Oberon's Dreams (32 page)

“Do not lay Kellen’s death on me!” Corin snapped.

“I don’t. I lay it on Ephitel. He is the one responsible, and he will pay in time.”

“He won’t! I have seen it. He gains power and glory without end. A thousand years or more he’ll rule. You call that justice?”

“The world is mad, at times. Even this one of my making. I can only do as much as my resources will allow. I’ll do what little good I can, and you must do the same.”

“You said the things I do here don’t matter—it’s just a dying dream—but I
knew him
. He was a good man.”

Oberon hung his head, but he offered no apology. “Good men die every day. Take Avery and raise a toast to the noble yeoman. I have my work to do.”

“Your work is wasted. You kill yourself to preserve a twisted dream.”

“I kill myself to save some handful of those lives you hold so dear. And I will spend my last breath returning you to a world that dies without you.”

Corin drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. His gaze sank down to the bundle in his arms. It was Kellen’s scabbard, part of his uniform, and far too small for the legendary sword. Corin sniffed. “You may keep that breath.”

“What?”

“I have no intention of going back. Not until I’ve dealt with this.”

“I’ve already warned you of the risks.”

“I cannot bring myself to care. I know the traitor will never have to pay in the world I know, but I can make him pay in this one.” He tore the scabbard free and held the naked blade before him.

“Please, refrain from this,” the king said. “No good can come of it. I need you here, alive.”

“Any authority I might have granted you died with Kellen.” Corin turned to Avery. “What say you? Will you serve your glorious king, or will you help me kill the monster?”

Avery showed his teeth. “I would like nothing more.”

“Then come. We will make plans on the way.”

“Stop!” Oberon called behind them. His voice was weak and worn, his brow creased with the strains he bore. Corin raised his eyebrows, waiting for some compelling argument.

“Stay,” Oberon said. “Stay here, with me, or I may not be able to send you home at all.”

“I like that world little better than this one.”

“But it will die without you! Come. You needn’t wait. Come before my throne, and I will send you now!”

Corin shook his head. “You need that power to move the city.”

“What is one city compared to a world? I will…” His voice cracked, but he shook his head and pressed on. “I will sacrifice them all for you.”

Corin spat. “You are a wretched king. I thank sweet fortune that you are not my liege.”

He turned and left the throne room, Avery at his heels, while behind them the elf king wept upon his throne.

They were past the Midnight Grotto before Avery found his voice again. “What are we about? Corin, I saw the soldiers rushing through the city. I heard a call for the fire brigades. What is happening?”

“Ephitel is on the march. He has a regiment all armed with guns, and he means to contest Oberon for the throne.”

“He will win.”

“The king won’t even fight him.”

Avery shook his head. “Why should he? What could stand against such power?”

Corin gripped the sword
Godslayer
until his hand ached. “I will stand.”

“You said before that this was not your war.”

“Ephitel made it so when he murdered Kellen. You said before that you would follow me to battle. Will you still? For Kellen? For Maurelle?”

“Maurelle? Has he—”

“No. The king gave her a pretty title, just like yours, and she is hard at work preparing our retreat.”

“Retreat.” The word sounded bitter on Avery’s tongue.

Corin nodded. “Aye. The court and all the pretty lords and ladies will run away and hide, while Ephitel and his followers divvy up the land of men.”

“This is Oberon’s plan?”

“Aye.”

“But you think we should challenge Ephitel.”

“I think we should plant him in the ground.”

Avery rolled his shoulders, loosening up for a fight. “I like your plan better.”

“I thought you might.”

“But it will take us half a day to cross the city on foot. Even longer if a panic’s growing in the streets.”

Corin stopped. He glanced back over his shoulder, toward the distant throne room, then he gave a shrug. “Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes and come with me.”

Corin fixed his mind upon the task at hand. He thought about the city gates near Moneylender’s Lane, where he had first met Aemilia and Ephitel. He fixed his mind on that place and the fight he meant to take to the lord protector. Then he turned around, opened his eyes, and gasped.

Moneylender’s Lane was empty, almost as he remembered it from another life. But here, a noonday sun burned hot and bright above, and it was a graceful gate of iron that surrounded the city, rather than ten paces of solid stone.

Avery shouted when he opened his eyes. “Age of reason! Where’d you learn to do that?”

“From the king,” Corin said, a little numb.

“Why haven’t you been doing that all along?”

Corin barked a laugh. “I didn’t know I could. I never tried.”

“But how—”

“There isn’t time for that,” Corin said, raising his arm to point. “Ephitel approaches.”

From their place near the gate, Corin could see Ephitel’s battle lines. There might have been a thousand men, mostly mounted and all wielding the flintlock rifles Jeff had mentioned. They had their attendants, too, and as Corin looked closer, he frowned.

“Are those catapults?”

“Mangonels, by the looks of them. Is that so strange?”

“For a man who has access to cannons? Yes.”

“Perhaps he had no time to have them built. Or he lacked the resources.”

“He equipped a thousand men with rifles and pistols,” Corin growled. “He could have made a pair of cannons.”

“You seem to suspect a reason. Say it. Why would Ephitel bring catapults?”

Corin bowed his head, remembering so many things the king had said. He sighed. “Why would Oberon raise the fire brigades?”

A quarter mile out, among Ephitel’s lines, someone gave a short, sharp trumpet blast, and Corin turned to Avery. “Take cover. Here, inside this shop!”

He grabbed the gentleman’s sleeve and dragged him off the street just as the two catapults slammed into violent motion. They hurled their ammunition high into the air, overshooting the walls by at least a hundred paces. Avery chuckled. “That won’t get them in.”

“That was not the goal,” Corin said. “They weren’t stones or darts. They were wooden barrels.”

One of the barrels lost itself somewhere behind the building Corin and Avery had used for refuge, but the other smashed down two blocks over, among the shops and houses, and as it landed, it shot a pillar of fire ten paces above the rooftops. It boomed, and an answering explosion rang out to the west.

“He meant to start a fire,” Corin said. “He meant to kill the townsfolk. That man needs to die.”

“Killing Ephitel? There will be time enough for that later.”

Corin licked his lips. “Maybe not. There is not much time at all.”

“Then I would spend it on my friends before my foes.”

“This is
for
your friends. This is for Kellen.”

Avery sucked a deep breath, then met Corin’s eyes. “Kellen’s dead. These people aren’t.”

“You’re not a hero. You’re a
thief
.”

“I am a hero. Oberon himself said so. But that is not what matters. The important thing is that I am not a monster.”

He tried to leave, but Corin would not let go. “Those people do not matter!”

Avery’s eyes went cold. Corin tried to stammer an explanation, but the gentleman thief—the mayor of Gesoelig—shrugged out of Corin’s grip and turned away. He called back over his shoulder, “I am sorry, Corin, but this is what I must do.”

Corin nodded, watching him go. Of course. His hands were bound by history. Corin took a deep breath and released it as a string of curses.

Oberon was right. This was a memory, a temporary shard. Corin had proved it with his step across the city. Nothing done here
really
mattered. He would have been much better served to grab a warm meal and a cool beer and wait to be sent home. He might have shared a pleasant hour with his hero instead of leaving him on such unhappy terms.

Leaving Oberon had not been any better. The king seemed critically weak. From ten paces distant he’d asked Corin to come closer to the throne, to be sent home. What chance that he could accomplish that from across the city? Corin had been a fool to leave.

What chance had he alone to cut down Ephitel, even if he had the sword? He could have chosen to go home. He
should
have chosen that, with the fate of all reality trapped inside his head.

He shuddered at the thought. Reality deserved a better keeper. It hardly mattered if he came back from the dream. He couldn’t live a century. Truth be told, he’d be lucky to live a decade, and then the world was over.

The only difference it could make was for Iryana. Ah, he’d used her poorly in every way. For her, he should have stayed with Oberon. For her, he should have taken the sword and run. For her, he should have been more cautious of Ethan Blake. At every step he’d failed her, and now he’d sacrificed his only chance of making it right in this mad-hearted attempt at impossible revenge. And an ephemeral revenge at that! He’d sacrificed the world for the idle daydream of a hollow victory.

Even as he cursed himself, he felt that hungry fire in his heart. Ephitel was not an idle threat. He was a monster that needed slaying. His crimes rang out in Corin’s heart, not least the fires raging now to the east and west of Moneylender’s Lane. Corin
hated
Ephitel. But revenge would gain him nothing. He clenched his empty hand into a fist and repeated those words in his head.
Revenge would gain him nothing. Revenge, however sweet, would gain him nothing.

So he would not fight Ephitel. It was the choice he should have made all along. As much as he longed to kill the beast, he closed his eyes and strove to put the bastard from his mind. He fixed his thoughts on Oberon’s grand throne room. He would leave this dream to its sad fate and take its tragic memory to a world where Ephitel was god. He focused on the king and turned away, shifting himself within the dream. And when he looked again, he’d left Moneylender’s Lane behind.

But not far enough behind.

He stood upon the battlefield, just at the edge, beneath the great arch of the closed gates. And Ephitel was there. Alone. His regiment still stood arrayed a quarter mile distant, but Ephitel stood ten paces out with a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other.

Anger flaring in his eyes, the wicked prince leveled his gun at Corin and said, “I believe you have my sword.”

Corin met his eyes and growled. He had tried to use the dream to return to Oberon, but as Oberon had warned, every dream could become nightmare. Dreams were unpredictable creatures. Corin had tried to do the right thing, the noble thing, the
practical
thing, but the dream had not cooperated. So here and now, he decided, staring into Ephitel’s dark eyes, it was time to kill a rabid god.

If the world hung in the balance…well, it could hang.

He swung the legendary sword, rolling it in a long arc, and grinned up at the prince. “Come and get it.”

Ephitel fired his pistol, but Corin was already diving aside. He hit the ground and rolled and came up four paces closer to the prince. There was no fancy revolver this time, so Ephitel threw his gun aside and raised his sword.

Corin stalked toward him.