Roger Zelazny. Blood of Amber
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...t seems a very handyone to know."
"Unfortunately, yes," I said. "Its biggest drawback is that you can't
just do it at a moment's notice if you don't have it hanging ready-and I
didn't. So, starting from scratch, it takes about twenty minutes to build."
We turned up the walk to the big old house.
"Which floor?" she asked me.
"Top."
We climbed to the front door and found it locked. No doubt they were
more particular about such matters these days.
"Break it?" Flora whispered.
"Too noisy," I answered.
I placed my left hand upon the doorknob and gave Frakir a silent
command. She unwound two turnings of her coil from about my wrist, coming
into view as she moved across the lock plate and slithered into the keyhole.
There followed a tightening, a stiffening and several rigid movements.
A soft click meant the bolt was drawn, and I turned the knob and pulled
gently. The door opened. Frakir returned to bracelethood and invisibility.
We entered, closing the door quietly behind us. We were not present in
the wavery mirror. I led Flora up the stairs.
There were soft voices from one of the rooms on the second floor. That
was all. No wind. No excited dogs. And the voices grew still before we
reached the third floor.
I saw that the entire door to Julia's apartment had been replaced. It
was slightly darker than the other and it sported a bright new lock. I
tapped upon it gently and we waited. There was no response, but I knocked
again after perhaps half a minute and we waited again.
No one came. So I tried it. It was locked, but Frakir repeated her
trick and I hesitated. My hand shook as I recalled my last visit. I knew her
mutilated corpse was no longer lying there. I knew no killer beast was
waiting to attack me. Yet the memory held me for several seconds.
"What's the matter?" Flora whispered.
"Nothing," I said, and I pushed the door open.
The place had been partly furnished, as I recalled. The part that had
come with it remained-the sofa and end tables, several chairs, a larger
table-but all Julia's own stuff was gone. There was a new rug on the floor,
and the floor itself had been buffed recently. It did not appear that the
place had been re-let, as there were no personal items of any sort about.
We entered and I closed the door, dropping the spell that had cloaked
us as I began my circuit through the rooms. The place brightened perceptibly
as our magic veils faded.
"I don't think you're going to find anything," Flora said. "I can smell
wax and disinfectant and paint..."
I nodded.
"The more mundane possibilities seem to be excluded," I said. "But
there is something else I want to try."
I calmed my mind and called up the Logrus-seeing. If there were any
remaining traces of a magical working, I hoped I could spot them in this
fashion. I wandered slowly then, through the living room, regarding
everything from every possible angle. Flora moved off, conducting her own
investigation, which consisted mainly in looking under everything. The room
flickered slightly for me as I scanned at those wavelengths where such a
manifestation was most likely to be apparent-at least, that was the best way
to describe the process in this shadow.
Nothing, large or small, escaped my scrutiny. But nothing was revealed
to it. After long minutes I moved into the bedroom.
Flora must have heard my sudden intake of breath, because she was into
the room and at my side in seconds, and staring at the chest of drawers
before which I stood.
"Something in it?" she inquired, reaching forward, then withdrawing her
hand.
"No. Behind it," I said.
The chest of drawers had been moved in the course of purging the
apartment. It used to occupy a space several feet farther to the right. That
which I now saw was visible to its left and above it, with more of it
obviously blocked to my sight. I took hold of the thing and pushed it back
to the right, to the position it had formerly occupied.
"I still don't see anything," Flora said.
I reached out and caught hold of her hand, extending the Logrus force
so that she, too, saw what I saw.
"Why"-she raised her other hand and traced the faint rectangular
outline on the wall-"it looks like a..., doorway," she said.
I studied it-a dim line of faded fire. The thing was obviously sealed
and had been for some time. Eventually it would fade completely and be gone.
"It is a doorway," I answered.
She pulled me back into the other room to regard the opposite side of
the wall.
"Nothing here," she observed. "It doesn't go through."
"Now you've got the idea," I said. "It goes somewhere else."
"Where?"
"Wherever the thing that killed Julia came from."
"Can you open it?"
"I am prepared to stand in front of it for as long as I have to," I
told her, "and try."
I returned to the other room and studied it once again.
"Merlin," she said, as I released her hand and raised mine before me,
"don't you think this is the point where you should get in touch with
Random, tell him exactly what has been happening and perhaps have Gerard
standing next to you if you succeed in opening that door?"
"I probably should," I agreed, "but I'm not going to."
"Why not?"
"Because he might tell me not to."
"He might be right, too."
I lowered my hands and turned toward her. "I have to admit you have a
point," I said. "Random has to be told everything, and I've probably put it
off too long already. So here is what I would like you to do. Go back to the
car and wait. Give me an hour. If I'm not out by then, get in touch with
Random, tell him everything I told you and tell him about this, too."
"I don't know," she said. "If you don't show, Random's going to be mad
at me."
"Just tell him I insisted and there was nothing you could do. Which is
actually the case, if you stop to think about it."
She pursed her lips. "I don't like leaving you-though I'm not anxious
to stay either. Care to take along a hand grenade?"
She raised her purse and began to open it. "No. Thanks. Why do you have
it, anyway?"
She smiled. "I always carry them in this shadow. They sometimes come in
handy. But okay, I'll go wait."
She kissed me lightly on the cheek and turned away.
"And try to get hold of Fiona," I said, "if I don't show. Tell her the
whole story, too. She might have a different angle on this."
She nodded and departed. I waited until I heard the door close, then
focused my attention fully upon the bright rectangle. Its outline seemed
fairly uniform, with only a few slightly thicker, brighter areas and a few
finer, dimmer ones. I traced the lines slowly with the palm of my right hand
at a height of about an inch above the wall's surface. I felt a small
prickling, a heatlike sensation as I did this. Predictably, it was greater
above the brighter areas. I took this as an indication that the seal was
slightly less perfect in these spots. Very well. I would soon discover
whether the thing could be forced, and these would be my points of attack.
I twisted my hands deeper into the Logrus until I wore the limbs I
desired as fine-fingered gauntlets, stronger than metals, more sensitive
than tongues in the places of their power. I moved my right hand to the
point nearest it, on a level with my hip. I felt the pulse of an old spell
when I touched that spot of greater brightness. I narrowed my extension as I
pushed, making it finer and finer until it slipped through. The pulsing then
became a steady thing. I repeated the exercise on a higher area to my left.
I stood there, feeling the force that had sealed it, my fine filament
extensions throbbing within its matrix. I tried moving them, first upward,
then down. The right one slid a little farther than the left, in both
directions, before a tightness and resistance halted it. I summoned more
force from the body of the Logrus, which swam specterlike within and before
me, and I poured this energy into the gauntlets, the pattern of the Logrus
changing form again as I did so. When I tried once more to move it, the
right one slid downward for perhaps a foot before the throbbing trapped it;
when I pushed it upward it rose nearly to the top. I tried again on the
left. It moved all the way to the top, but it only passed perhaps six inches
below the starting point when I drew it downward.
I breathed deeply and felt myself beginning to perspire. I pumped more
power into the gauntlets and forced their extensions farther downward. The
resistance was even greater there, and the throbbing passed up my arms and
into the very center of my being. I paused and rested, then raised the force
to an even higher level of intensity. The Logrus writhed again and I pushed
both hands all the way to the floor, then knelt there panting before I began
working my way along the bottom. The portal was obviously meant never to be
opened again. There was no artistry for this, only brute force.
When my forces met in the middle, I withdrew and regarded the work. To
the right, to the left and along the bottom, the fine red lines had now
become broad fiery ribbons. I could feel their pulsation across the distance
that separated us.
I stood and raised my arms. I began to work along the top, starting at
the corners, moving inward. It was easier than it had been earlier. The
forces from the opened areas seemed to add a certain pressure, and my hands
just flowed to the middle. When they met I seemed to hear something like a
soft sighing sound. I dropped them and considered my work. The entire
outline flared now. But more than that. It seemed almost as if the bright
line were flowing, around and around. . . .
I stood there for several minutes, regrouping, relaxing, settling.
Working up my nerve. All I knew was that the door would lead to a different
shadow. That could mean anything. When I opened it something could, I
suppose, leap out and attack me. But then, it had been sealed for some time.
More probably any trap would be of a different sort. Most likely, I would
open it and nothing would happen. I would then have a choice of merely
looking around from where I stood or entering. And there probably wouldn't
be very much to see, just standing there, looking. . . .
So I extended my Logus members once again, taking hold of the door at
either side, and I pushed. A yielding occurred on the side to my right, so I
released my hold on the left. I continued my pressure on the right and the
whole thing suddenly swung inward and away. . . .
I was looking down a pearly tunnel, which appeared to widen after a few
paces. Beyond that was a ripple effect, as of distant heat patterns above
the road on a hot summer day. Patches of redness and indeterminate dark
shapes swam within it. I waited for perhaps half a minute, but nothing
approached.
I prepared Frakir for trouble. I maintained my Logrus connection. I
advanced, extending probes before me. I passed within.
A sudden change in the pressure gradient at my back caused me to cast a
quick glance in that direction. The doorway had closed and dwindled, now
appearing to me in the distance as a tiny red cube. My several steps could,
of course, have borne me a great distance also, should the rules of this
space so operate.
I continued, and a hot wind flowed toward me, engulfed me, stayed with
me. The sides of my passageway receded, the prospect before me continued to
shimmer and dance, and my pace became more labored, as if I were suddenly
walking uphill. I heard something like a grunt from beyond the place where
my vision misbehaved, and my left Logrus probe encountered something that it
jolted slightly. Frakir began to throb simultaneous with my sensing an aura
of menace through the probe. I sighed. I hadn't expected this was going to
be easy. If I'd been running the show I wouldn't have let things go with
just sealing the door.
"All right, asshole! Hold it right there!" a voice boomed from ahead. I
continued to trudge forward.
It came again. "I said halt!"
Things began to swim into place as I advanced, and suddenly there were
rough walls to my right and left and a roof overhead, narrowing, converging
A huge rotund figure barred my way, looking like a purple Buddha with
bat ears. Details resolved themselves as I drew nearer: protruding fangs,
yellow eyes that seemed to be lidless, long red claws on its great hands and
feet. It was seated in the middle of the tunnel and made no effort to rise.
It wore no clothing, but its great swollen belly rested upon its knees,
concealing its sex. Its voice had been gruffly masculine, however, and its
odor generically foul.
"Hi," I said. "Nice day, wasn't it?"
It growled and the temperature seemed to rise slightly. Frakir had
grown frantic and I calmed her mentally.
The creature leaned forward and with one bright nail inscribed a
smoking line in the stone of the floor. I halted before it.
"Cross that line, sorcerer, and you've had it," it said.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I said so."
"If you're collecting tolls," I suggested, "name the price."
It shook its head. "You can't buy your way past me."
"Uh-what makes you think I'm a sorcerer?"
It opened the dingy cavern of its face, displaying even more lurking
teeth than I'd suspected, and it did something like the rattling of a tin
sheet way down deep in back.
"I felt that little probe of yours," it said. "It's a sorcerer's trick.
Besides, nobody but a sorcerer could have gotten to the place where you're
standing."
"You do not seem to possess a great deal of respect for the
profession."
"I eat sorcerers," it told me.
I made a face, thinking back over some of the old farts I've known in
the business.
"To each, his, her or its own, I guess," I told it. "So what's the
deal? A passage is no good unless you can get through it. How do I get by
here?"
"You don't."
"Not even if I answer a riddle?"
"That won't do it for me," it said. But a small gleam came into its
eye. "Just for the hell of it, though, what's green and red and goes round
and round and round?" it asked.
"You know the sphinx!"
"Shit!" it said. "You've heard it."
I shrugged. "I get around."
"Not here you don't."
I studied it. It had to have some special defense against magical
attacks if it were set to stop sorcerers. As for physical defense it was
fairly imposing. I wondered how fast it was. Could I just dive past and
start running? I decided that I did not wish to experiment along that line.
"I really do have to get through," I tried. "It's an emergency."
"Tough."
"Look, what do you get out of this, anyway? It seems like a pretty
crummy job, sitting here in the middle of a tunnel."
"I love my work. I was created for it."
"How come you let the sphinx come and go?"
"Magical beings don't count."
"Hm."
"And don't try to tell me you're really a magical being, and then pull
some sorcerous illusion. I can see right through that stuff."
"I believe you. What's your name, anyhow?"
It snorted. "You can call me Scrof, for conversational purposes.
Yourself?"
"Call me Corey."
"Okay, Corey. I don't mind sitting here bullshitting with you, because
that's covered by the rules. It's allowed. You've got three choices and one
of them would be real stupid. You can turn around and go back the way you
came and be none the worse for wear. You can also camp right where you are
for as long as you like and I won't lift a finger so long as you behave. The
dumb thing to do would be to cross this line I've drawn. Then I'd terminate
you. This is the Threshold and I am the Dweller on it. I don't let anybody
get by."
"I appreciate your making it clear."
"It's part of the job. So what'll it be?"
I raised my hands and the lines of force twisted like knives at each
fingertip. Frakir dangled from my wrist and began to swing in an elaborate
pattern.
Scrof smiled. "I not only eat sorcerers, I eat their magic, too. Only a
being torn from the primal Chaos can make that claim. So come ahead, if you
think you can face that."
"Chaos, eh? Torn from the primal Chaos?"
"Yep. There's not much can stand against it."
"Except maybe a Lord of Chaos," I replied, as I shifted my awareness to
various points within my body. Rough work. The faster you do it the more
painful it is.
Again, the rattling of the tin sheet.
"You know what the odds arE against a Chaos Lord coming this far to go
two out of three with a Dweller?" Scrof said.
My arms began to lengthen and I felt my shirt tear across my back as I
leaned forward. The bones in my face shifted about and my chest expanded and
expanded. . . .
"One out of one should be enough," I replied, when the transformation
was complete.
"Shit," Scrof said as I crossed the line.
3
I stood just within the mouth of the cave for some time, my left
shoulder hinting and my right leg sore also. If I could get the pain under
control before I retransformed myself there was a chance that much of it
would fade during the anatomical reshuffling. The process itself would
probably leave me pretty tired, however. It takes a lot of energy, and
switching twice this close together could be somewhat prostrating, following
my bout with the Dweller. So I rested within the cave into which the pearly
tunnel had eventually debouched, and I regarded the prospect before me.
Far down and to my left was a bright blue and very troubled body of
water. White-crested waves expired in kamikaze attacks on the gray rocks of
the shore; a strong wind scattered their spray and a piece of rainbow hung
within the mist.
Before me and below me was a pocked, cracked and steaming land which
trembled periodically, as it swept for well over a mile toward the high dark
walls of an amazingly huge and complex structure, which I immediately
christened Gormenghast. It was a hodgepodge of architectural styles, bigger
even than the palace at Amber and somber as all hell. Also, it was under
attack.
There were quite a few troops in the field before the walls, most of
them in a distant nonscorched area of more normal terrain and some
vegetation, though the grasses were well trampled and many trees shattered.
The besiegers were equipped with scaling ladders and a battering ram; but
the ram was idle at the moment and the ladders were on the ground. What
appeared to have been an entire village of outbuildings smoldered darkly at
the wall's base. Numerous sprawled figures were, I assumed, casualties.
Moving my gaze even farther to the right, I encountered an area of
brilliant whiteness beyond that great citadel. It looked to be the
projecting edge of a massive glacier, and gusts of snow or ice crystals were
whipped about it in a fashion similar to the sea mists far to my left.
The wind seemed a constant traveler through these parts. I heard it cry
out high above me. When I finally stepped outside to look upward, I found
that I was only about halfway up a massive stony hillside- or low
mountainside, depending on how one regards such matters-and the whining note
of the wind came down even more loudly from those broken heights. There was
also a thump at my back, and when I turned I could no longer locate the cave
mouth. My journey along the route from the fiery door had been completed
once I exited the cave, and its spell had apparently clamped down and closed
the way immediately. I supposed that I could locate the outline upon the
steep wall if I wanted to, but at the moment I had no such desire. I made a
little pile of stones before it, and then I looked about again, studying
details.
A narrow trail curved off to my right and back among some standing
stones. I headed in that direction. I smelled smoke. Whether it was from the
battle site or the area of vullcanism below I could not tell. The sky was a
patchwork of cloud and light above me. When I halted between two of the
stones and fumed to regard the scene below once again, I saw that the
attackers had formed themselves into new groups and that the ladders were
being home toward the walls. I also saw what looked like a tornado rise on
the far side of the citadel and begin a slow counterclockwise movement about
the walls. If it continued on its route it would eventually reach the
attackers. Neat trick. Fortunately it was their problem and not mine.
I worked my way back into a stony declivity and settled myself upon a
low ledge. I began the troublesome shapeshifting work, which I paced to take
me half an hour or so. Changing from something nominally human to something
rare and strange-perhaps monstrous to some, perhaps frightening-and then
back again is a concept some may find repugnant. They shouldn't. We all of
us do it every day in many different ways, don't we?
When the transformation was completed I lay back, breathing deeply, and
listened to the wind. I was sheltered from its force by the stones and only
its song came down to me. I felt vibrations from distant tremors of the
earth and chose to take them as a gentle massage, soothing. . . . My clothes
were in tatters, and for the moment I was too tired to summon a fresh
outfit. My shoulder seemed to have lost its pain, and there was only the
slightest twinge in my leg, fading, fading. . . .I closed my eyes for a few
moments.
Okay, I'd made it through, and I'd a strong feeling that the answer to
the matter of Julia's killer lay in the besieged citadel below. Offhand, I
didn't see any easy way into the place at the moment, to make inquiry. But
that was not the only way I might proceed. I decided to wait where I was,
resting, until it grew dark-that is, if things here proceeded in a normal
dark-light fashion. Then I'd slip downstairs, kidnap one of the besiegers
and question him. Yes. And if it didn't get dark? Then I'd think of
something else. Right now, though, just drifting felt best. . . .
For how long I dozed, I was uncertain. What roused me was the clicking
of pebbles, from somewhere off to the right. I was instantly alert, though I
didn't stir. There was no effort at stealth, and the pattern of approaching
sounds-mainly slapping footfalls, as of someone wearing loose
sandals-convinced me that only a single individual was moving in this
direction. I tensed and relaxed my muscles and drew a few deep breaths.
A very hairy man emerged from between two of the stones to my right. He
was about five and a half feet in height, very dirty, and he wore a dark
animal skin about his loins; also, he had on a pair of sandals. He stared at
me for several seconds before displaying the yellow irregularities of his
smile.
"Hello. Are you injured?" he asked, in a debased form of Thari that I
did not recall ever having heard before.
I stretched to make sure and then stood. "No," I replied. "Why do you
ask that?"
The smile persisted. "I thought maybe you'd had enough of the fighting
below and decided to call it quits."
"Oh, I see. No, it's not exactly like that. . . ."
He nodded and stepped forward. "Dave's my name. What's yours?" "Merle,"
I said, clasping his grimy hand.
"Not to worry, Merle," he told me. "I wouldn't turn in anybody who
decided to take a walk from a war, unless maybe there was a reward and there
ain't on this one. Did it myself years ago and never regretted it.
Mine was goin' the same way this one seems to be goin', and I had sense
enough to get out. No army's ever taken that place down there, and I don't
think one ever will."
"What place is it?"
He cocked his head and squinted, then shrugged. "Keep of the Four
Worlds," he said. "Didn't the recruiter tell you anything?"
I sighed. "Nope," I said.
"Wouldn't have any smokin' stuff on you, would you?"
"No," I answered, having used alI my pipe tobacco back in the crystal
cave. "Sorry."
I moved past him to a point where I could Iook downward from between
the stones. I wanted another Look at the Keep of the Four Worlds. After all,
it was the answer to a riddle as well as the subject of numerous cryptic
references in Melman's diary. Fresh bodies were scattered all over before
its walls, as if cast about by the whirlwind, which was now circling back
toward the point whence it had risen. But a small party of besiegers had
apparently made it to the top of the wall despite this. And a fresh party
had formed below and was headed for the ladders. One of its members bore a
banner I could not place, but which seemed vaguely familiarblack and green,
with what might be a couple of heraldic beasts having a go at each other.
Two ladders were still in place, and I could see some tierce fighting going
on behind the battlements.
"Some of the attackers seem to have gotten in," I said.
Dave hurried up beside me and stared. I immediately moved upwind.
"You're right;' he acknowledged. "Now, that's a first. If they can get
that damn gate open and let the others in they might even have a chance.
Never thought I'd live to see it."
"How long ago was it," I asked, "when the army you were with attacked
the place?"
"Must be eight, nine-maybe ten years," he muttered. "Those guys must be
pretty good."
"What's it all about?" I asked.
He turned and studied me.
"You really don't know?"
"Just got here," I said.
"Hungry? Thirsty?"
"As a matter of fact, yes."
"Come on, then." He took hold of my arm and steered me back between the
stones, then led me along a narrow trail.
"Where are we headed?" I asked.
"I live nearby. I make it a point to feed deserters, for old times'
sake. I'll make an exception for you."
"'Thanks." The trail split after a short while, and he took the
right-hand branch, which involved some climbing. Eventually this led us to a
series of rocky shelves, the last of which receded for a considerable
distance. There were a number of clefts at its rear, into one of which he
ducked. I followed him a short distance along it, and he halted before a low
cave mouth. A horrible odor of putrefaction drifted forth, and I could hear
the buzzing of flies within.
"This is my place," he announced. "I'd invite you in, but it's a little
uh-"
"That's okay," I said. "I'll wait."
He ducked inside, and I realized that my appetite was rapidly
vanishing, especially when it came to anything he might have stored in that
place. Moments later he emerged, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. "Got
some good stuff in here," he announced.
I started walking back along the cleft.
"Hey! Where you headed?"
"Air," I said. "I'm going back out on the shelf. It's a bit close back
there."
"Oh. Okay," he said, and he fell into step behind me.
He had two unopened bottles of wine, several canteens of water, a
fresh-looking loaf of bread, some tinned meat, a few firm apples and an
uncut head of cheese in the bag, I discovered, after we'd seated ourselves
on a ledge out in the open and he'd gestured for me to open the thing and
serve myself. Having prudently remained upwind, I took some water and an
apple for openers.
"Place has a stormy history," he stated, withdrawing a small knife from
his girdle and cutting himself a piece of cheese. "I'm not sure who built it
or how long it's been there."
When I saw that he was about to dig the cork out of a wine bottle with
the knife I halted him and essayed a small and surreptitious Logrus sending.
The response was quick, and I passed him the corkscrew immediately. He
handed me the entire bottle after he'd uncorked it and opened the other for
himself. For reasons involving public health I was grateful, though I wasn't
in the mood for that much wine.
"That's what I call being prepared," he said, studying the corkscrew.
"I've needed one of these for some time. . . ."
"Keep it," I told him. "Tell me more about that place. Who lives there?
How did you come to be part of an invading army? Who's attacking it now?"
He nodded and took a swig of wine.
"The earliest boss of the place that I know of was a wizard named Sharu
Garrul. The queen of my country departed suddenly and came here" He paused
and stared off into the distance for a time, then snorted. "Politics! I
don't even know what the given reason for the visit was at the time. I'd
never heard of the damned place in those days. Anyhow, she stayed a long
while and people began to wonder. Was she a prisoner? Was she working out an
alliance? Was she having an affair? I gather she sent back messages
periodically, but they were the usual bland crap that didn't say
anythingunless of course there were also secret communications folks like me
wouldn't have heard about. She had a pretty good-sized retinue with her,
too, with an honor guard that was not just for show. These guys were very
tough veterans, even though they dressed pretty. So it was kind of debatable
what was going on at that point."
"A question, if I may," I said. "What was your king's part in all this?
You didn't mention him, and it would seem he ought to know-"
"Dead," he announced. "She made a lovely widow, and there was a lot of
pressure on her to remarry. But she just took a succession of lovers and
played the different factions off against each other. Usually her men were
military leaders or powerful nobles, or both. She'd left her son in charge
when she made this trip, though."
"Oh, so there was a prince old enough to sit in control?"
"Yes. In fact, he started the damned war. He raised troops and wasn't
happy with the muster, so he got in touch with a childhood friend, a man
generally considered an outlaw, but who commanded a large band of
mercenaries. Name of Dalt "
"Stop!" I said.
My mind raced as I recalled a story Gerard had once told me, about a
strange man named Dalt who had led a private army against Amber, unusually
effectively. Benedict himself had had to be recalled to oppose him. The
man's forces had been defeated at the foot of Kolvir, and Dalt himself
severely wounded. Though no one ever saw his body, it was assumed he would
have died of such injuries. But there was more.
"Your home," I said. "You never named it. Where are you from, Dave?"
"A place called Kashfa," he replied.
"And Jasra was your queen?"
"You've heard of us. Where're you from?"
"San Francisco," I said.
He shook his head. "Don't know the place."
"Who does? Listen, how good are your eyes?"
"What do you mean?"
"A little while ago, when we looked down on the lighting, could you
make out the Bag the attackers were carrying?"
"Eyes ain't what they used to be," he said.
"It was green and black with some sort of animals on it."
He whistled. "A lion rending a unicorn, I'll bet. Sounds like Dalt's."
"What is the significance of that device?"
"He hates them Amberites, is what it means. Even went up against them
once."
I tasted the wine. Not bad. The same man, then. . . .
"You know why he hates them?" I asked.
"I understand they killed his mother," he said. "Had something to do
with border wars. They get real complicated. I don't know the details."
I pried open a tin of meat, broke off some bread and made myself a
sandwich.
"Please go ahead with your story," I said.
"Where was I?"
"The prince got hold of Dalt because he was concerned about his mother,
and he needed more troops in a hurry."
"That's right, and I was picked up for Kashfan service about that time
-foot soldier. The prince and Dalt led us through dark ways till we came to
that place below. Then we did just what them guys downstairs were doing."
"And what happened?"
He laughed. "Went bad for us at first," he said. "I think it's somehow
easy for whoever's in charge down there to control the elements-like that
twister you saw a while ago. We got an earthquake and a blizzard and
lightning. But we .pressed on to the walls anyhow. Saw my brother scalded to
death with boiling oil. That's when I decided I'd had enough. I started
running and climbed on up here. Nobody chased me, so I waited around and
watched. Probably shouldn't have, but I didn't know how things would go.
More of the same, I'd figgered. But I was wrong, and it was too late to go
back. They'd have whacked off my head or some other valuable parts if I
did."
"What happened?"
"I got the impression that the attack forced Basra's hand. She'd
apparently been planning to do away with Sharu Garrul all along and take
over the place herself. I think she'd been setting him up, gaining his
confidence before she struck. I believe she was a little afraid of the old
man. But when her army appeared on the doorstep she had to move, even though
she wasn't ready. She took him on in a sorcerous duel while her guard held
his men at bay. She won, though I gather she was somewhat injured. Mad as
hell, too, at her son-for bringing in an army without her ordering it.
Anyway, her guard opened the gates to them, and she took over the Keep.
That's what I meant about no army taking the place. That one was an inside
job."
"How did you learn all this?"
"Like I said, when deserters head this way I feed 'em and get the
news."
"You gave me the impression that there have been other attempts to take
the place. These would have had to be after she'd taken over."
He nodded and took another drink of wine.
"Yup. There was apparently a coup back in Kashfa, with both her and her
kid away-a noble named Kasman, brother of one of her dead lovers, a fellow
named Jasrick. This Kasman took over, and he wanted her and the prince out
of the way. Must've attacked this place half a dozen times. Never could get
in. Finally resigned himself to a standoff, I think. She sent her son off
somewhere later, maybe to raise another army and try to win back her throne.
I don't know. That was long ago."
"What about Dalt?"
"They paid him off with some loot from the Keep-there was apparently a
lot of good stuff in there-and he took his troops and went back to wherever
he hangs out."
I took another sip of wine myself and cut off a piece of the cheese.
"How come you've stayed around all these years? It seems like a hard life."
He nodded. "Truth of it is, I don't know the way home. Those were
strange trails they brought us in on. I thought I knew where they were, but
when I went lookin' I couldn't never End 'em. I suppose I could have just
taken off, but then I'd probably get lost more than ever. Besides, I know I
can make out here. A few weeks and those outbuildings will be rebuilt and
the peasants will move back in, no matter who wins. And they think I'm a
holy man, prayin' up here and meditatin'. Any time I wander down that way
they come out for a blessin' and give me enough food and drink to hold me
for a long while."
"Are you a holy man?" I asked.
"I just pretend," he said. "Makes them happy and keeps me fed. Don't go
tellin' that, though."
"Of course not. They wouldn't believe me, anyway."
He laughed again. "You're right."
I got to my feet and walked back along the hail a little way, so that I
could see the Keep once again. The ladders were on the ground, and I beheld
even more scattered dead. I saw no signs of the struggle within.
"Is the gate open yet?" Dave called.
"No. I don't think the ones who got in were sufficient to the task."
"Is that green and black banner anywhere in sight?"
"I can't see it anywhere."
He rose and came over, carrying both bottles. He passed me mine and we
both took a drink. The ground troops began to fall back from the area before
the wall.
"Think they're giving up or re-forming for another rush?" he asked me.
"Can't say yet," I told him.
"Whichever it is, there should be a lot of good loot down there
tonight. Stick around and you'll have all you can carry."
"I'm curious," I said, "why Dalt would be attacking again, if he's on
good terms with the queen and her son."
"I think it's just the son," he said, "and he's gone. The old lady's
supposed to be a real bitch. And after all, the guy is a mercenary. Maybe
Kasman hired him to go after her."
"Maybe she's not even in there," I said, having no idea how this time
stream ran, but thinking of my recent encounter with the lady. The image of
it, though, caused a strange train of thought.
"What's the prince's name, anyway?" I asked.
"Rinaldo," he answered. "He's a big red-haired guy."
"She's his mother!" I said involuntarily.
He laughed. "That's how you get to be a prince," he said. "Have the
queen be your mother."
But then, that would mean... "Brand!" I said. Then, "Brand of Amber."
He nodded. "You've heard the story."
"Not really. Just that much," I replied. "Tell it to me."
"Well, she snared herself an Amberite-the prince called Brand," he
said. "Rumor had it they met over some magical operation and it was love at
first blood. She wanted to keep him, and I've heard it said they actually
were married in a secret ceremony. But he wasn't interested in the throne of
Kashfa, though he was the only one she might have been willing to see on it.
He traveled a lot, was away for long stretches of time. I've heard it said
that he was responsible for the Days of Darkness years ago, and that he died
in a great battle between Chaos and Amber at that time, at the hands of his
kinsmen."
"Yes," I said, and Dave gave me a strange look, half puzzlement, half
scrutiny. "Tell me more about Rinaldo," I said quickly.
"Not much to say," he replied. "She bore him, and I've heard she taught
him something of her Arts. He didn't know his father all that well, Brand
being away so much. Kind of a wild kid. Ran away any number of times and
hung out with a band of outlaws-"
"Dalt's people?" I asked.
He nodded. "Rode with them, they say-even though his mother'd placed
bounties on many of their heads at that time."
"Wait a minute. You say that she really hated these outlaws and
mercenaries-"
"'Hate' may be the wrong word. She'd never bothered about them before,
but when her son got friendly with them I think she just got mad."
"She thought they were a bad influence?"
"No, I think she didn't like it that he'd run to them and they'd take
him in whenever he had a falling out with her."
"Yet you say that she saw Dalt paid off out of the Keep's treasure and
allowed him to ride away, after they'd forced her hand against Sharu
Garrul."
"Yup. Big argument at the time, too, between Rinaldo and his mom, over
just that point. And she finally gave in. That's the way I heard it from a
couple of guys who were there. One of the few times the boy actually stood
up to her and won, they say. In fact, that's why the guys deserted. She
ordered all witnesses to their argument executed, they told me. They were
the only ones managed to get away."
"Tough lady."
"Yup."
We walked on back to the area where we'd been seated and ate some more
food. The song of the wind rose in pitch and a storm began out at sea. I
asked Dave about big doglike creatures, and he told me that packs of them
would probably be feasting on the battle's victims tonight. They were native
to the area.
"We divide the spoils," he said. "I want the rations, the wine and any
valuables. They just want the dead."
"What good are the valuables to you?" I said.
He looked suddenly apprehensive, as if I were considering the
possibility of robbing him.
"Oh, it don't really amount to much. It's just that I've always been a
thrifty person," he said, "and I make it sound more important than it is.
"You never can tell," he added.
"That's true," I agreed.
"How'd you get here anyway, Merle?" he asked quickly, as if to get my
mind off the subject of his loot.
"Walked," I said.
"That don't sound right. Nobody comes here willingly."
"I didn't know I was coming here. Don't think I'll be staying long
either," I said, as I saw him take up the small knife and begin toying with
it. "No sense going below and begging after hospitality at a time like
this."
"That's true," he remarked.
Was the old coot actually thinking of attacking me, to protect his
cache? He could be more than a little mad by now, living up here alone in
his stinking cave, pretending to be a saint.
"Would you be interested in returning to Kashfa," I said, "if I could
set you on the right trail?"
He gave me a crafty look. "You don't know that much about Kashfa," he
said, "or you wouldn't have been asking me all those questions. Now you say
you can send me home?"
"I take it you're not interested?"
He sighed. "Not really, not any more. It's too late now. This is my
home. I enjoy being a hermit."
I shrugged. "Well, thanks for feeding me, and thanks for all the news."
I got to my feet.
"Where are you going now?" he asked.
"I think I'll look around some, then head for home." I backed away from
that small lunatic glow in his eyes.
He raised the knife, his grip tightened on it. Then he lowered it and
cut another piece of cheese.
"Here, you can take some of the cheese with you if you want," he said.
"No, that's okay. Thanks."
"Just trying to save you some money. Have a good trip."
"Right. Take it easy."
I heard his chuckling all the way back to the trail. Then the wind
drowned it.
I spent the next several hours reconnoitering. I moved around in the
hills. I descended into the steaming, quaking lands. I walked along the
seashore. I passed through the rear of the normal-seeming area and crossed
the neck of the ice field. In all of this, I stayed as far from the Keep
itself as possible. I wanted to fix the place as firmly in mind as I could,
so that I could End my way back through Shadow rather than crossing a
threshold the hard way. I saw several packs of wild dogs on my journey, but
they were more intent upon the battle's corpses than anything that moved.
There were oddly inscribed boundary stones at each topographical
border, and I found myself wondering whether they were mapmakers' aids or
something more. Finally, I wrestled one from the burning land over about
fifteen feet into a region of ice and snow. I was knocked down almost
immediately by a heavy tremor; I was able to scramble away in time, however,
from the opening of a crevice and the spewing of geysers. The hot area
claimed that small slice of the cold land in less than half an hour.
Fortunately, I moved quickly to get out of the way of any further turmoil,
and I observed the balance of these phenomena from a distance. But there was
more to come.
I crouched back among the rocks, having reached the foothills of the
range from which I had started by crossing through a section of the volcanic
area. There, I rested and watched for a time while that small segment of
terrain rearranged itself and the wind smeared smoke and steam across the
land. Rocks bounced and rolled; dark carrion birds went out of their way to
avoid what had to be some interesting thermals.
Then I beheld a movement which I first assumed to be seismic in origin.
The boundary stone I had shifted rose slightly and jogged to the side. A
moment later, however, and it was elevated even farther, appearing almost as
if it had been levitated slightly above the ground. Then it drifted across
the blasted area, moving in a straight line at a uniform speed, until -as
nearly as I could judge-it had recovered its earlier position. And there it
settled. Moments later the turmoil recommenced, and this time it was a
jolting shrug of the ice sheet, jerking back, reclaiming the invaded area.
I called up my Logrus sight, and I was able to make out a dark glow
surrounding the stone. This was connected by a long, straight, steady stream
of light of the same general hue, extending from a high rear tower of the
Keep. Fascinating. I would have given a lot for a view of the interior of
that place.
Then, born with a sigh, maturing to a whistle, a whirlwind rose from
the disputed area, growing, graying, swaying, to advance suddenly toward me
like the swung proboscis of some cloudy, sky-high elephant. I turned and
climbed higher, weaving my way amid rocks and around the shoulders of
hillsides. The thing pursued, as if there were an intelligence guiding its
movements. And the way it hung together while traversing that irregular
terrain indicated an artificial nature, which in this place most likely
meant magic.
It takes some time to determine an appropriate magical defense, and
even more time to bring it into being. Unfortunately, I was only about a
minute ahead of the posse, and that margin was probably dwindling.
When I spotted the long narrow crevice beyond the next turning, jagged
as a limb of lightning, I paused only an instant to peer into its depth, and
then I was descending, my tattered garments lashed about me, the windy tower
a rumbling presence at my back. . . .
The way ran deep and so did I, following its jogs, its twistings. The
rumble rose to a roar, and I coughed at the cloud of dust that engulfed me.
A hailstorm of gravel assailed me. I threw myself Bat then, about eight feet
below the surface of the land, and covered my head with my arms, for I
believed that the thing was about to pass directly above me.
I muttered warding spells as I lay there, despite their minuscule
parrying effect at this distance against such an energy-intensive
manifestation. I did not jump up when the silence came. It could be that the
tornado's driver had withdrawn support and collapsed the funnel on seeing
that I might be out of reach. It could also be the eye of the storm, with
more to come, by and by.
While I did not jump up, I did look up, because I hate to miss
educational opportunities.
And there was the face-or, rather, the mask-at the center of the storm,
regarding me. It was a projection, of course, larger than life and not fully
substantial. The head was cowled; the mask was full and cobalt bright and
strongly reminiscent of the sort worn by goalies in ice hockey; there were
two vertical breathing slits from which pale smoke emerged-a touch too
theatrical For my taste; a lower series of random punctures was designed to
give the impression of a sardonically lopsided mouth. A distorted sound of
laughter came down to me from it.
"Aren't you overdoing it a bit?" I said, coming up into a crouch and
raising the Logrus between us. "For a kid on Halloween, yes. But we're all
adults here, aren't we? A simple domino would probably serve-"
"You moved my stone!" it said.
"I've a certain academic interest in such matters," I offered, easing
myself into the extensions. "Nothing to get upset about. Is that you, Jasra?
I-"
The rumbling began again, softly at first, then building once more.
"I'll make a deal," I said. "You call off the storm, and I'll promise
not to move any more markers."
Again, the laughter as the storm sounds rose.
"Too late," came the reply. "Too late for you. Unless you're a lot
tougher than you look."
What the hell! The battle is not always to the strong, and nice guys
tend to win because they're the ones who get to write their memoirs. I'd
been fiddling with the Logrus projections against the insubstantiality of
the mask until I found the link, the opening leading back to its source. I
stabbed through it-a thing on the order of an electrical discharge-at
whatever lay behind.
There came a scream. The mask collapsed, the storm collapsed, and I was
on my feet and running again. When whatever I'd hit recovered I did not want
to be in the same place I had been because that place might be subject to
sudden disintegration.
I had a choice of cutting off into Shadow or seeking an even faster
path of retreat. If a sorcerer were to tag me as I started shadow-slipping I
could be followed. So I dug out my Trumps and shuffled forth Random's. I
rounded the next fuming of the way then, and I would have had to halt there
anyway, I saw, because it narrowed to a width impossible for me to pass. I
raised the card and reached with my mind.
There followed contact, almost immediately. But even as the images
solidified I felt a probe. I was certain that it was my blue-masked nemesis
seeking me once more.
But Random came clear, seated before a drum set, sticks in hand. He set
aside the drumsticks and rose.
"It's about time," he said, and he extended his hand.
Even as I reached I felt something rushing toward me. As our fingers
touched and I stepped forward, they burst about me like a giant wave.
I passed through into the music room in Amber. Random had opened his
mouth to speak again when the cascade of flowers fell upon us.
Brushing violets from his shirtfront, he regarded me.
"I'd rather you said it with words," he remarked.
4
Portrait of the artists, purposes crossed, temperature falling, . . .
Sunny afternoon, and walking through small park following light lunch,
us, prolonged silences and monosyllabic responses to conversational sallies
indicating all's not well at other end of communication's taut line. Upon
bench, seated then, facing flower beds, souls catch up with bodies, words
with thoughts...
"Okay, Merle. What's the score?" she asks.
"I don't know what game you're talking about, Julia."
"Don't get cute. All I want's a straight answer....
