but made no protest. Lucky for him, he didn't try to bite me again. I didn't want to have to pound him back into unconsciousness.

“Then let's go!”

I visualized the Shadow in my mind, took a step forward—and the Pattern vanished.