Roger Zelazny - The Chronicles of Amber

Instead, it breathed gouts of fire at the shadow. That did no damage that I could see. If anything, the shadow grew larger. Then, like a panther springing onto its prey, the shadow surged forward. It completely enveloped the dragon. I saw Ulyss's wings paused in mid downstroke, but the dragon did not fall.

Instead, the dragon began to scream. The terrible soul-rending noise cut through the air like a knife. It went on and on, growing louder, tearing through my head, tearing through my heart. I covered my ears, and still it went through me. I had never heard such a horrible sound before. It made me want to curl into a ball and die.

The scream came to an abrupt stop. As I watched with growing horror, the dragon seemed to crumble to dust. In a second it simply disappeared, its few remains swept away by the wind.

The Shadow drifted through the air for a second, as though no hand guided it. Then, slowly and inexorably, it drifted toward Conner and me.

“What is that thing?” I asked uneasily, starting to back away.

“Primal Chaos, under a master adept's control.” Connor also backed up. “This would be a good time to leave, I think. Use a Trump. Call Freda. She can bring us back to Amber.”

“I'm not leaving without my troops.” I had gone through too much to get them; I wouldn't just abandon King Aslom and his men to be slaughtered—not as long as other options remained. “What else can we do?”

“Kill the one casting the spell.”

“I can't see him. And I don't think we have time to go hunting.”

He hesitated. “Dad or Freda might be able to counter it. Try Freda. Just do it fast!”

Keeping one eye on the shadow—which had definitely gotten larger since destroying the dragon—I pulled out Freda's Trump and concentrated on her image.

She answered immediately.

“Is something wrong?”

“We're having trouble with Primal Chaos. Conner says a master adept is controlling it. It just killed our dragon, and now it's heading for us.”

“What does it look like?”

“A cloud. It's in the sky.”

“Move it to another Shadow,” she said.

I blinked. “Can we do that?”

“Of course. Tell Connor to use a—oh, give me a second. I had better do it.” She turned and spoke to someone over her shoulder, then reached toward me. I took her hand and pulled her through.

She took one look at the Shadow and said, “Hmm!” Then she turned and strolled away at an almost leisurely pace, her head bowed. I noted a Trump in her left hand, but I could not yet tell what it showed.

The Shadow became a seething, writhing cloud. It glided toward the three of us, faster now, three hundred yards away and closing rapidly.

My uneasiness grew. Someone had to be controlling it… but who? And from where? He had to be watching us to send it right at us.

I glanced around camp. My men had stopped in the midst of their packing to stare up at it, awe and horror mingling on their faces. They too recognized it as something evil.

“Bring me a bow!” I called.

“Here, Oberon!” One of the archers leaped forward, offering his.

“Thanks.”

Notching an arrow, I drew back as far as I could, turned quickly, and fired into the cloud. Once—twice—a third time. The arrows entered it one after another, disappearing from sight; they did not come out the other side. Like the dragon's fire, they had no effect.

I swallowed. Then I backed up a few more feet, getting behind Freda. I didn't want to be in the path when she let loose whatever magic she'd been working.

What could I do to help? I hated waiting. It made me feel powerless.

I scanned the bushes and trees surrounding our camp. Maybe I could spot the sorcerer manipulating the cloud. I figured he had to be watching us to direct it so precisely.

As I turned toward the mountain behind us, sunlight glinted off something—a silver buckle or maybe a button—among the scraggly pines. From that vantage point, whoever it was had a perfect view of us.

I caught Conner's arm. “The wizard is hiding in the woods behind us. Watch for a reflection. There! See it?”

“Yes!” he said. He drew his sword.

“Wait.” I marked the spot mentally, then turned back toward the cloud. A hundred yards away, it drifted steadily toward us.

Calmly I nocked another arrow and took aim. Then, instead of firing into the shadow, I wheeled and shot at the figure hidden in the trees. He was two hundred yards distant, but I knew my own strength, and I could hit a target that far away.

I followed that first with five more in rapid succession, covering a spread perhaps four feet across.

I don't know if I hit him or not, but I'd like to think so. The arrows certainly broke his concentration. Even as I loosed my last shot, I heard Conner suck in a quick breath.

“Oberon!” he said in a warning voice.

I glanced toward the shadow. Twenty yards away, it had stopped moving toward us. Suddenly it began to swell rapidly outward, twenty feet across, then thirty—

“Can you stop it?” I said, backing up. “Freda?”

Whatever the shadow touched turned black and crumbled to dust. The ground—our tents—stacks of weapons—

My sister remained silent, but her face had grown hard. Her lips moved; she raised both her hands, one pointed directly toward the cloud, the other angling a Trump toward her face.

That Trump showed the Courts of Chaos. Somehow, she had opened the image on the card. Like the cloud, it seethed with dark movements. The stars in its sky moved. The buildings shimmered and swayed. Lightning flickered across the landscape, occasionally striking out through the card with little flickering tongues of light.

“Like drawn to like!” she commanded. She extended the card toward the still-expanding cloud, and as its forward edge touched her palm, her whole body seemed to flicker in and out of existence. For an instant I saw blue threads stretching from her hand toward the shadowy Primal Chaos, touching it, wrapping around it, pulling it toward her. But instead of turning her to dust, the cloud flowed along her arm, to the Trump, through it, and out of sight—back to the Courts, if that's where it had come from. I really didn't care, as long as it went away.

When the last of it had disappeared, Freda sagged. I leaped forward and caught her before she hit the ground.

“Well done!” I said.

“Did it work?” she murmured, eyes half closed.

“Yes,” I said. “It's gone. Thanks.”

She smiled then passed out.

“Take her back to Amber!” Conner said grimly. “I'll get our men home.”

“Are you sure?” I asked,

“Yes. Hurry, before anything else happens!”

Without waiting for an answer, he sprinted toward our troops, bawling orders. Everyone shouldered packs and reformed into lines four abreast for a quick march. The cavalry lined up next to them.

I shifted Freda to my left arm and rumbled out my deck of Trumps one-handed. Finding the courtyard Trump, I used it to get us back to Amber.

Servants rushed to greet me, calling welcomes. Some held basins of water and towels to clean the dust of travel from our hands and faces; others bore trays with cups and flagons of wine, and still others carried platters laden with succulent-looking sweetmeats, pastries, and other delicacies.

“Shall I get a physician?” one of the stewards asked in a quiet voice. He motioned for two others to take Freda from my arms. They carried her toward the finished wing of the castle.

“Yes,” I said. “Hurry!”

“Very good, Sire.” He turned and ran.

A small army of architects, stonemasons, and several army officers appeared as if on cue—apparently it didn't take long for word of my return to Amber to spread. They all clamored for answers to pressing questions.