John Betancourt - The Dawn of Amber

Somehow, I didn’t think I’d like the answers.

It turned out Freda really was exhausted. A few minutes after I covered her with that blanket, she began to snore. Perhaps magic took more out of her than I realized—though I still didn’t put much trust in her future-telling skills. When she’d read her Trumps, she hadn’t revealed more than crumbs of information… a few names, a few hints of dire things to come, which might or might not involve Dworkin and his various children.

Still, I had seen a picture of Juniper, so I didn’t count it as a waste of time. And I had learned I didn’t want to go to the Courts of Chaos. Something about the place made my skin crawl.

After a few more minutes of staring out the window and finding nothing but more questions, I gave up. Maybe Freda had the right idea, I decided, leaning back in the comfortable padded seat and stretching out my long legs.

It had been an exhausting night, and I’d only had an hour or two of sleep. Might as well try to catch up.

I closed my eyes. Exhaustion flooded over me, but for the longest time I found myself twisting and turning, trying to get comfortable. My thoughts kept racing through the events of the day, turning over all the questions I’d already asked myself, but finding no more answers.

Finally, sleep did come, but it was not the sleep of the dead. It was anything but refreshing. Dreams of Helda and the hell-creatures haunted me, of burning buildings and green fires and horses that spat sparks, and towering over it all, a fairy tale castle grown to nightmare proportions—the legendary Juniper.

Some time later the carriage began to slow. I sensed the change in our pace and came awake instantly, yawning and stretching the kinks from my muscles.

Opposite me, her chin on her chest, Freda snored softly. No sense in waking her yet, I decided. Better to wait till we actually reached our destination.

I pushed back the lace curtain and peered out.

Morning had given way to late afternoon, if the fading light of the sun proved a true indicator of time. The verdant green forests had been replaced by open fields—and a sprawling army camp that stretched as far as the eye could see. Long rows of tents, pens of horses, sheep, and cattle, hundreds of cooking fires, and countless thousands of soldiers—some with the extra joints in the arms, some fully human—filled my view. I couldn’t hear much through the carriage walls, but my imagination filled in the sounds of a camp life, the boasting talk of soldiers at work and leisure, the tramp of boots, the squeak of leather and the jingle of chain mail.

We passed a large open field where dozens of squads marched and drilled, and in the distance I saw more soldiers paired off to practice swordsmanship. It was a familiar enough scene, but on a larger scale than I had ever witnessed before.

King Elnar had raised an army of eight thousand against the hell-creatures, and I had thought he commanded a huge force. This one dwarfed it. There had to be tens of thousands of soldiers here, I thought with awe. Again we rolled past row after row after row of tents.

But whom did they serve? No small keep like Dworkin’s could possibly support this many soldiers. He must have allies—powerful ones. None of the Fifteen Kingdoms could have summoned up and sustained a force like this one.

Opening the window, I leaned far out and craned my neck. At once I spotted what had to be our destination: Juniper, just as Aber had painted it. But he hadn’t done it justice.

An immense moss-and-ivy draped stone castle set high on a hill, its ancient walls had to be eighty feet high. Even at this distance I could clearly see half a dozen men patrolling the battlements.

When the road turned and headed straight toward Juniper, our horsemen-escort peeled off. The castle’s huge stone walls had been built of massive blocks nearly as tall as me—an impressive feat of engineering, I thought. It would be hard to take this place by siege.

Without slowing, the carriage mounted a long ramp overlooked by battlements on our right and entered a massive gatehouse, emerging after a right turn in a courtyard paved in red flagstones. It stopped, then swayed a bit as Dworkin climbed down.

Leaning forward, I touched Freda’s arm.

“Mm?” she said.

“We’re here.”

Yawning, she sat up. “Juniper?”

“I believe so.”

Reaching to her left, she pulled a small lever by the door. Instantly it swung open and those delicate-looking glass steps folded out.

I went down first, staring at the crowd that had begun to assemble. It included army officers as well as servants in white-and-red livery bearing water and other refreshments. I also recognized two of Dworkin’s sons from Freda’s Trumps—Locke and Davin. It seemed everyone wanted or needed to talk to Dworkin urgently, for they surrounded him, a dozen voices speaking at once. Locke paid me no heed; Davin gave me a curious glance, but did not address me. Clearly I wasn’t important enough to warrant their attention.

When Freda appeared in the carriage’s doorway, I offered her my hand and helped her to the ground.

Dworkin seemed to have forgotten us. He was busy giving orders—where to move troops, what supply stocks to draw upon, training and patrol schedules—as though he were the general who commanded this army.

“Come,” Freda said, “he will be busy for hours.”

Linking her arm through mine, she steered me toward a set of large double doors opened wide to the warm afternoon air. A steady stream of servants moved through them.

“But if he wants me—” I began.

“If he wants you, he will find you when he is ready. He always does.”

I didn’t argue. I still didn’t know enough about the situation to make a decision. But I did know enough to realize that Freda was my sole key so far to learning more Dworkin’s surprising double life. I’d have to get her alone and work on charming information out of her, I decided, before my uncle came looking for me. I was more handsome than most men, after all, and I’d always had a winning way with women. Romance might well be the key…

The double doors led to a large audience chamber. Tall, narrow stained-glass windows showing hunting and battle scenes filled the right wall. Similarly themed tapestries lined the other walls. Ahead, on a low dais, stood what could only be a throne, with half a dozen lesser chairs set slightly lower to either side. All sat empty now, but the room was far from deserted—at least a dozen servants scurried about on errands, carrying boxes, bundles of scrolls and parchments, trays of food, and additional items. Other servants had lowered the immense crystal chandelier from its mount on the central roof beam and were busily cleaning it and replacing candles.

“This way,” Freda said, starting for a door to the left of the dais. I hesitated a second, then followed.

Behind us, Dworkin and his entourage swept in, several voices still talking at once. I thought I heard Dworkin called “Prince” by at least one of the officers, which shocked me, but when I glanced back they were heading toward a different door.

As we entered a wide hallway, I noticed how Freda seemed changed here, inside the castle. She smiled constantly, nodding to servants and soldiers who passed us in the hallway. All called her “Lady” and bowed. They all gave me curious looks, but no salutations. And Freda offered them no hint as to my identity.

We turned, turned again, and went up a broad winding staircase to a second floor. I saw fewer servants here, but they seemed older and more polished. They too bowed, and they greeted Freda as “Lady Freda,” as though they were accustomed to dealing with her personally.