I let the Pattern go, and it fell apart. The carving became just scratches on the tabletop, no more. My breathing relaxed. Goodone problem had been taken care of.

It seemed I, too, could command some real magic—untrained though I might be. I could at the very least protect myself from being spied upon.

My use of the Pattern further confirmed my suspicions… Dad had allied himself with some power other than the Logrus. And he had given the gift of its Pattern to me… though where the Jewel of Judgment fit into it all, I couldn't yet say.

I sighed. Our enemies wouldn't wait. I couldn't sit around this cottage waiting for Dad to return. My every action had been well rewarded thus far… from the party at Aunt Lanara's house to the fight with Ulyanash. Of course, I reminded myself, I would have died if not for Dad's timely intervention… but wasn't that what parents were for?

It was time to take the battle to Lord Zon and his tower. I had been there often enough in my dreams. I knew what it looked like. Now it was my turn to try drawing a Trump.

Bending, I dipped my index finger into my cup of wine, then rose and crossed to the nearest whitewashed wall. My brother Aber always drew a representation of the Logrus beneath the images he painted on Trumps. Our father had told me it wasn't necessary; he could do it by simply keeping the Logrus fixed in his mind while he worked. I could not draw on the Logrus, as I had never ventured into it, but the Pattern within me seemed to have many of the same powers.

I summoned a mental image of the Pattern and began to sketch the tower of skulls… from the inside. I showed the altar slab, the winding staircase of leg bones, the doorway through which hell-creatures had dragged my brothers to be tortured. The image took on an aliveness, a sense of reality and immediacy, despite being pale pink lines on the wall. Whenever I willed it, I knew I could bring the image to life and step through.

Then, licking wine from my finger, I stepped back. Yes, it would do. Crude though it was, I really had created a Trump. I knew it would work.

Retrieving my sword from the bedroom, I found the pen and ink my father had used, left him my thanks on the back of the note he'd left me, and told him I had gone to rescue Taine from the tower of skulls. I would return home to our house in the Beyond if successful. If not… he should try to contact me via Trump and bring me back directly.

Then I turned to the picture I had sketched on the wall, concentrating. Slowly, I felt it coming to life before me. It grew darker, blacks and browns emerging… lengthening shadows… the altar block… the circling stairway of bones… the entrance through which prisoners came…

Like a doorway, it filled the wall.

Hefting my sword, I stepped through.

The inside of the tower proved to be deserted. I knew it from the way my footsteps echoed; the shadows where I had previously seen Lord Zon remained empty. I no longer felt that malevolent presence there.

I crept up to the shadowy doorway and peered into a narrow corridor that circled down. A single torch lit the way, its light bubbling up to pool on the ceiling. Pausing, I listened, but heard nothing… no rustle of leather, no clink of armor, nor even the moans of prisoners.

I started forward, treading softly, sword ready. It couldn't possibly be this easy to rescue Taine.

The passageway descended. I came to a line of doors, all of them closed. Cells? I unbarred the first one and pushed it open, revealing a dark, tiny room scarcely large enough to lie down in. A skeleton lay chained in the far corner, its bones showing signs of having been gnawed. A few tatters of clothing remained, but nothing to tell me who it had been. Hopefully not one of my missing brothers or sisters.

The next two cells were empty.

The fourth cell held Taine. I rushed to his side. Still alive—?

He was not chained, but lay on a pile of straw against the far wall. His bare chest and arms were covered with scabbed-over sores and cuts, just as I had seen in my last spirit-voyage here. A yellow crust covered his eyes. For a second I thought he might be dead, but then as I bent over him and my shadow covered his face, he moaned and tried to push me away.

“Lie still,” I said softly. “I'm your brother Oberon. I'm here to rescue you.”

He began to thrash and cry out wordlessly. Clearly he was beyond reason. Luckily his strength was gone; his blows were like a child's. I pinned his arms with one hand, then picked him up and threw him over my shoulder. He was curiously light—he had to weigh less than a hundred pounds now, starved as he was to skin and bones—and I had no trouble carrying him.

When I turned to leave, however, the room darkened. Half a dozen guards filled the doorway, blocking out the torch light. They all held swords at the ready.

I swallowed and raised my own weapon. It would be a challenge to cut my way through them while protecting Taine.

Instead of trying to fight me, however, they slammed the door shut. I heard the bar dropping into place.

Darkness surrounded me. I had a terrible, sinking feeling inside. Taine moaned.

“Don't give up just yet,” I told him.

He did not reply. I put him down on the pile of straw, then sat next to him, my back to the wall and my sword balanced across my knees.

I fished the first Trump out of the pouch at my belt, the one showing my room. A couple of thin blades of light came in through cracks in the door. I tilted the Trump until I could see I clearly and began to concentrate.

It should have come to life before me, but it didn't. I felt… nothing. Something, some spell of Lord Zon's, prevented the Logrus from working in here.

So much for my first backup plan. I put the Trump away. Before I could try creating a Pattern-Trump of my own, the light faded away, leaving me in complete darkness… no way to see or draw a new Trump.

I sighed. That just left my father.

It shouldn't be long now. It shouldn't be long at all…

Chapter 28

After what seemed a lifetime, I felt the familiar sensation of someone trying to reach me via my Trump. I opened my mind and reached out.

Dworkin appeared before me, framed by the white walls of the cottage. My wine-sketched Trump lay behind his left shoulder.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“In a cell with Taine. Take us out?”

He nodded and extended his right hand. “Come on.”

I picked up my brother's limp body, reached out to Dad, and he pulled us both through to the cottage. As the dark cell disappeared, I couldn't help but grin.

“Thanks,” I said. “I've been waiting for you.”

He glanced at the sword in my hand. “They did not disarm you, I see. What happened?”

“It was a trap,” I said.

I carried Taine into the bedroom and set him down on the bed. He stirred a moment, then lay still. He looked worse in the bright light than he had in the cell. Still, he was tough or he would have died long before this.

“They locked me up when I went into Taine's cell,” I continued. “I tried to get out with one of Aber's Trumps, but they must have spells that prevent the Logrus from working, I think, like in Juniper.”

“Interesting,” he said.

“They haven't figured out yet that you're no longer using the Logrus.”

Dworkin chuckled. “You know too much, my boy! Good thing they did not question you.”

He looked over my brother's injuries briefly. “Dehydration and loss of blood, I think. Starvation. The wounds look worse than they really are. Get him something to drink.”

“Water…” gasped Taine suddenly.

I looked in the next room, but only found the half bottle of wine I hadn't finished. I poured him a glass and held his head up while he took tiny sips.

He finished it all, then lay back and seemed to go to sleep—or pass out.