Roger Zelazny. Knight of Shadows
Roger Zelazny
THE CHRONICLES OF AMBER -- BOOK NINE
KNIGHT OF SHADOWS
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Her name was Julia, and I'd been damn certain she was dead back on
April 30 when it all began. My finding her grisly remains and destroying the
doglike creature which I'd thought had killed her were pretty much the way
it started. And we had been lovers, which I suppose was how things had
really commenced. Long before.
Perhaps I could have trusted her more. Perhaps I should never have
taken hex on that shadow-walls which led to denials that took her away from
me, down dark ways and into the studio of Victor Melman, a nasty occultist I
later had to kill-the same Victor Melman who was himself the dupe of Luke
and Jasra. But now, perhaps-just barely-I might have been in a position to
forgive myself for what I'd thought I'd done, for it seemed that I hadn't
really done it after all. Almost.
That is to say, I learned that I hadn't been responsible for it while I
was in the act of doing it. It was when I drove my knife into the side of
the mysterious sorcerer
Mask, who had been on my case for some time, that I discovered that
Mask was really Julia. My half brother Jurt, who's been trying to kill me
longer than anyone else in the business, snatched her away, and they
vanished then, immediately following his transformation into a kind of
living Trump.
As I fled the burning, crumbling Keep there at the Citadel of the Four
Worlds, a falling timber caused me to dodge to my right, trapping me in a
cul-de-sac of crashed masonry and burning beams. A dark metal ball flashed
past me then, seeming to grow as it moved. It struck the wall and passed
through it, leaving a hole one could dive through-a hint I was not slow in
taking. Outside I jumped the moat, using my Logrus extensions to knock aside
a section of fence and a score of troops, before I turned back and shouted,
"Mandor!"
"Right here," came his soft voice from behind my left shoulder.
I turned in time to see him catch a metal ball, which bounced once
before us and dropped into his extended hand.
He brushed ashes from his black vest and ran a hand through his hair.
Then he smiled and turned back toward the burning Keep.
"You've kept your promise to the Quecn," he remarked, "and I don't
believe there's anything more for you here. Shall we go now?"
"Jasra's still inside," I answered, "having it out with Sharu."
"I thought you were done with her."
I shook my head.
"She still knows a lot of things I don't. Things I'll be needing."
A tower of flame began to rear itself above the Keep, halted and
hovered a moment, heaved itself higher.
"I didn't realize," he said. "She does seem to want control of that
fountain fairly badly. If we were to snatch her away now, that fellow Sharu
will claim it. Does that matter?"
"If we don't snatch her away, he may kill her." Mandor shrugged.
"I've a feeling she'll take him. Would you care to place a small
wager?"
"Could be you're right," I said, watching the fountain continue its
climb skyward, following another pause. I gestured toward it. "Thing looks
like an oil gusher. I hope the winner knows how to cap it-if there is a
winner. Neither one of them may last much longer, the way the place is
coming apart."
He chuckled.
"You underestimate the forces they've generated to protect themselves,"
he said. And you know it isn't all that easy for one sorcerer to do in
another by sorcerous means. However, you've a point there when it comes to
the inertia of the mundane. With your permission . . . ?"
I nodded.
With a quick underhand toss he cast the metal ball across the ditch
toward the burning building. It struck the ground and with each bounce
thereafrer it seemed to increase in size. It produced a cymballike crash
each time it hit, entirely out of proportion with its apparent mass and
velocity, and this sound increased in volume on each successive bounce. It
passed then into the burning, tottering ruin that was the near end of the
Keep and for several moments was gone from sight.
I was about to ask him what was going on when I saw the shadow of a
large ball pass before the opening through which I had fled. The flames-save
for the central tower from the broken Fount-began to subside, and a deep
rumbling sound came from within. Moments later an even larger circular
shadow passed, and I began to feel the rumbling through the soles of my
boots.
A wall tumbled. Shortly thereafter part of another wall fell. I could
see inside fairly clearly Through the dust and smoke the image of the giant
ball passed again. The flames were snuffed. My Logrus vision still granted
me glimpses of the shifting lines of power which flowed between Jasra and
Sharu.
Mandor extended a hand. A minute or so later a small metal ball came
bouncing our way, and he caught it. "Let's head back," he said. "It would be
a shame to miss the end."
We passed through one of the many gaps in the fence, and sufficient
rubble filled the ditch at one point for us to walk across on it. I spent a
barrier spell then, to keep the re-forming troops of the prenuses and out of
our way for a time.
Entering through the broken wall, I saw that Jasra stood with her back
to the tower of fire, her arms upraised. Streaks of sweat lined her face
zebra through a mask of soot, and I could feel the pulsing of the forces
which passed through her body. About ten feet above her, face purple and
head twisted to one side as if his neck were broken, Sharu hung in the
middle of the air. To the untutored he might have seemed magically
levitated. My Logrus sight gave me view of the line of force from which he
hung suspended, however, victim of what might, I suppose, be termed a
magical lynching.
"Bravo," Mandor stated, clapping his hands slowly and softly together.
"You see, Merlin? I'd have won that bet."
"You always were a better judge of talent than I was," I acknowledged.
". . . and swear to serve me," I overheard Jasra saying. Sharu's lips
moved.
"And swear to serve you," he gasped.
She lowered her arms slowly, and the line of force which held him began
to lengthen. As he descended toward the Keep's cracked floor; her left hand
executed a gesture similar to one I had once seen an orchestra conductor
employ in encouraging the woodwinds, and a great gout of fire came loose
from the Fountain, fell upon him, washed over him, and passed on down into
the ground. Flashy, though I didn't quite see the point . . .
His slow descent continued, as if someone in the sky were trolling for
crocodiles. I discovered myself holding my breath as his feet neared the
ground, in sympathetic anticipation of the eased pressure on his neck. This,
however, did not come to pass. When his feet reached the ground, they passed
on into it, and his descent continued, as if he were an occulted hologram.
He sank past his ankles and up to his knees and kept going. I could no
longer tell whether he was breathing. A soft litany of commands rolled from
Jasra's lips, and sheets of flame periodically separated themselves from the
Fountain and splashed over him. He sank past his waist and up to his
shoulders and slightly beyond. When only his head remained visible, eyes
open but unfocused, she executed another hand move. went, and his journey
into the earth was halted.
"You are now the guardian of the Fount," she stated, "answerable only
to me. Do you acknowledge this?"
The darkened lips writhed.
"Yes," came a whispered reply.
"Go now and bank the fires," she ordered. "Commence your tenure."
The head seemed to nod at the same time it began sinking again. After a
moment only a cottony tuft of hair remained, and an instant later the ground
swallowed this, too. The line of force vanished.
I cleared my throat. At the sound Jasra let her arms fall and turned
toward me. She was smiling faintly.
"Is he alive or dead?" I asked, and then added, "Academic curiosity."
"I'm not really certain," she responded. "But a little of both, I
think. Like the rest of us."
" `Guardian of the Fount,' " I reflected. "Interesting existence."
"Beats being a coatrack," she observed. "I daresay."
"I suppose you feel I owe you some gratitude now, for - my restoratin,"
she stated.
I shrugged.
"To tell you the truth, I've other things to think about," I said.
"You wanted an end to the feud," she said, "and I wanted this place
back. I still have no kind thoughts toward Amber, but I am willing to say
we're even."
"I'll settle for that," I told her. "And there is a small loyalty I may
share with you."
She studied me through narrowed eyes for a moment, then smiled.
"Don't worry about Luke," she said.
"But I must. That son of a bitch Daft-"
She continued to smile.
"Do you know something I don't?" I asked.
"Many things," she replied.
"Anything you'd care to share?"
"Knowledge is a marketable commodity," she observed, as the ground
shook slightly and the fiery tower swayed. "I'm offering to help your son
and you're offering to sell me the information on how to go about it?" I
inquired.
She laughed.
"If I thought Rinaldo needed help," she said, "I'd be at his side this
moment. I suppose it makes it easier to hate me if you feel I lack even
maternal virtues."
"Hey, I thought we were calling things even," I said.
"That doesn't preclude hating each other," she replied.
"Come on, lady! Outside of the fact that you tried to kill me year
after year, I've got nothing against you. You happen to be the mother of
someone I like and respect. If he's in trouble, I want to help him, and I'd
as soon be on good terms with you."
Mandor cleared his throat as the flames dropped ten feet, shuddered,
dropped again.
"I've some fine culinary spells," he remarked, "should recent exertions
have roused some appetites."
Jasra smiled almost coquettishly, and I'd swear she batted her
eyelashes at him. While he makes a striking appearance with that shock of
white hair, I don't know that you'd exactly call Mandor handsome. I've never
understood why women are as attracted to him as they usually seem to be.
I've even checked him out for spells on that particular count, but he
doesn't wear one. It must be some different order of magic entirely.
"A fine idea," she responded. "I'll provide the setting if you'll take
care of the rest."
Mandor bowed; the flames collapsed the rest of the way to the ground
and were damped therein. Jasra shouted an order to Sharu, the Invisible
Guardian, telling him to keep them that way Then she turned and led us
toward the downward stair.
"Underground passage," she explained, "to more civilized shores."
"It occurs to me," I remarked, "that anyone we encounter will probably
be loyal to Julia."
Jasra laughed.
"As they were to me before her and to Sharu before me," she replied.
"They are professionals. They come with the place. They are paid to defend
the winners, not to avenge the losers. I will put in as appearannce and make
a proclamation after dinner, and I will enjoy their unanimous and heartfelt
loyalty until the next usurpation. Mind that third step. There's a loose
flagstone."
So she led us on, through a section of fake wall and into a dark
tunnel, heading in what I believed to be a northwesterly direction toward
the area of the Citadel which I had investigated somewhat on my previous
journey this way. That was the day I had rescued her from Mask/Julia and
taken her back to Amber to be a coatrack in our citadel for a while. The
tunnel we entered was totally dark, but she conjured a darting dot, bright
in its will-o'-the-wispiness, which preceded us through the gloom and the
damp. The air was stale and the walls were cobwebby. The floor was of bare
earth, save for an irregular patch of flagstones down its middle; there were
occasional fetid puddles at either hand; and small dark creatures flashed
past us-both on the ground and in the air-every now and then.
Actually, I did not need the light. Probably none of us did. I held to
the Sign of the Logrus, which provided a magical way of seeing, granting a
silvery, directionless illumination. I maintained it because it would also
give me a warning against magical effects-which might include booby trap
spells about the premises or, for that matter, a bit of treachery on Jasra's
part. One effect of this seeing was to note that the Sign also hovered
before Mandor, who, to my knowledge, has never been much into trust either.
Something cloudy and vaguely Pattern-like also occupied a similar position
vis-b-vis Jasra, completing the circle of wariness. And the light danced on
before us.
We emerged from behind a stack of barrels into what appeared to be a
very well-stocked wine cellar. Mandor paused after six paces and carefully
removed a dusty bottle from the rack to our left. He drew a corner of his
cloak across its label.
"Oh, my!" he observed.
"What is it?" Jasra inquired.
"If this is still good, I can build an unforgettable meal around it."
"Really? Better bring several to be sure then," she said. "These go
back before my time-perhaps before Sharu's time even."
"Merlin, you bring these two," he said, passing me a pair.
"Carefully,now."
He studied the rest of the rack before selecting two more, which he
carried himself.
"I can see why this place is often under siege," he remarked to Jasra.
"I'd have been inclined to have a go at it myself had I known about this
part."
She reached out and squeezed his shoulder.
"There are easier ways to get what you want," she said, smiling.
"I'll remember that," he replied. "I hope you'll hold me to it."
I cleared my throat.
She gave me a small frown, then turned away. We followed her out a low
doorway and up a creaking flight of wooden stairs. We emerged in a large
pantry and passed through it into an immense, deserted kitchen.
"Never a servant around when you need one," she remarked, casting her
gaze about the room.
"We won't be needing one," Mandor said. "Find me a congenial dining
area and I'll manage."
"Very well," she replied. "This way then."
She led us through the kitchen; then we passed through a series of
rooms till we came to a stairway, which we mounted.
"Ice fields?" she asked. "Lava fields? Mountains? Or a storm-tossed
sea?"
"If you are referring to a choice of views," Mandor responded, "give me
the mountains."
He glanced at me, and I nodded.
She conducted us to a long, narrow room, where we unfastened a series
of shutters to behold a dappled range of round-topped peaks, The room was
cool and a bit dusty with shelves running the length of the near wall. These
held books, writing implements, crystals, magnifying glasses, small pots of
paint, a few simple magical instruments, a microscope, and a telescope.
There was a trestle table at the room's middle, a bench on either side of
it.
"How long will it take to prepare this?" Jasra asked.
"A minute or two," Mandor said.
"In that case," she said, "I would like to repair myself somewhat
first. Perhaps you would also."
"Good idea," I said.
"Indeed," Mandor acknowledged.
She led us to what must have been guest quarters, not too far away, and
left us with soap, towels, and water. We agreed to meet back in the narrow
room in half as hour.
"Think she's planning something nasty?" I asked as I drew off my shirt.
"No," Mandor replied. "I like to flatter myself in thinking that she
would not want to miss this meal. Nor, do I feel, would she want us to miss
seeing her at her best, having so far seen her at something less than that.
And a possibility of gossip, confidences . . ." He shook his head. "You may
never have been able to trust her before and may never again. But this meal
will be a Time-out if I'm any judge."
"I'lI hold you to that," I said as I splashed and lathered.
Mandor gave me a crooked smile, then conjured a corkscrew and opened
the bottles-"to let them breathe a little"-before he tended to himself. I
trusted his judgment, but I hung on to the Sign of the Logrus in case I had
to duel with a demon or avoid a falling wall.
No demons sprang; no masonry toppled. I entered the dining room behind
Mandor and watched him transform it with a few words and gestures. The
trestle table and the benches were replaced by a round table and
comfortable-looking chairs-the chairs so situated as to provide a good view
of the mountains from each. Jasra had not yet arrived, and I was carrying
the two wine bottles whose respiration Mandor found most appealing. Before I
could even set them down, Mandor conjured an embroidered tablecloth and
napkins; delicate china, which looked as if it had been hand decorated by
Miru; finely wrought silverware. He studied the tableau a moment, banished
the silverware, summoned a set with a different pattern. He hummed as he
paced and regarded the layout from various angles. Just as I moved forward
to place the bottles on the table, he summoned a crystal bowl filled with
floating flowers as a centerpiece. I took a step backward then as crystal
goblets appeared.
I made a small growling noise, and he seemed to notice me for the first
time in a while.
"Oh, set them there. Set them there, Merlin," he said, and an ebony
tray appeared on the table to my left. "We'd better check to see how the
wine is holding up, before the lady arrives," he said then, pouring some of
the ruby fluid into two of the goblets.
We sampled these, and he nodded. It was better than Bayle's. By far.
"Nothing wrong there," I said.
He rounded the table, went to the window, and looked out. I followed.
Somewhere up in those mountains, I supposed, was Dave in his cave.
"I feel almost guilty," I said, "taking a break like this. There are so
many things I should be tending to-
"Possibly even more than you suspect," he said. "Look upon this less as
a break than a retrenchment. And you may learn something from the lady."
"True," I replied. "I wonder what, though."
He swirled his wine in his glass, took another small sip, and shrugged.
"She knows a lot. She may let something slip, or she may feel expansive
at the attention and grow generous. Take things as they're dealt."
I took a drink, and I could be nasty and say my thumbs began to
prickle. But it was actually the Logrus field that warned me of Jasra's
approach along the hall outside. I did not remark upon it to Mandor, since I
was certain he felt it, too. I simply turned toward the door, and he matched
my movement.
She had on a low over-one-shoulder (the left) white dress, fastened at
the shoulder with a diamond pin, and she wore a tiara, also of diamonds,
which seemed almost to be radiating in the infrared range amidst her bright
hair. She was smiling, and she smelled good, too. Involuntarily I felt
myself standing straighter, and I glanced at my fingernails to be certain
they were clean.
Mandor's bow was more courtly than mine, as usual. And I felt obliged
to say something pleasant. So, "You're looking quite . . . elegant," I
observed, letting my eyes wander to emphasize the point.
"It is seldom that I dine with two princes," she remarked.
"I'm Duke of the Western Marches," I said, "not a prince."
"I was referring to the House of Sawall," she replied.
"You've been doing homework," Mandor noted, "recently "
"I'd hate to commit a breach of protocol," she said.
"I seldom use my Chaos title at this end of things," I explained.
"A pity," she told me. "I find it more than a little . . . elegant.
Aren't you about thirtieth in the line of succession?"
I laughed.
"Even that great a distance is an exaggeration," I said.
"No, Merle, she's about right," Mandor told me. "Give or take the usual
few."
"How can that be?" I asked. "The last time I looked-"
He poured a goblet of wine and offered it to Jasra. She accepted it
with a smile.
"You haven't looked recently," Mandor said. "There have been more
deaths."
"Really? So many?"
"To Chaos," Jasra said, raising her goblet. "Long. may she wave."
"To Chaos," Mandor replied, raising his.
"Chaos," I echoed, and we touched the goblets together and drank.
A number of delightful aromas came to me suddenly. Turning, I saw that
the table now bore serving dishes. Jasra had turned at the same moment, and
Mandor stepped forward and gestured, causing the chairs to slide back to
accommodate us.
"Be seated, please, and let me serve you," he said.
We did, and it was more than good. Several minutes passed, and apart
from compliments on the soup nothing was said. I did not want to be the
first with a conversational gambit, though it had occurred to me that the
others might feel the same way.
Finally, Jasra cleared her throat, and we both looked at her. I was
surprised that she suddenly seemed slightly nervous.
"So, how are things in Chaos?" she asked.
"At the moment, chaotic," Mandor replied, "not to be facetious." He
thought a moment, then sighed and added, "Politics."
She nodded slowly, as if considering asking him for the details he did
not seem to care to divulge, then deciding against it. She turned toward me.
"Unfortunately, I'd no opportunity to sight-see while I was in Amber,"
she said. "From what you told me, though, life seems a bit chaotic there
also."
I nodded.
"It's good that Dalt's gone," I said, "if that's what you mean. But he
was never a real threat, just a nuisance. Speaking of whom-"
"Let's not," she interrupted, smiling sweetly. "What I really had in
mind was anything else."
I smiled back.
"I forgot. You're not a fan of his," I said.
"It's not that," she responded. "The man has his uses. It's just"-she
sighed-'politics," she finished.
Mandor laughed, and we joined him. Too bad I hadn't thought to use that
line about Amber. Too late now.
"I bought a painting awhile back," I said, "by a lady named Polly
Jackson. It's of a red '57 Chevy I like it a lot. It's in storage in San
Francisco right now. Rinaldo liked it, too."
She nodded, stared out the window.
"You two were always stopping in some gallery of other," she said.
"Yes, he dragged me to a lot of them, too. I always thought he had good
taste. No talent, but good taste."
"What do you mean, 'no talent'?"
"He's a very good draftsman, but his own paintings were never that
interesting."
I had raised the subject for a very special reason, and this wasn't it.
But I was fascinated by a side of Luke I'd never known, and I decided to
pursue the matter.
"Paintings? I never knew he painted."
"He's tried any number of times, but he never shows them to anyone
because they're not good enough."
"Then how do you know about them?"
"I'd check out his apartment periodicaliy "
"When he wasn't around?"
"Of course. A mother's privilege."
I shuddered. I thought again of the burning woman down the Rabbit Hole.
But I didn't want to say what I felt and spoil the flow now that I had her
talking. I decided to return to my original trail.
"Was it in connection with any of this that he met Victor Melman?" I
asked.
She studied me for a moment through narrowed eyes, then nodded and
finished her soup.
"Yes," she said then, laying her spoon aside. "He took a few lessons
from the man. He'd liked some of his paintings and looked him up. Perhaps he
bought something of his, too. I don't know. But at some point he mentioned
his own work and Victor asked to see it. He told Rinaldo he liked it and
said he thought he could teach him a few things that might be of help."
She raised her goblet and sniffed it, sipped her wine, and stared at
the mountains.
I was about to prompt her, hoping she'd go on, when she began to laugh.
I waited it out.
"A real asshole," she said then. "But talented. Give him that."
"Uh, what do you mean?" I asked.
"After a time he began speaking of the development of personal power,
using all those circumlocutions the halfenlightened love to play with. He
wanted Rinaldo to know he was an occultist with something pretty strong
going for him. Then he began to hint that he might be willing to pass it
along to the right person."
She began laughing again. I chuckled myself, at the thought of that
trained seal addressing the genuine article in such a fashion.
"It was because he realized Rinaldo was rich, of course," she
continued. "Victor was, as usual, broke himself at the time. Rinaldo showed
no interest, though, and simply stopped taking painting lessons from him
shortly after that-as he felt he'd learned all he could from him. When he
told me about it later, however, I realized that the man could be made into
a perfect cat's-paw. I was certain such a person would do anything for a
taste of real power."
I nodded.
"Then you and Rinaldo began the visitation business? You took turns
clouding his mind and teaching him a few real things?"
"Real enough," she said, "though I handled most of his training.
Rinaldo was usually too busy studying for exams. His point average was
generally a little higher than yours, wasn't it?"
"He usually had pretty good grades;" I conceded. "When you talk of
empowering Melman and turning him into a tool, I can't help thinking about
the reason; You were priming him to kill me, in a particularly colorful
fashion."
She smiled.
"Yes," she said, "though probably not as you think. He knew of you, and
he had been trained to play a part in your sacrifice. But he acted on his
own the day he tried it, the day you killed him. He had been warned against
such a solo action, and he paid the price. He was anxious to possess all of
the powers he thought would come of it, rather than share them with another.
As I said-an asshole."
I wanted to appear nonchalant, to keep her going. Continuing my meal
seemed the best measure to indicate such poise. Then I glanced down,
however, I discovered that my soup bowl had vanished. I picked up a roll,
broke it, was about to butter it when I saw that my hand was shaking. A
moment later I realized that this was because I wanted to strangle her.
So I took a deep breath and let it go, had another drink of wine. An
appetizer plate appeared before me, and a faint aroma of garlic and various
tantalizing herbs told me to be calm. I nodded thanks to Mandor, and Jasra
did the same. A moment later I buttered the roll.
Several mouthfuls after that, I said, "I confess that I do not
understand. You say that Melman was to play a part in my ritual slaying-but
only a part?"
She continued eating for a half minute or so, then found another smile.
"It was too appropriate an opportunity to pass up," she told me then,
"when you broke up with Julia and she grew interested in the occult. I saw
that I would have to get her together with Victor, to have him train her, to
teach her a few simple effects, to capitalize on her unhappiness at your
parting, to turn it into a full-blown hatred so intense that she would be
willing to cut your throat when the time came for the sacrifice."
I choked on something which otherwise tasted wonderful.
A frosty crystal goblet of water appeared beside my right hand. I
raised it and washed everything down. I took another sip.
"Ah, that reaction is worth something, anyhow," Jasra remarked. "You
must admit that having someone you once loved as executioner adds spice to
vengeance."
Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Mandor was nodding. And I, also,
had to agree that she was right.
"I must acknowledge it as a well-conceived bit of revenge," I said.
"Was Rinaldo in on this part?"
"No, you two had grown too chummy by then. I was afraid he'd warn you."
I thought about it for another minute or so, then, "What went wrong?" I
asked.
"The one thing I'd never have guessed," she said. "Julia really had
talent. A few lessons from Victor, and she was better than he was at
anything he could do-except painting. Hell! Maybe she paints, too. I don't
know. I'd dealt myself a wild card, and it played itself."
I shuddered. I thought of my conversation with the ty'iga at
Arbor Horse, back when it was possessing Vinta Bayle. "Did Julia develop the
abilities she sought?" it had asked me. I'd told it that I didn't know. I'd
said that she'd never shown any signs. . . . And shortly thereafter I'd
remembered our meeting in the supermarket parking lot and the dog she told
to sit that may never have moved again. . . . I'd recalled this, but-
"And you never noticed any indication of her talent?" Jasra ventured.
"I wouldn't say that," I replied as I began to realize why things were
as they were. "No, I wouldn't say that."
. . . Like that time at Baskin-Robbins when she caused a change of
flavors 'twixt cone and lip. Or the storm she'd stayed dry in without an
umbrella . . .
She frowned a puzzled frown and narrowed her eyes as she stared. "I
don't understand," she said. "If you knew, you could have trained her
yourself: She was in love with you. You would have been a formidable team."
I writhed internally She was right, and I had suspected, had
probably even known, but I'd been suppressing it. I'd possibly even
triggered its onset myself, with that shadow walk, with my body energies. .
. .
"It's tricky," I said, "and very personal."
"Oh. Matters of the heart are either very simple or totally inscrutable
to me," she said. "There doesn't seem to be a middle ground."
"Let's stipulate simple," I told her. "We were already breaking up when
I noticed the signs, and I'd no desire to call up the power in an ex-lover
who might one day want to practice on me."
"Understandable," Jasra said. "Very. And ironic in the extreme."
"Indeed," Mandor observed, and with a gesture he caused more steaming
dishes to appear before us. "Before you get carried away with a narrative of
intrigue and the underside of the psyche, I'd like you to try a little
breast of quail drowned in Mouton Rothschild, with a bit of wild rice and a
few amusing asparagus tips."
I had driven her to her studies by showing her another layer of
reality, I realized. And I had driven her away from me because I had not
really trusted her enough to tell her the truth about myself. I suppose this
said something about my capacity for love as well as trust. But I had felt
this all along. There was something else. There was more. . . .
"This is delicious," Jasra announced.
"Thank you." He rose, rounded the table, and refilled her glass
manually rather than use a levitation trick. As he did, I noticed that the
fingers of his left hand lightly brushed her bare shoulder. He sloshed a
little into my glass as an afterthought then and went back and sat down.
"Yes, excellent," I observed as I continued my quick introspect through
the dark glass suddenly cleared.
I had felt something, had suspected something from the beginning, I
knew now. Our shadow walk was only the most spectacular of a series of
small, off the-cuff tests I had occasionally thrown her way, hoping to catch
her off guard, hoping to expose her as - what? Well, a potential sorceress.
So?
I set my utensils aside and rubbed my eyes. It was near, though I'd
been hiding it from myself for a long while . . .
"Is something the matter, Merlin?" I heard Jasa asking.
"No. Just realized I was a little tired," I said. "Everything's fine."
A sorceress. Not just a potential sorceress. There had been the buried
fear, I now understood, that she was behind the April 30 attempts on my
life-and I had suppressed this and kept on caring for her. Why? Because I
knew and did not care? Because she was my Nimue? Because I had cherished my
possible destroyer and hidden evidence from myself? Because I'd not only
loved unwisely but had had one big death wish following me around, grinning,
and any time now I might cooperate with it to the utmost?
"I'll be okay," I said. "It's really nothing."
Did it mean that I was, as they say, my own worst enemy? I hoped not. I
didn't really have time to go through therapy, not when my life depended on
so many external things as well.
"A penny for your thoughts," Jasra said sweetly.
"They're priceless," I answered. "Like your jokes. I must applaud you.
Not only did I know nothing of this at the time, but I didn't make any
correct guesses when I did have a few facts to rub together. Is that what
you wanted to hear?"
"Yes," she said.
"I'm pleased there came a point where things went wrong for you," I
added.
She sighed, nodded, took a drink of wine.
"Yes, it came," she acknowledged. "I was hardly expecting any recoil
from such a simple bit of business. I still find it hard to believe that
there's that much irony running around loose in the world."
"If you want me to appreciate the whole thing, you're going to have to
be a little more explicit," I suggested.
"I know. In a way, I hate trading that vaguely puzzled expression
you're wearing for one of delight at my own discomfort. On the other hand,
there may still be material able to distress you in some fresh fashion on
the other side of it." .
"Win a few, lose a few," I said. "I'm willing to bet there are still
features of those days that puzzle you."
"Such as?" she asked.
"Such as why none of those April thirtieth attempts on my life
succeeded."
"I assume Rinaldo sabotaged me some way, tipped you off.
"Wrong."
"What, then?"
"The ty'iga. She's under a compulsion to protect me. You might
recall her from those days, as she resided is the body of Gail Lampron."
"Gail? Rinaldo's girlfriend? My son was dating a demon?"
"Let's not be prejudiced. He'd done a lot worse his freshman year."
She thought a moment, then nodded slowly.
"You've got a point there," she admitted. "I'd forgotten Carol. And you
still have no idea-beyond what the thing admitted back in Amber-as to why
this was going on?"
"I still don't know," I said.
"It casts that entire period in an even stranger light," she mused,
"especially since our paths have crossed again. I wonder . . . ?"
"What?"
"Whether she was there to protect you or to thwart me-your bodyguard or
my curse?"
"Hard to say, since the results came to the same thing."
"But she's apparently been hanging around you most recently, which
would seem to indicate the former."
"Unless, of course, she knows something we don't."
"Such as?"
"Such as the possibility of a conflict developing between us again."
She smiled.
"You should have gone to law school," she said. "You're as devious as
your relatives back in Amber. I can be truthful, though, in saying I have
nothing planned that could be taken that way."
I shrugged.
"Just a thought. Please continue with Julia's story." She proceeded to
eat several mouthfuls. I kept her company, then discovered I could not stop
eating. I glanced at Mandor, but he remained inscrutable. He'll never admit
to magically enhancing a flavor or laying a compulsion on diners to clean
their plates. Either way, we did finish the course before she spoke again.
And I could hardly complain, considering.
"Julia studied with a variety of teachers after you two broke up," she
began. "Once I hit upon my plan, it was a simple matter to cause them to do
or say things which would disillusion or discourage her and set her to
looking for someone else. It was not long before she came to Victor, who was
already under our tutelage. I ordered him to sweeten her stay and to skip
many of the usual preliminaries and to proceed to teaching her about an
initiation I had chosen for her-"
"That being?" I interrupted. "There are an awful lot of initiations
around, with a variety of specialized ends."
She smiled and nodded, breaking a roll and buttering it.
"I led her myself through a version of my own-the Way of the Broken
Pattern."
"Sounds like something dangerous from the Amber end of Shadow. "
"I can't fault your geography," she said. "But it is not all that
dangerous if you know what you're doing."
"It is my understanding," I said, "that those Shadow worlds which
contain shadows of the Pattern can only hold imperfect versions and that
this always represents a hazard."
"It is a hazard only if one does not know how to deal with it."
"And you had Julia walk this-Broken Pattern?"
"My knowledge of what you refer to as walking the Pattern is restricted
to what my late husband and Rinaldo have told me of it. I believe that you
follow the lines from a definite external beginning to an interior point
where the power comes to you?"
"Yes," I acknowledged.
"In the Way of the Broken Pattern," she explained, "you enter through
the imperfection and make your way to the center."
"How can you follow the lines if they are broken or imperfect? The real
Pattern would destroy you if you departed the design."
"You don't follow the lines. You follow the interstices," she said.
"And when you emerge . . . wherever?" I asked.
"You bear the image of the Broken Pattern within you."
"And how do you conjure with this?"
"Through the imperfection. You summon the image, and it is like a dark
well from which you draw power."
"And how do you travel among shadows?"
"Much as you do-as I understand it," she said. "But the break is always
with you."
"The break? I don't understand."
"The flaw in the Pattern. It follows you through Shadow. It is always
there beside you as you travel, sometimes as a hair-fine crack, sometimes a
great chasm. It shifts about; it may appear suddenly, anywhere-a lapse in
reality. This is the hazard for those of the Broken Way. To fall into it is
the final death."
"It must lie within all of your spells then also, like a booby trap."
"All occupations have their hazards," she said. "Avoiding them is a
part of the art."
"And this is the initiation through which you took Julia?"
"Yes."
"And Victor?"
"Yes."
"I understand what you are saying," I replied, "but you must realize
that the broken Patterns are drawing their power from the real one."
"Of course. What of it? The image is almost as good as the real thing,
if you're careful."
"For the record, how many useful images are there?"
"Useful?"
"They must degenerate from shadow to shadow. Where do you draw the line
and say, 'Beyond this broken image I will not risk breaking my neck'?"
"I see what you mean. You can work with perhaps the first nine. I've
never gone farther out. The first three are best. The circle of the next
three is still manageable. The next three are a lot riskier."
"A bigger chasm for each?"
"Exactly."
"Why are you giving me all this esoteric information?"
"You're a higher-level initiate, so it doesn't matter. Also, there is
nothing you could do to affect the setup. And finally, you need to know this
to appreciate the rest of the story."
"All right," I said.
Mandor tapped the table, and small crystal cups of lemon sherbet
appeared before us. We took the hint and cleared our palates before resuming
the conversation. Outside, the shadows of clouds slid across the mountain
slopes. A faint music drifted into the room from somewhere far back along
the corridor. Clinking and scraping noises, sounding like distant
pick-and-shovel work, came to us from somewhere outside-most likely at the
Keep.
"So you initiated Julia," I prompted.
"Yes," Jasra said.
"What happened then?"
"She learned to summon the image of the Broken Pattern and use it for
magical sight and the hanging of spells. She learned to draw raw power
through the break in it. She learned to find her way through Shadow-"
"While minding the chasm?" I suggested.
"Just so, and she had a definite knack for it. She'd a flair for
everything, as a matter of fact."
"I'm amazed that a mortal can traverse even a broken image of the
Pattern and live."
"Only a few of them do," Jasra said. "The others step on a line or die
mysteriously in the broken area. Ten percent make it, maybe. That isn't bad.
Keeps it somewhat exclusive. Of them, only a few can learn the proper mantic
skills to amount to anything as an adept."
"And you say that she was actually better than Victor, once she knew
what she was about?"
"Yes. I didn't appreciate just how good until it was too late."
I felt her gaze upon me, as if she were checking for a reaction. I
glanced up from my food and cocked an eyebrow.
"Yes," she went on, apparently satisfied. "You didn't know that was
Julia you were stabbing back at the Fount, did you?"
"No," I admitted. "I'd been puzzled by Mask all along. I couldn't
figure any motive for whatever was going on. The flowers were an especially
odd touch, and I never really understood whether it was you or Mask behind
the bit with the blue stones."
She laughed.
"The blue stones, and the cave they come from, are something of a
family secret. The material is a kind of magical insulator, but two
pieces-once together-maintain a link, by which a sensitive person can hold
one and track the other-"
"Through Shadow?"
"Yes."
"Even if the person doing the tracking otherwise has no special
abilities along these lines?"
"Even so," she said. "It's similar to following a shadow shifter while
she's shifting. Anyone can do it if she's quick enough, sensitive enough.
This just extends the practice a little further. It's following the
shifter's trail rather than the shifter herself."
"Herself, herself . . . You trying to tell me it's been pulled on you?"
"'That's right."
I looked up in time to see her blush.
"Julia?" I said.
"You begin to understand."
"No," I said. "Well, maybe a little. She was more talented than you'd
anticipated. You already told me that. I get the impression she suckered you
on something. But I'm not sure where or how."
"I brought her here," Jasra said, "to pick up some equipment I wanted
to take along to the first circle of shadows near Amber. She did have a look
at my workroom in the Keep at that time. And perhaps I was overly
communicative then. But how was I to know she was making mental notes and
probably formulating a plan? I'd felt her too cowed to entertain such
thoughts. I must admit she was a pretty good actress."
"I read Victor's diary," I said. "I take it you were masked or hooded
and possibly using some sort of voicedistorting spell the whole time?"
"Yes, but rather than awe Julia into submission, I think I roused her
cupidity for things magical. I believe she picked up one of my
tragoliths-the blue stones-at that time. The rest is history."
"Not for me."
A bowl of totally unfamiliar but delicious-smelling vegetables
appeared, steaming, before me.
"Think about it."
"You took her to the Broken Pattern and conducted her initiation . . ."
I began.
"Yes."
"The first chance she had," I continued, "she used the . . . tragolith
to return to the Keep and learn some of your other secrets."
Jasra applauded softly, sampled the veggies, quickly ate more. Mandor
smiled.
"Beyond that I draw a blank," I admitted.
"Be a good boy and eat your vegetables," she said.
I obeyed.
"Basing my conclusions concerning this remarkable tale solely upon my
experience of human nature," Mandor suddenly observed, "I would say that she
wished to test her talons as well as her wings. I'd guess she went back and
challenged her former master-this Victor Melman-and fought a sorcerous duel
with him."
I heard Jasra's intake of breath.
"Is that truly only a guess?" she asked.
"Truly," he answered, swirling his wine in his goblet.
"And I would guess further that you had once done something similar
with your own teacher."
"What devil told you that?" she asked.
"It is only a guess that Sharu was your teacher-and perhaps more than
that," he said. "But it would' explain both your acquisition of this place
and your ability to catch its former lord off guard. He might even have had
a stray moment before his defeat for a wishful curse that the same fate
attend you one day. And even if not, these things do sometimes have a way of
running full circle with people in our trade."
She chuckled.
"The devil called Reason, then," she said, a note of admiration in her
voice. "Yet you summon him by intuition, which makes it an art."
"It is good to know he still comes when I call. I take it Julia was
surprised, however, by Victor's ability to thwart her."
"True. She did not anticipate that we tend to wrap apprentices in a
layer or two of protection."
"Yet her own defenses obviously proved adequate-at least."
"True. Though that, of course, was tantamount to defeat. For she knew
that I would learn of her rebellion and come soon to discipline her."
"Oh," I observed:
"Yes," she stated. "That is why she faked her death, which I must admit
had me completely fooled for a long while."
I recalled the day I had visited Julia's apartment, found the body,
been attacked by the beast. The corpse's face had been partly destroyed, the
remaining features gory. But the lady had been the right size, and general
resemblances had jibed. And she had been in the right place. And then I had
become the object of the lurking doglike creature's attention, which had
distracted me more than a little from the minutiae of identity. By the time
my struggle for my life was concluded, to the accompaniment of approaching
sirens, I was more interested in flight than in further investigation.
Thereafter, whenever I had returned in memory to that scene, it was Julia
dead whom I beheld.
"Incredible," I said. "Then whose body was it that I found?"
"I've no idea," she replied. "It could have been one of her own shadow
selves or some stranger off the street. Or a corpse stolen from the morgue.
I've no way of knowing."
"It was wearing one of your blue stones."
"Yes. And its mate was on the collar of the beast you slew-and she
opened the way for it to come through."
"Why? And why all that business with the Dweller on the Threshold as
well?"
"Red herring of the first water. Victor thought I'd killed her, and I
thought he had. He assumed I'd opened a way from the Keep and sent the
heating beast after her. I guessed he'd done it, and I was irritated he'd
hidden his rapid development from me. Such things seldom bode well. "
I nodded.
"You breed those creatures around here?"
"Yes," she replied, "and I show them, too, in several adjacent shadows.
I've a number who've taken blue ribbons."
"I'll stick with pit bulls," I said. "They're a lot cuter and better
behaved. So, she left a body and a hidden corridor to this place, and you
thought Victor had done her in and was setting things up for a raid on your
sanctum sanctorum."
"More or less."
"And he thought she'd become sufficiently dangerous to you-as with the
corridor-that you'd killed her?"
"I don't really know that he ever found the corridor. It was fairly
well hidden, as you learned. Either way, neither of us was aware of what
she'd really done."
"That being?"
"She'd also planted a piece of tragolith on me. Later, after the
initiation, she used its mate to track me through Shadow to Begma."
"Begma? What the hell were you doing there?"
"Nothing important," she said. "I mention it only to show her subtlety.
She did not approach me at that time. I know of it, in fact, only because
she told me of it later. She trailed me then from the perimeter of the
Golden Circle back here to the Citadel. The rest you know.
"I'm not sure that I do."
"She had designs on this place. When she surprised me, I was surprised
indeed. It was how I became a coatrack."
"And she took over here, donning a goalie mask for public relations
purposes. She dwelled here for a time, building her powers, increasing her
skills, hanging umbrellas on you-"
Jasra growled softly, and I remembered that her bite was worse. I
hastened into a fresh area of speculation. "I still don't understand why she
spied on me on occasion and sometimes threw flowers."
"Men are exasperating," Jasra said, raising her wineglass and draining
it. "You've managed to understand everything but her motive."
"She was on a power trip," I said. "What's to understand past that? I
even recall a long discussion we once had concerning power."
I heard Mandor chuckle. When I glanced at him, he looked away, shaking
his head.
"Obviously," Jasra said, "she still cared about you. Most likely, a
great deal. She was playing games with you. She wanted to rouse your
curiosity. She wanted you to come after her, to find her, and she probably
wanted to try her power against your own. She wanted to show you that she
was worthy of all those things you'd denied her when you denied her your
confidence."
"So you know about that, too."
"There were times when she spoke freely to me."
"So she cared for me so well that she sent men with tragoliths to track
me to Amber and try to slay me. They almost succeeded, too."
Jasra looked away, coughed. Mandor immediately rose, circled the table,
and refilled her goblet, interposing himself between us. At that time, while
she was wholly blocked from my sight, I heard her say softly, "Well, not
exactly. The assassins were . . . mine. Rinaldo wasn't around to warn you,
as I'd guessed he was doing, and I thought I'd have one more shot at you."
"Oh," I observed. "Any more wandering around out there?"
"They were the last," she said.
"That's a comfort."
"I'm not apologizing. I'm just explaining, to clear our differences.
Are you willing to cancel this account, too? I've got to know."
"I already said I was willing to call things even. It still goes. Where
does Jurt come into all this? I don't understand how they got together and
what they are to each other."
Mandor added a touch of wine to my own glass before returning to his
seat. Jasra met my eyes.
"I don't know," she said. "She had no allies when we fought. It had to
have happened while I was rigid."
"Have you any idea where she and Jurt might have fled?"
"No."
I glanced at Mandor, and he shook his head.
"Neither have I," he said. "However, a peculiar thought has occurred to
me."
"Yes?"
"Besides the fact that he has negotiated the Logrus and come into his
powers, is it necessary for me to point out that Jurt-apart from his scars
and missing pieces bears you a strong resemblance?"
"Jurt? Me? You've got to be kidding!"
He glanced at Jasra.
"He is right," she said. "It's obvious that the two of you are
related."
I put down my fork and shook my head.
"Preposterous," I said, more in self-defense than as a matter of
certainty. "I never noticed."
Mandor shrugged, very slightly.
"You want a lecture on the psychology of denial?" Jasra asked me.
"No," I said. "I want a little while in which to let this sink in."
"Time for another course anyway," Mandor announced, and he gestured
widely and it was delivered.
"Will you be in trouble with your relatives for having released me?"
Jasra asked after a while.
"By the time they realize you're gone, I hope to have a good story
ready," I answered.
"In other words, you will be," she said.
"Maybe a little."
"I'll see what I can do."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't like to be obligated to anyone," she said, "and you've done
more for me than I have for you in this. If I come upon a means of turning
their wrath away from you, I'll employ it."
"What could you possibly have in mind?"
"Let it go at that. Sometimes it's better not to know too much."
"I don't like the sound of this at all."
"An excellent reason for changing the subject," she said. "How great an
enemy has Jurt become?"
"To me?" I asked. "Or are you wondering whether he'll be returning here
for second helpings?"
"Both, when you put it that way "
"I believe he'll kill me if he can," I said, glancing at Mandor, who
nodded.
"I fear that is so," he stated.
"As for whether he'll be back here for more of whatever it is that he
got," I continued, "you're the best judge. How close did he seem to be to
possessing the full powers one might gain from that ritual at the Fountain?"
"It's hard to say exactly," she said, "as he was testing them under
very chaotic conditions. Fifty percent, maybe. Just a guess. Will that
satisfy him?"
"Perhaps. How dangerous does that make him?"
"Very When he gets the full hang of things. Still, he must realize that
this place will be heavily guarded even against someone such as
himself-should he decide to return. I suspect he'll stay away. Just Sharu-in
his present circumstances-would be a formidable obstacle."
I went on eating.
"Julia will probably advise him not to try it," she continued,
"familiar as she is with the place."
I nodded my acceptance of the notion. We would meet when we met.
Nothing much I could do now to forestall it.
"Now may I ask you a question?" she said.
"Go ahead."
"The ty'iga . . ."
"Yes."
"Even in the body of the duke Orkuz's daughter, I am certain that she
did not just walk into the palace and wander on up to your apartments."
"Hardly," I replied. "She's with an official party."
"May I ask when the party arrived?"
"Earlier in the day," I answered. "I'm afraid, though, that I can't go
into any detail as to-"
She dipped her well-ringed hand in a gesture of denial.
"I'm not interested in state secrets," she said, "though I know Nayda
usually accompanies her father in a secretarial capacity."
"So?"
"Did her sister come along or did she stay home?"
"That would be Coral, wouldn't it?" I asked.
"Yes."
"She did," I replied.
"Thank you," she said, and returned to her food.
Damn. What was that about? Did she know something concerning Coral that
I didn't? Something that might bear on her present, indeterminate state? If
so, what might it cost me to find out?
"Why?" I said then.
"Just curious," she replied. "I knew the family in . . . happier
times."
Jasra sentimental? Never. What then?
"Supposing the family had a problem or two?" I asked.
"Apart from Nayda's possession by the ty'iga?"
"Yes," I said.
"I would be sorry to hear that," she said. "What problem?"
"Just a little captivity thing involving Coral."
There came a small clatter as she dropped her fork and it fell upon her
plate.
"What are you talking about?" she asked.
"A misplacement," I said.
"Of Coral? How? Where?"
"It depends partly on how much you really know abort her," I explained.
"I'm fond of the girl. Don't toy with me. What happened?"
More than a little puzzling. But not the answer I was after.
"You knew her mother pretty well?"
"Kinta. I'd met her, at diplomatic functions. Lovely lady."
"Tell me about her father."
"Well, he's a member of the royal house, but of a branch not in the
line of succession. Before he was prime minister, Orkuz was the Begman
ambassador to Kashfa. His family was in residence with him, so naturally I
saw him at any number of affairs-"
She looked up when she realized I was staring at her through the Sign
of the Logrus, across her Broken Pattern. Our eyes met, and she smiled.
"Oh. You did ask about her father," she said. Then she paused,
and I nodded. "So there's truth in that rumor," she observed at last.
"You didn't really know?"
"There are so many rumors in the world, most of them impossible to
check. How am I to know which of them hold truth? And why should I care?"
"You're right, of course," I said. "Nevertheless . . ."
"Another of the old boy's by-blows," she said. "Does anyone keep score?
It's a wonder he had any time for affairs of state."
"Anyone's guess," I said.
"To be frank then, in addition to knowing the rumor I'd heard, there
was indeed a family resemblance. I couldn't judge on that count, though, not
being personally acquainted with most of the family. You're saying there's
truth in it?"
"Yes."
"Just because of the resemblance, or is there something more?"
"Something more."
She smiled sweetly and retrieved her fork.
"I've always enjoyed that fairy-tale revelation which sees one rise in
the world."
"I also," I said, and I resumed eating.
Mandor cleared his throat.
"It seems hardly fair," he said, "to tell only part of a story."
"You're right," I agreed.
Jasra returned her gaze to me and sighed.
"All right," she said, "I'll ask. How did you know for cer-Oh. Of
course. The Pattern."
I nodded.
"Well, well, well. Little Coral, Mistress of the Pattern. This was a
fairly recent occurrence?"
"Yes."
"I suppose she is off somewhere in Shadow now-celebrating."
"I wish I knew."
"What do you mean?"
"She's gone, but I don't know where. And it's the Pattern that did it
to her."
"How?"
"Good question. I don't know."
Mandor cleared his throat.
"Merlin," he said, "perhaps there are some matters" - he rotated his
left hand - "that on reflection you may wish-"
"No," I said. "Ordinarily discretion would rule-perhaps even with you,
my brother, as a Lord of Chaos. And certainly in the case of Your
Highness"-I nodded to Jasra-"save that you are acquainted and may even have
a touch of affection for the lady." I decided against laying it on too thick
and quickly added, "Or at least no malice toward her."
"As I said, I'm very fond of the girl," Jasra stated, leaning forward.
"Good," I replied, "for I feel at least partly responsible for what
happened, even though I was duped in the matter. So I feel obliged to try to
set things right. Only I don't know how."
"What happened?" she asked.
"I was entertaining her when she expressed a desire to see the Pattern.
So I obliged her. On the way she asked me questions about it. It seemed
harmless conversation, and I satisfied her curiosity. I was not familiar
with the rumors concerning her parentage, or I would have suspected
something. As it was, when we got there, she set foot upon the Pattern and
commenced walking it."
Jasra sucked in her breath.
"It would destroy one not of the blood," she said. "Correct?"
I nodded.
"Or even one of us," I said then, "if any of a number of mistakes be
made."
Jasra chuckled.
"Supposing her mother'd really been carrying on with a footman or the
cook?" she remarked.
"She's a wise daughter," I said. "At any rate, once one begins the
Pattern, one may not turn back. I was obliged to instruct her as she went
along. That, or be a very poor host and doubtless damage Begman-Amber
relations."
"And spoil all sorts of delicate negotiations?" she asked, half
seriously.
I'd a feeling just then that she'd welcome a digression concerning the
exact nature of the Begman visit, but I wasn't biting.
"You might say that," I said. "At any rate, she completed the Pattern,
and then it took her away."
"My late husband told me that from its center one can command the
Pattern to deliver one anywhere."
"True," I said, "but it was the nature of her command that was a bit
unusual. She told the Pattern to send her wherever it wanted."
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
"Neither do I, but she did, and it did."
"You mean she just said, `Send me wherever you want to send me,' and
she was instantly dispatched for points unknown?"
"You've got it."
"That would seem to imply some sort of intelligence on the part of the
Pattern."
"Unless, of course, it was responding to an unconscious desire on her
part to visit some particular locale."
"True. I suppose there is that possibility. But have you no means of
tracing her?"
"I'd a Trump I'd done of her. When I tried it, I reached her. She
seemed pent in a dark place. Then we lost touch, and that's it."
"How long ago was this?"
"A matter of hours by my subjective reckoning," I said. "Is this place
on anything near Amber time?"
"Close enough, I believe. Why didn't you try again?"
"I've been somewhat occupied ever since Also, I've been casting about
for some alternate way of approaching this."
There came a clinking, rattling sound, and I smelled coffee.
"If you're asking whether I'll help you," Jasra said, "the answer is
yes. Only I don't really know how to go about it. Perhaps if you were to try
her Trump again with me backing you-we might reach her."
"All right," I said, lowering my cup and fumbling forth the cards.
"Let's give it a try."
"I will assist you also," Mandor stated, rising to his feet and coming
to stand to my right.
Jasra came over and stood to my left. I held the Trump so that we all
had a clear view.
"Let us begin," I said, and I moved forward with my mind.
A patch of light I had taken to be a stray sunbeam drifted from its
position on the floor to a spot beside my coffee cup. It was ring-shaped,
and I decided not to remark upon it since neither of the others seemed to
take note of it.
I reached after Coral and found nothing. I felt Jasra and Mandor
reaching also, and I tried again, joining forces with them. Harder.
Something? Something . . . I recalled wondering what Vialle felt when
she used the Trumps. It had to be something other than the visual cues with
which the rest of us were familiar. It might be something like this.
Something. What I felt was a sense of Coral's presence. I regarded her
form upon the card, but it would not come alive. The card itself had grown
perceptibly cooler, but it was not the same ice-edged chill I normally felt
on achieving communication with one of the others. I tried harder. I felt
Mandor and Jasra increasing their efforts also.
Then Coral's image on the card faded, but nothing came to replace it. I
sensed her presence, however, as I regarded the void. The feeling came
closest to that of attempting to make contact with someone who was asleep.
"I cannot tell whether it's simply a difficult place to reach," Mandor
began, "or-"
"I believe she is under a spell," Jasra announced.
"That could account for a part of it," Mandor said.
"But only part," came a soft, familiar voice from near at hand. "There
are awesome powers holding her, Dad. I've never seen anything like this
before."
"The Ghostwheel is right," Mandor said. "I'm beginning to feel it."
"Yes," Jasra began, "there is something. . . ."
And suddenly the veil was pierced, and I beheld the slumped form of
Coral, apparently unconscious, lying upon a dark surface in a very dark
place, the only illumination coming from what seemed a circle of fire drawn
about her. She couldn't have brought me through if she wanted to, and-
"Ghost, can you take me to her?" I asked.
Her image faded before he could reply, and I felt a cold draft. It was
several seconds before I realized that it seemed to be blowing upon me from
the now-icy card.
"I don't think so, I wouldn't want to, and it may be that there is no
need," he answered. "The force that holds her has become aware of your
interest and even now is reaching toward you. Is there some way you can turn
off that Trump?"
I passed my hand across its face, which is usually sufficient. Nothing
happened. The cold breeze even seemed to increase in intensity. I repeated
the gesture along with a mental order. I began to feel whatever it was,
focusing upon me.
Then the Sign of the Logrus fell upon the Trump, and the card was torn
from my hand as I was cast backward, striking my shoulder against the edge
of the door. Mandor lurched to his right as this occurred, catching hold of
the table to steady himself. In my Logrus vision I had seen wild lines of
light flash outward from the card before it fell away.
"Did that do the trick?" I called out.
"It broke the connection," Ghost replied.
"Thanks, Mandor," I said.
"But the power that was reaching for you through the Trump knows where
you are now," Ghost said.
"What makes you privy to its awareness?" I inquired.
"It is a surmise, based upon the fact that it's still reaching for you.
It is coming the long way roundacross space-though. It could take as long as
a quarter of a minute before it reaches you."
"Your use of the pronoun is a little indefinite," Jasra said. "Is it
just Merlin that it wants? Or is it coming for all of us?"
"Uncertain. Merlin is the focus. I've no idea what it will do to you."
I lurched forward during this exchange and retrieved Coral's Trump.
"Can you protect us?" she asked.
"I've already begun transferring Merlin to a distant place. Shall I do
this for you also?"
As I looked up from pocketing the Trump, I noted that the chamber had
become something less than substantial-translucent, as if everything were
made of colored glass.
"Please," the cathedral-window form of Jasra said softly.
"Yes," came my fading brother's faint echo.
Then I was passed through a fiery hoop into a place of darkness. I
stumbled against a stone wall, felt my way along it. A quarter turn, a
lighter area before me dotted with bright points . . .
"Ghost?" I asked.
No answer.
"I don't appreciate these interrupted conversations," I continued.
I moved forward until I came to what was obviously a cave mouth. A
clear night sky hung before me, and when I stepped outside a cold wind
rubbed up against me. I retreated several paces, shivering.
I had no idea where I might be. Not that it really mattered if it
brought me a breathing spell. I reached through the Logrus Sign for a great
distance before I located a heavy blanket. Wrapping it about myself, I sank
to a seated position upon the cave's floor. Then I reached again. It was
easier to find a stack of wood and no trick at all to ignite a portion of
it. I'd also been looking forward to one more cup of coffee. I wondered. . .
.
Why not? I reached again, and the bright circle rolled into view before
me.
"Dad! Please stop!" came the offended voice. "I've gone to a lot of
trouble to tuck you away in this obscure corner of Shadow. Too many
sendings, though, and you'll call attention to yourself."
"Come on!" I said. "All I want is a cup of coffee."
"I'll get one for you. Just don't use your own powers for a while."
"Why won't your action draw just as much attention?"
"I'm using a roundabout route. There!"
A steaming mug of some dark stoneware stood on the floor of the cave
near my right hand.
"Thanks," I said, taking it up and sniffing it. "What did you do with
Jasra and Mandor?"
"I sent each of you off in a different direction amidst a horde of fake
images flitting hither and yon. All you have to do now is lie low for a
while. Let its attention subside."
"Whose attention? What's attention?"
"The power that has Coral. We don't want it to find us."
"Why not? I seem to recall your wondering earlier whether you were a
god. What's for you to fear?"
"The real thing. It seems to be stronger than I am. On the other hand,
I seem to be faster."
"That's something, anyway "
"Get a good night's sleep. I'll let you know is the morning whether
it's still hunting you."
"Maybe I'll find out for myself."
"Don t go manifesting unless it's a matter of life or death."
"That wasn't what I meant. Supposing it finds me?"
"Do whatever seems appropriate."
"Why do I have a feeling you're keeping things from me?"
"I guess you're just suspicious by nature, Dad. It seems to run in your
family I've got to go now."
"Where?" I asked.
"Check on the others. Run a few errands. See to my personal
development. Check my experiments. Things like that. Bye." `
"What about Coral?"
But the circle of light which had hovered before me spun from
brightness to dimness and vanished. An unarguable end to the conversation.
Ghost was getting more and more like the rest of us-sneaky and misleading.
I sipped the coffee. Not as good as Mandor's, but acceptable. I began
wondering where Jasra and Mandor had been sent. I decided against trying to
reach them. In fact, it might not be a bad idea, I decided, to fortify my
own position against magical intrusion.
I resummoned the Sign of the Logrus, which I had let slip while Ghost
was transporting me. I used it to set wards at the cave mouth and about my
situation within. Then I released it and took another sip. As I did, I
realized that this coffee could not possibly keep me awake. I was coming off
a nervous jag, and the weight of all my activities was suddenly heavy upon
me. Two more sips, and I could hardly hold the cup. Another, and I noticed
that each time I blinked my eyelids were closing a lot more easily than they
opened.
I set the cup aside, drew my blanket more tightly about me, and found a
relatively comfortable position on the stone floor, having become something
of an expert on the activity back in the crystal cave. The flickering flames
mustered shadow armies behind my eyelids. The fire popped like a clash of
arms; the air smelled of pitch.
I went away. Sleep is perhaps the only among life's great pleasures
which need not be of short duration. It filled me, and I drifted. How far
and for how long, I cannot say.
Nor can I say what it was that roused me. I know only that I was
somewhere else and the next moment I had returned. My position had changed
slightly, my toes were cold, and I felt that I was no longer alone. I kept
my eyes closed, and did not alter my breathing pattern. It could be that
Ghost had simply decided to look in on me. It could also be that something
was testing my wards.
I raised my eyelids but the smallest distance, peering outward and
upward through a screen of eyelashes. A small misshaped figure stood outside
the cave mouth, the fire's remaining glow faintly illuminating his strangely
familiar face. There was something of myself in those features and something
of my father.
"Merlin," he said softly. "Come awake now. You've places to go and
things to do."
I opened my eyes wide and stared. He fitted a certain description. . .
. Frakir throbbed, and I stroked her still.
"Dworkin . . . ?" I said.
He chuckled.
"You've named me," he replied.
He paced, from one side of the cave mouth to the other, occasionally
pausing to extend a hand partway toward me. Each time he hesitated and drew
it back.
"What is it?" I asked. "What's the matter? Why are you here?"
"I've come to fetch you back to the journey you abandoned."
"And what journey might that be?"
"Your search for the lady somewhere astray who walked the Pattern
t'other day "
"Coral? You know where she is?"
He raised his hand, lowered it, gnashed his teeth.
"Coral? Is that her name? Let me in. We must discuss her."
"We seem to be talking just fine the way we are."
"Have you no respect for an ancestor?"
"I do. But I also have a shapeshifting brother who'd like to mount my
head and hang it on the wall of his den. And he might just be able to do it
real quick if I give him half a chance." I sat up and rubbed my eyes, my
wits finishing the job of reassembling themselves. "So where's Coral?"
"Come. I will show you the way," he said, reaching forward. This time
his hand passed my ward and was immediately outlined in fire. He did not
seem to notice. His eyes were a pair of dark stars, drawing me to my feet,
pulling me toward him. His hand began to melt. The flesh ran and dripped
away like wax. There were no bones within, but rather an odd geometry-as if
someone had sketched a hand quickly in a three-dimensional medium, then
molded some fleshlike cover for it. "Take my hand."
I found myself raising my hand against my will, reaching toward the
fingerlike curves, the swirls of the knuckles. He chuckled again. I could
feel the force that drew me. I wondered what would happen if I took hold of
that strange hand in a special way.
So I summoned the Sign of the Logrus and sent it on ahead to do my
handclasping for me.
This may not have been my best choice of actions. I was momentarily
blinded by the brilliant, sizzling flash that followed. When my vision
cleared, I saw that Dworkin was gone. A quick check showed that my wards
still held. I perked up the fire with a short, simple spell, noted that my
coffee cup was half full, and warmed its tepid contents with an abbreviated
version of the same rendering. I reshrouded myself then, settled, and
sipped. Analyze as I might, I couldn't figure what had just happened.
I knew of no one who had seen the half mad demiurge in years, though
according to my father's tale, Dworkin's mind should have been largely
mended whet Oberon repaired the Pattern. If it had really been Jurt, seeking
to trick his way into my presence and finish me off, it was an odd choice of
form for him to assume. Come to think of it, I wasn't at all certain that
Jurt even knew what Dworltin looked like. I debated the wisdom of calling
for Ghostwheel to solicit an inhuman opinion on the matter. Before I could
decide, however, the stars beyond the cave mourh were occulted by another
figure, much larger than Dworkin's-heroically proportioned even.
A single step brought it within range of the firelight, and I spilled
coffee when I beheld that face. We had never met, but I had seen his
likeness in many places in Castle Amber.
"I understand that Oberon died in redrawing the Pattern," I said.
"Were you present at the time?" he asked.
"No," I replied, "but coming as you do, on the heels of a rather
bizarre apparition of Dworkin, you must excuse my suspicions as to your bona
fides."
"Oh, that was a fake you encountered. I'm the real thing."
"What was it then that I saw?"
"It was the astral form of a practical joker-a sorcerer named Jolos
from the fourth circle of Shadow."
"Oh," I responded. "And how am I to know you're not the projection of
someone named Jalas from the fifth?"
"I can recite the entire genealogy of the royal House of Amber. "
"So can any good scribe back home."
"I'll throw in the illegitimates."
"How many were there, anyway?"
"Forty-seven, that I know of."
"Aw, come on! How'd you manage?"
"Different time streams," he said, smiling.
"If you survived the reconstruction of the Pattern, how come you didn't
return to Amber and continue your reign?" I asked. "Why'd you let Random get
crowned and muddy the picture even further?"
He laughed.
"But I didn't survive it," he said. "I was destroyed in the process. I
am a ghost, returned to solicit a living champion for Amber against the
rising power of the Logrus."
"Granted, arguendo, that you are what you say you. are," I
replied, "you're still in the wrong neighborhood, sir. I am an initiate of
the Logrus and a son of Chaos."
"You are also an initiate of the Pattern and a son of Amber," the
magnificent figure answered.
"True," I said, "and all the more reason for me not to choose sides."
"There comes a time when a man must choose," he stared, "and that time
is now. Which side are you on?"
"Even if I believed that you ate what you say, I do not feel obliged to
make such a choice," I said. "And there is a tradition in the Courts that
Dworkin himself was an initiate of the Logrus. If that is true, I'm only
following in the footsteps of a venerable ancestor."
"But he renounced Chaos when he founded Amber."
I shrugged.
"Good thing I haven't founded anything," I said. "If there is something
specific that you want of me, tell me what it is, give me a good reason for
doing it and maybe I'll cooperate."
He extended his hand.
"Come with me, and I will set your feet upon the new Pattern you must
follow, in a game to be played out between the Powers."
"I still don't understand you, but I am certain that the real Oberon
would not be stopped by these simple wards. You come to me and clasp my
hand, and I will be glad to accompany you and take a look at whatever it is
you want me to see."
He drew himself up to an even greater height.
"You would test me?" he asked.
"Yes."
"As a man, it would hardly have troubled me," he stated. "But being
formed out of this spiritual crap now, I don't know. I'd rather not take the
chance."
"In that case, I must echo your sentiment with respect to your own
proposal."
"Grandson," he said levelly, a ruddy light entering his eyes, "even
dead, none of my spawn may address me so. I come for thee now in a less than
friendly fashion. I come for thee now, and this journey shall I hale thee
amid fires."
I took a step backward as he advanced.
"No need to take it personally. . ." I began.
I shaded my eyes as he hit my wards, and the flashbulb effect began.
Squinting through it, I saw something of a repetition of the flensing of
Dworkin's flesh by fire. Oberon became transparent in places; other places
he melted. Within him, through him, as the outward semblance of the kind
passed away, I saw the swirls and curves, the straits and
channels-black-lined, geometrizing abstractly inside the general outline of
a large and noble figure. Unlike Dworkin, however, the image did not fade.
Having passed my wards, its movement slowed, it continued toward me
nevertheless, reaching. Whatever its true nature, it was one of the most
frightening things I had ever encountered. I continued to back away, raising
my hands, and I called again upon the Logrus.
The Sign of the Logrus occurred between us. The abstract version of
Oberon continued to reach, scribbled spirit hands encountering the writhing
limbs of Chaos.
I was not reaching through the Logrus's image to manipulate it against
that apparition. I felt an unusual dread of the thing, even at our distance.
What I did was more on the order of thrusting the Sign against the image of
the king. Then I dived past them both, out the cave mouth, and I rolled,
scrabbling for handholds and toeholds when I struck a slope, coming up hard
against a boulder and hugging it as the cave erupted with the noisy and
flash of an ammo dump that had taken a hit.
I lay there shuddering, my eyes squeezed shut, for perhaps half a
minute. Any second, I felt, and something would be on my ass-unless,
perhaps, I crouched perfectly still and tried hard to look like another
rock. . . .
The silence was profound, and when I opened my eyes, the light had
vanished and the shape of the cave mouth was unaltered. I rose slowly to my
feet, advanced even more slowly. The Sign of the Logrus had departed, and
for reasons I did not understand I was loath to call it back. When I looked
within the cave, there were no signs that anything at all had occurred, save
for the fact that my wards were blown.
I stepped inside. The blanket still lay where it had fallen. I put out
a hand and touched the wall. Cold stone. That blast must have taken place at
some other level than the immediate. My small fire was still flickering
feebly. I recalled it yet again to life. But the only thing I saw in its
glow which I had not seen previously was my coffee cup, broken where it had
fallen.
I let my hand remain upon the wall. I leaned. After a time, there came
an uncontrollable tightening of my diaphragm. I began laughing. I am not
sure why. The weight of everything which had transpired since April 30 was
upon me. It just happened that laughter had edged out the alternative of
beating my breast and howling.
I thought I knew who all the players were in this complex game. Luke
and Jasra seemed to be on my side now, along with my brother Mandor, who'd
always looked out for me. My mad brother Jurt wanted me dead, and he was now
allied with my old lover Julia, who didn t seem too kindly disposed toward
me either. There was the ty'iga-an overprotective demon inhabiting
the body of Coral's sister, Nayda, whom I'd left sleeping in the midst of a
spell back in Amber. There was the mercenary Dalt - who, now I thought of
it, was also my uncle-who'd made off with Luke for points and purposes
unknown after kicking Luke's ass in Arden with two armies watching. He had
nasty designs on Amber but lacked the military muscle to provide more than
occasional guerrilla-style annoyance. And then there was Ghostwheel, my
cybernetic Trump dealer and minor-league mechanical demigod, who seemed to
have evolved from rash and manic to rational and paranoid-and I wasn't at
all sure where he was headed from here, but at least he was showing some
filial respect mixed in with the current cowardice.
And that had been pretty much it.
But these latest manifestations seemed evidence that there was
something else at play here also, something that wanted to drag me off in
yet another direction. I had Ghost's testimony that it was strong. I had no
idea what it really represented. And I had no desire to trust it. This made
for an awkward relationship.
"Hey, kid!" came a familiar voice from down the slope. "You're a hard
man to find. You don't stay put."
I turned quickly, moved forward, stared downward.
A lone figure was toiling up the slope. A big man. Something flashed in
the vicinity of his throat. It was too dark to make out his features.
I retreated several paces, commencing the spell which would restore my
blasted wards.
"Hey! Don't run off!" he called. "I've got to talk to you.
The wards fell into place, and I drew my blade and held it, point
lowered, at my tight, entirely out of sight from the cave mouth when I
turned my body. I ordered Frakir to hang invisible from my left hand also.
The second figure had been stronger than the first, to make it past my
wards. If this third one should prove stronger than the second, I was going
to need everything I could muster.
"Yeah?" I called out. "Who are you and what do you want?"
"Hell!" I heard it say "I'm no one in particular. Just your old man. I
need some help, and I like to keep things in the family."
I had to admit, when it reached the area of firelight, that it was a
very good imitation of Prince Corwin of Amber, my father, complete with
black cloak, boots, and trousers, gray shirt, silver studs, and buckle-and
even a silver rose-and he was smiling that same quirky sort of smile the
real Corwin had sometimes worn on telling me his story, long ago. . . . I
felt a kind of wrenching in my guts at the sight. I'd wanted to get to know
him better, but he'd disappeared, and I'd never been able to find him again.
Now, for this thing-whatever it was-to pull this impersonation . . . I was
more than a little irritated at such a patent attempt to manipulate my
feelings.
"The first fake was Dworkin," I said, "and the second was Oberon.
You're climbing right down the family tree, aren't you?"
He squinted and cocked his head in puzzlement as he advanced, another
realistic mannerism.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Merlin," he responded. "I-"
Then it entered the warded area and jerked as if touching a hot wire.
"Holy shit!" it said. "You don't trust anybody, do you?"
"Family tradition," I replied, "backed up by recent experience."
I was puzzled, though, that the encounter had not involved more
pyrotechnics. Also, I wondered why the thing's transformation into
scrollwork had not yet commenced.
With another oath, it swirled its cloak to the left, wrapping it abut
its arm; its right hand crossed toward an excellent facsimile of my father's
scabbard. A silverchased blade sighed as it arced upward, then fell toward
the eye of the ward. When they met, the sparks rose in a foot-high splash
and the blade hissed as if it had been heated and were now being quenched in
water. The design on the blade flared, and the sparks leaped again this time
as high as a man-and in that instant I felt the ward break.
Then it entered, and I fumed my body, swinging my blade. But the blade
that looked like Grayswandir fell and rose again, in a tightening circle,
drawing my own weapon's point to the right and sliding straight in toward my
breast. I did a simple parry in quarte, but he slipped under it and was
still coming in from the outside. I parried sixte, but he wasn't there. His
movement had been only a feint. He was back inside and coming in low now. I
reversed myself and parried again as he slid his entire body in to my right,
dropping his blade's point, reversing his grip, fanning my face with his
left hand.
Too late I saw the right hand rising as the left slid behind my head.
Grayswandir's pommel was headed straight for my jaw.
"You're really. . ." I began, and then it connected. The last thing I
remember seeing was the silver rose.
That's life: Trust and you're betrayed; don't trust and you betray
yourself. Like most moral paradoxes, it places you in an untenable position.
And it was too late for my normal solution. I couldn't walk away from the
game.
I woke in a place of darkness. I woke wondering and wary. As usual when
wondering and wary, I lay perfectly still and let my breathing continue its
natural rhythm. And I listened.
Not a sound.
I opened my eyes slightly.
Disconcerting patterns. I closed them again.
I felt with my body for vibrations within the rocky surface upon which
I was sprawled.
No vibes.
I opened my eyes entirely, fought back an impulse to close them. I
raised myself onto my elbows, then gathered my knees beneath me,
straightened my back, turned my head. Fascinating. I hadn't been this
disoriented since I'd gone drinking with Luke and the Cheshire Cat.
There was no color anywhere about me. Everything was black, white, or
some shade of gray. It was as if I had entered a photographic negative. What
I presumed to be a sun hung like a black hole several diameters above the
horizon to my right. The sky was a very dark gray, and ebon clouds moved
slowly within it. My skin was the color of ink. The rocky ground beneath me
and about me shone an almost translucent bone-white, however. I rose slowly
to my feet, taming. Yes. The ground seemed to glow, the sky was dark, and I
was a shadow between them. I did not like the feeling at all.
The air was dry, cool. I stood in the foothills to an albino mountain
range, so stark in appearance as to rouse comparison with the Antarctic.
These stretched off and up to my left. To the right-low and rolling-toward
what I guessed to be a morning sun, lay a black plain. Desert? I had to
raise my hand and "shade' against its . . what? Antiglow?
"Shit!" I tried saying, and I noticed two things immediately.
The first was that my word remained unvoiced. The second was that my
jaw hurt where my father or his simulacrum had slugged me.
I repeated my silent observation and withdrew my Trumps. All bets were
off when it came to messing with sendings. I shuffled out the Trump for the
Ghostwheel and focused my attention upon it.
Nothing. It was completely dead to me. But, then, it was Ghost who'd
told me to lie low, and maybe he was simply refusing to entertain my calf. I
thumbed through the others. I paused at Flora's. She was usually willing to
help me out of a tight spot. I studied that lovely face, sent out my call to
it. . . .
Not a golden curl stirred. Not a degree's drop in temperature. The card
remained a card. I tried harder, even muttering an enhancement spell. But
there was nobody home.
Mandor, then. I spent several minutes on his card with the same result.
I tried Random's. Ditto. Benedict's, Julian's. No and no. I tried for Fiona,
Luke, and Bill Roth. Three more negatives. I even pulled a couple of the
Trumps of Doom, but I couldn't reach the Sphinx either, or a building of
bones atop a green glass mountain.
I squared them, cased them, and put them away It was the first time I
had encountered a phenomenon of this sort since the Crystal Cave. Trumps can
be blocked in any of a number of ways, however, and so far as I was
concerned, the matter was, at the moment, academic. I was more concerned
about removing myself to a more congenial environment. I could save the
research for some future bit of leisure.
I began walking. My footsteps were soundless. When I kicked a pebble
and it bounced along before me, I could detect nothing of sound to its
passage.
White to the left of me, black to the right. Mountains or desert. I
turned left, walking. Nothing else in motion that I could see except for the
black, black clouds. To the lee side of every outcrop a near-blinding area
of enhanced brightness: crazy shadows across a crazy land.
Turn left again. Three pacer, then round the boulder: Upward. Over
the ridge, Turn dounhill. Turn right, Soon a streak of red amid rocks to the
left . . .
Nope. Next time then . . .
Brief twinge in the frontal sinus. No red. Move on.
Crevice to the right, next turn . . .
I massaged my temples when they began to ache as no crevice was
delivered. My breath came heavy, and I felt moisture upon my brow.
Textures of gray to green and brittle flowers, slate-blue, low on
the next talus slope . . .
A small pain in my neck. No flowers. No gray. No green.
Then let the clouds part and the darkness pour down from the sun . .
.
Nothing
. . . and a sound of running water from a small fsream, next
gully.
I had to halt. My head was throbbing; my hands were shaking. I reached
out and touched the rock wall to my left. It felt solid enough. Rampant
reality Why was it treading all over me?
And how had I gotten here?
And where was here?
I relaxed. I slowed my breathing and adjusted my energies. The pains in
my head subsided, ebbed, were gone.
Again I began walking.
Birdsong and gentle breeze . . Flower in a crannied nook
No. And the first twinge of returning resistance . . . What sort of
spell might I be under, that I had lost my power to walk in Shadow? I had
never understood it to be something that could be taken away.
"It's not funny," I tried saying. "Whoever you are, whatever you are,
how did you do it? What do you want? Where are you?"
Again I heard nothing; least of all an answer.
"I don't know how you did it. Or why," I mouthed, and thought. "I don't
feel as if I'm under a spell. But I must be here for a reason. Get on with
your business. Tell me what you want."
Nada.
I walked on, continuing in a halfhearted fashion my attempts to shift
away through Shadow. As I did, I pondered my situation. I'd a feeling there
was something elementary that I was overlooking in this entire business.
. . . And a small red flower behind a rock, next turn.
I made the turn, and there was the small red flower I had half
consciously conjueed. I rushed toward it to touch it, to confirm that the
universe was a benign, essentially Merlin-loving place.
I stumbled in my rush, kicking up a cloud of dust. I caught myself,
raised myself, looked about. I must have searched for the next ten or
fifteen minutes, but I could not locate the flower. Finally, I cursed and
turned away No one likes to be a butt of the universe's jokes.
On a sudden inspiration I sought through all my packets, should I have
even a chip of the blue stones upon my person. Its odd vibrational abilities
might just somehow conduct me through Shadow back toward its source. But no.
Not even a speck of blue dust remained. They all were in my father's tomb,
and that was it. It would have been too easy an out for me, I guess.
What was I missing?
A fake Dworkin, a fake Oberon, and a man who'd claimed to be my father
all had wanted to conduct me to some strange place-to compete in some sort
of struggle between the Powers, the Oberon figure had indicated, whatever
that meant. The Corwin figure had apparently succeeded, I reflected as I
rubbed my jaw. Only whai sort of game was it? And what were the Powers?
The Oberon thing had said something about my choosing between Amber and
Chaos. But, then, it had lied about other things during the same
conversation. The devil with both of them! I didn't ask to get involved in
their power game. I had enough problems of my own. I didn't even care to
learn the tales to whatever was going on.
I kicked a small white stone, watched it roll away. This didn't feel
like something of Jurt's or Julia's doing. It seemed either a new factor or
an old one which had transformed itself considerably. Where had it first
seemed to enter the picture? I guessed it had something to do with the force
which had come rushing after me on our attempt to reach Coral. I could only
assume that it had located me and this was the result. But what might it be?
It would first, I supposed, be necessary that I learn where Coral lay in her
circle of fire. Something in that place, I presumed, was behind my current
situation. Where then? She had asked the Pattern to send her where she ought
to go. . . . I had no way now of asking the Pattern where that might be-and
no way at the moment of walking it, to have it send me after her.
It was time, therefore, to resign the game and employ different means
to solve the problem. My Trumps having blown a circuit and my ability to
traverse Shadow having encountered a mysterious blockage, I decided it was
time to up the power factor by an order of magnitude in my favor. I would
summon the Sign of the Logrus and continue my shadow walk, backing every
step that I took with the power of Chaos.
Frakir cut into my wrist. I sought about quickly after any approaching
menaces, but I saw nothing. I remained wary for several minutes longer,
exploring the vicinity. Nothing occurred, though, and Frakir grew still.
It was hardly the first time her alarm system had been improperly
cued-whether by some stray astral current or some odd thought of my own. But
in a place like this, one could not afford to take chances. The highest
stand of stone in the vicinity stood at about fifteen to twenty meters,
perhaps a hundred paces uphill, to my left. I made my way over to it and
commenced climbing.
When I finally reached its chalky peak, I commanded a view over a great
distance in every direction. I did not behold another living thing in this
strange silent yin-yang universe.
So I decided that it had indeed been a false alarm, and I climbed back
down. I reached once again to summon the Logrus and Frakir practically
behanded me. Hell. I ignored her, and I sent out my call.
The Sign of the Logrus rose and rushed toward me. It danced like a
butterfly, hit like a truck. My newsreel world went away, black and white to
black.
Recovering.
My head ached, and there was dirt in my mouth. I was sprawled face
down. Memory made its way home through the traffic, and I opened my eyes.
Still black and white and gray all about. I spit sand, rubbed my eyes,
blinked. The Logrus Sign was not present, and I could not account for my
recent experience with it.
I sat up and hugged my knees. I seemed to be stranded, all of my
extramundane means of travel and communication blocked. I couldn't think of
anything to do other than get up, pick a direction, and start walking.
I shuddered. Where would that take me? Just through more of the
same-more of this monotonous landscape?
There came a soft sound, as of a throat being gently cleared.
I was on my feet in an instant, having inspected every direction on the
way up.
Who's there? I inquired, having given up on articulation.
I seemed to hear it again, very near at hand.
Then, I've a message for you, something seemed to say within my
head.
What? Where are you? Message? I tried asking.
Excuse me, came the muffled voice, but I'm new at this
business. To take things in order, I am where I've always been-on your
wrist-and when the Logrus blasted through here, it enhanced me additionally,
so that I could deliver the message.
Frakir?
Yes, My first enhancement, that day you bore me through the Logrus,
involved sensitivity to danger, mobility, combat reflexes, and a limited
sentience. This time the Logrus added direct mental communication and
expanded my awareness to the point where I could deliver messages.
Why?
It was in a hurry, could stay in this place for only an instant, and
this was the only way for it to let you know what is going on,
I didn't realize the Logrus was sentient.
Something like a chuckle followed.
Then, It is hard to classify an intelligence of that order, and I
suppose it doesn't really have much to say most of the time, came
Frakir's reply. Its energies are mainly expended in other areas.
Well, why did it come through here and blitz me?
Unintentional. It was a by-product of my enhancement, once it saw that
I was the only means of reaching you with more than a few words or images.
Why was its time here fo limited? I asked.
It is the nature of this land, which lies between the shadows, that
it be mainly inaccessible both to the Pattern and the Lagrus.
A sort of demilitarized zone?
No, it is not a matter of truce. It is simply that it is extremely
difficult for either of them to manifest here at all. This is why the place
is pretty much unchanging.
This is a place they can't reach?
That's about the size of it.
How come I never heard of it before?
Probably because no one else can reach it too readily either.
So what's the message?
Basically, that you not try calling upon the Logrus again while you're
here. The place represents such a distorting medium that there's no
assurance how any projected energy might manifest outside some convenient
vessel. It could be dangerous for you.
I massaged my throbbing temples. At least it got my mind off my sore
jaw.
All right, I agreed. Any hints as to what I'm supposed to be
doing here?
Yes, this is a trial. Of what, I can't say.
Do I have a choice?
What do you mean?
May I refuse to participate?
I suppose. But then I don't know how you get out of here.
So I do get released from this place at the end, if I play?
If you're still living, yes. Even if you're not, I'd imagine.
Then I really have no choice.
There will be a choice.
When?
Somewhere along the way. I don't know where.
Why don't you just repeat all of your instructions to me?
Can't. I don't know what all is here. It will surface only in response
to a question or a situation.
Will any of this interfere with your strangling function?
It shouldn't.
That's something, anyway. Very well. Have you any idea what I'm
supposed to do next?
Yes. You should begin climbing the highest hill to your left.
Which- Okay, I guess that's the one, I decided, my gaze settling
upon a broken fang of blazing white stone.
And so I walked toward it, up a gradually steepening slope. The black
sun mounted higher into the grayness. The eerie silence continued.
Uh, do you know exactly what we will find whenever we get to
wherever we're going? I tried to say in Frakir's direction.
I am certain that the information is present, came the reply, but I
do not believe that it will be available until we reach the appropriate
locale.
I hope you're right.
Me, too.
The way continued to steepen. While I had no way to measure the time
exactly, it seemed that more than an hour passed before I left the foothills
and was climbing the white mountain itself. While I observed no footprints
nor saw any other sign of life, I did, on several occasions, encounter long
stretches of natural-seeming trail, shelflike, leading up that high bleached
face. Several more hours must have passed as I negotiated this, the dark sun
riding to mid-heaven and beginning its descent toward a west that lay beyond
this peak. It was annoying not to be able to curse aloud.
How can I be sure we're on the proper side of the thing? Or heading
for the right area? I asked.
You're still going in the proper direction, Frakir answered.
But you don't know how much farther it'll be?
Nope. I'll know when I see it, though.
The sun is going to slip behind the mountain fairly soon. Will you be
able to see it to know it then?
I believe the sky actually brightens here when the sun goes away.
Negative space is funny that way, Whatever, something is always bright here
and something is always dark. There'll be the wherewithal for detection.
Any idea what we're actually doing?
One of those damned quest-things, I think.
Vision? Or practical?
It was my understanding that they all partake of both, though I feel
this one is heavily weighted toward the latter. On the other wrist, anything
you encounter between shadows is likely to partake of the allegorical, the
emblematic-all that crap people bury in the nonconscious parts of their
beings.
In other words, you don't know either:
Not for sure, but I make my living as a sensitive guesser.
I reached high, grabbed handholds, drew myself up to another ledge. I
followed it for a time, climbed again. At length the sun went away, and it
made no difference in my ability to see. Darkness and light changed places.
I scaled a five- or six-meter irregularity and halted when I finally
got a look into the recessed area it rose to. There was an opening in the
face of the mountain to its rear. I hesitated to label it a cave because it
appeared artificial. It looked as if it had been carved in the form of an
arch, and it was big enough to ride through on horse-back.
What do you know, Frakir commented, twitching once upon my
wrist. This is it.
What? I asked.
The first station, she replied. You stop here and go through
a bit of business before moving on.
That being?
It's easier just to go and look.
I hauled myself up over the edge, got to my feet, and walked forward.
The big entranceway was filled with that sourceless light. I hesitated on
the threshold, peered within.
It looked to be a generic chapel. There was a small altar, a pair of
candles upon it sporting flickering coronas of blackness. There were stone
benches carved along the walls. I counted five doorways apart from the one
by which I stood: three in the wall across from me; one in that to the
right; another to the left. Two piles of battle gear lay in the middle of
the room. There were no symbols of whatever religion might be represented.
I entered.
What am I supposed to do here? I asked.
You are supposed to sit vigil, guarding your armor overnight.
Aw, come on, I said, moving forward to inspect the stuff.
What's the point?
That's not a part of the information I've been given.
I picked up a fancy white breastplate which would have made me look
like Sir Galahad. Just my size, it seemed. I shook my head and lowered the
piece. I moved over to the next pile and picked up a very oddlooking gray
gauntlet. I dropped it immediately and rooted through the rest of the stuff.
More of the same. Contoured to fit me, also. Only-
What is the matter, Merlin?
The white stuff, I said, looks as if it would fit me right now.
The other armor appears to be of a sort used in the Courts. It looks as if
it would fit me just right when I'm shifted into my Chaos form. So either
set would probably do for me, depending on circumstances. I can use only one
outfit at a time, though. Which am I supposed to guard?
l believe that's the crux of the matter. I think you're supposed to
choose.
Of course! I snapped my fingers, heard nothing. How slow of me,
that I need to have things explained by my strangling cord!
I dropped to my knees, swept both sets or armor and weapons together
into one nasty-looking heap.
If I have to guard them, I said, I'll guard both sets. I
don't care to take sides.
I've a feeling something isn' going to like that, Frakir
aaswered.
I stepped back and regarded the pile.
Tell me about this vigil business again, I said. What all's
involved?
You're supposed to sit up all night and guard it.
Against what?
Against anything that tries to misappropriate it, I guess. The powers
of Order-
-or Chaos
Yeah, I see what you mean. Heaped up together that way, anything might
come by to grab off a piece.
I seated myself on the bench along the rear wall, between two doorways.
It was good to rest for a bit after my long climb. But something in my mind
kept grinding away. Then, after a time, What's in it for me? I asked.
What do you mean?
Say I sit here all night and watch the stuff. Maybe something even
comes along and makes a pass at it. Say I fight it off. Morning comes, the
stuff is still here, I'm still here, Then what? What have I gained?
Then you get to don your armor, pick up your weapons, and move on to
the next stage of affairs.
I stifled a yawn.
You know, I don't think I really want any of that stuff; I said
then.I don't like armor, and I'm happy with the sword I've got. I
clapped my hand to its hilt. It felt strange, but then so did I. Why
don't we just leave the whole pile where it is and move on to the next stage
now? What is the next stage anyway?
I'm not sure. The way the Logrus threw infornration at me it just
seems to surface at the appropriate time. I didn't even know about this
place till I saw the entrance.
I stretched and folded my arms. I leaned my back against the wall. I
extended my legs and crossed them at the ankles.
Then we're stuck here till something happens or you get inspired
again?
Right.
Wake me when it's over, I said, and I closed my eyes.
The wrist twitch that followed was almost painful.
Hey! You can't do that! Frakir said. The whole idea is that
you sit up all night and watch.
And a very half assed idea it is, I said. I refuse to play such
a stupid game. If anything wants the stuff,I'll give it a good price on it.
Go ahead and sleep if you want. But what if something comes along and
decides you had better be taken out of the picture first?
To begin with, I replied, I don't believe that anything could
care about that pile of medieval junk, let alone lust after it - and in
closing, it's your job to warn me of danger.
Aye, aye, Captain. But this is a weird place. What if it limits my
sensitivity some way?
You're really reaching now, I said. I guess you'll just have to
improvise.
I dozed. I dreamed that I stood within a magic circle and various
things tried to get at me. When they touched the barrier, though, they were
transformed into stick figures, cartoon characters which rapidly faded.
Except for Corwin of Amber, who smiled faintly and shook his head.
"Sooner or later you'll have to step outside," he said.
"Then let it be later," I replied.
"And all your problems will still be there, right where you left them."
I nodded.
"But I'll be rested," I answered.
"Then it's a trade-off. Good luck."
"Thanks."
The dream fell apart into random images then. I seem to remember
standing outside the circle a little later, trying to figure a way to get
back in. . . .
I wasn't certain what woke me. It couldn't have been a noise. But
suddenly I was alert and rising, and the first thing I beheld was a dwarf
with a mottled complexion, his hands clasped at his throat, lying unmoving
in a twisted position near the armor pile.
"What's going on?" I tried saying. But there was no reply.
I crossed and knelt beside the short big-shouldered guy. With my
fingertips, I felt after a carotid pulse but couldn' t locate one. At that
moment, however, I felt a tickling sensation about my wrist, and
Frakir-phasing into and out of visibility-made her way back into touch with
with me.
You took that guy out? I asked.
There came a soft pulsation then. Suicides don't strangle
themselves, she replied.
Why didn't you alert me?
You needed your rest, and it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. Our
empathy is too strong, though. Sorry I woke you.
I stretched.
How long was I asleep?
Several hours, I'd judge.
I feel kind of sorry about this, I said. That scrap heap isn't
worth somebody's life,
It is now, Frakir answered.
True. Now that someone's died for the stuff have you gotten the word
as to what we do next?
Things are a little clearer, but not enough to act on. We must remain
until morning for me to be certain.
Does the information you have include anything on whether there's food
or drink available in the neighborhood?
Yes. There's supposed to be a jug of water behind the altar. Also a
loaf of bread. But that's for morning. You're supposed to be fasting
throughout the night.
That'f only if I take this whole business seriously, I said,
turning toward the altar.
I took two steps, and the world started to come apart. The floor of the
chapel trembled, and I heard my first sounds since my arrival; a deep
growling, grating noise came from somewhere far beneath me. A horde of
colors flashed through the air of this colorless place, half blinding me
with their intensity Then the colors fled, and the room divided itself. The
whiteness grew intense in the vicinity of the archway by which I had
entered. I had to raise my hand to shield my eyes against it. Across from
this, a profound darkness occurred, masking the three doorways in that wall.
What . . , is it? I asked.
Something terrible, Frakir replied, beyond my ability to
access.
I clasped the hilt of the blade I wore and reviewed the spells I still
had hanging. Before I could do any more than that, an awful sense of
presence pervaded the place. So potent did it seem that I did not feel that
drawing my blade or reciting a spell was the most politic action I might
take.
Ordinarily I'd have summoned the Sign of the Logrus by then, but that
way was barred to me also. I tried clearing my throat, but no sound came
forth. Then there came a movement at the heart of the light, a
coalescing....
The shape of a Unicorn, like Blake's Tyger, burning bright, took form,
so painful to behold that I had to look away
I shifted my gaze to the deep, cool blackness, but there was no rest
for my eyes in that place either. Something stirred within the darkness, and
there came another sound-a grating, as of metal being scraped on stone. This
was followed by a powerful hissing. The ground trembled again. Curved lines
flowed forward. Even before the brightness of the Unicorn etched its
lineaments within that mighty gloom, I realized it was the head of a
one-eyed serpent which had come partway into the chapel. I shifted my gaze
to a point between them, catching each within my peripheral vision. Far
better than any attempt to behold either directly I felt their gazes upon
me, the Unicorn of Order and the Serpent of Chaos. It was not a pleasant
feeling, and I retreated until the altar was at my back.
Both came slightly farther into the chapel. The Unicorn's head was
lowered, horn pointed directly at me. The Serpent's tongue darted in my
direction.
"Uh, if either of you want this armor and stuff," I ventured, "I
certainly have no object-'
The Serpent hissed and the Unicorn raised a hoof and let it fall,
cracking the floor of the chapel, the fracture line racing toward me like a
streak of black lightning and halting just at my feet.
"On the other hand," I observed, "no insult is intended by the offer,
Your Eminences-"
Wrong thing to say-again, Frakir interjected, weakly.
Tell me what's right, I said, trying for a mental sotto voce.
I don't- Oh!
The Unicorn reared; the Serpent drew itself upward. I dropped to my
knees and looked away, their gazes having somehow become physically painful.
I was trembling, and all of my muscles had begun to ache.
It is suggested, Frakir recited, that you play the game the
way it is set up.
What metal entered my backbone I know not. But I raised my head and
turned it, looking first to the Serpent, then to the Unicorn. Though my eyes
watered and ached as if I were trying to stare down the sun, I managed the
gesture.
"You can make me play," I said, "but you cannot make me choose. My will
is my own. I will guard this armor all night, as is required of me. In the
morning I will go on without it because I do not choose to wear it."
Without it you may die, Frakir stated, as if translating.
I shrugged.
"If it is my choice to make, I choose not to place one of you before
the other."
A rush of wind blew hot and cold past me, seemed a cosmic sigh.
You will choose, Frakir relayed, whether you become aware of
it or not. Everyone does. You are simply being asked to formalize your
choice.
"What's so special about my case?" I asked.
Again that wind.
Yours is a dual heritage, combined with great power.
"I never wanted either of you for an enemy," I stated.
Not good enough, came the reply.
"Then destroy me now."
The game is already in progress.
"Then let's get on with it," I answered.
We are not pleased with your attitude.
"Vice versa," I answered.
The thunderclap that followed left me unconscious.
The reason I felt I could afford total honesty was a strong hunch that
players for this game might be hard to come by.
I woke sprawled across the pile of greaves, cuirasses, gauntlets,
helms, and other good things of a similar nature, all of them possessed of
corners or protuberances, most of which were jabbing into me. I became aware
of this only by degrees, for I had gone numb in lots of important places.
Hi, Merlin.
Frakir, I responded. Have I been out for long?
I don't know. I just came around myself.
I didn't know a piece of rope could be knocked out.
Neither did I. It never happened to me before.
Let me amend my question then: Any idea how long we've been out?
Fairly long, I feel. Get me a glimpse out the doorway, and I may be
able to give you a better idea.
I pushed myself slowly to my feet, could not remain standing, dropped.
I crawled to the entranceway, noting in passing that nothing on the heap
seemed to be missing. The floor was indeed cracked. There really was a dead
dwarf to the rear of the chamber.
I looked outside, beheld a bright sky, black points disposed within it.
Well? I asked after a time.
If I figure right, it should be morning soon. Always brightest
before the dawn, eh?
Something like that.
My legs burned as their circulation was restored. I pushed myself
upright, stood leaning against the wall.
Any new instructions?
Not yet. I've a feeling they're due with the dawn.
I staggered to the nearest bench, collapsed upon it.
If anything comes in now, all I've got to hit it with is an odd
assortment of spells. Sleeping on armor leaves a few kinks. Almost as bad as
sleeping in it.
Throw me at the enemy and the least I can do is buy you time.
Thanks.
How far back does your memory go?
To when I was a little kid, I guess. Why?
I recall sensations from when I was first enhanced, back in the Logrus.
But everything up until we got here is kind of dreamlike. I just sort of
used to react to life.
A lot of people are that way, too.
Really? I couldn't think, or communicate this way before.
True.
Do you think it will last?
What do you mean?
Might this just be a temporary condition? Might I just have been
enhanced to deal with the special circumstances in this place?
I don't know, Frakir, I answered, massaging my left calf. I
suppose its possible. Are you getting attached to the state?
Yes. Silly of me, I guess. How can I care about something I won't miss
when it's gone?
Good question, and I don't know the answer. Maybe you would have
achieved this state anyway eventually.
I don't think so. But I don't know for certain.
You afraid to regress?
Yes.
Tell you what. When we find a way out of here, you stay behind.
I couldn't do that.
Why not? You've come in handy on occasion, but I can take care of
myself. Now you're sentient you should have a life of your own.
But I'm a freak.
Aren't we all? I just want you to know I understand, and it's okay with
me.
She pulsed once and shut up.
I wished I weren't afraid to drink the water.
I sat there for perhaps the better part of an hour, going over
everything that had happened to me recently, looking for patterns, clues.
I can sort of hear you thinking, Frakir said suddenly, and I
can offer you something in one area.
Oh? What might that be?
The one who brought you bere
The thing that looked like my father?
Yes.
What of him?
He was different from your other two visitors. He was human. They
weren't.
You mean it might actually have been Corwin?
I never met him, so I can't say. He wasn't one of those constructs,
though.
Do you know what they were?
No. I only know one peculiar thing about them, and I don't understand
it at all.
I leaned Forward and rubbed my temples. I took several deep breaths. My
throat was very dry, and my muscles ached.
Go ahead. I'm waiting.
I don't quite know how to explain it, Frakir said. But back in
my presentient days you inconsiderately wore me about your wrist when you
walked the Pattern.
I recall. I had a scar for a long time after, from your reaction to it.
Things of Chaos and things of Order do not mix well. But I survived.
And the experience is recorded within me. Now the Dworkin and the Oberon
figures that visited you back at the cave-
Yes?
Beneath their apparent humanity they were pulsing energy fields within
geometrical constructs.
Sounds sort of like computer animation.
Maybe it is something like that. I couldn't say.
And my father wasn't one of these?
Nope. But that wasn't what I war getting at. I recognized the
source.
I was suddenly alert.
What do you mean?
The swirls-the geometrical constructs on which the figure were
based-they reproduced sections of the Pattern at Amber.
You must be mistaken.
No. What I lacked in sentience I made up in memory. Both figures were
three-dimens