Roger Zelazny. Blood of Amber
страница №7
...id, "If I had a million dollars, tax free,I'd ..." and Julia had laughed as she listened.
"What's funny?" I asked her.
"His wish list," she said. "I'd want a closet full. of designer dresses
and some elegant jewelry to go with them. Put the closet in a really nice
house, and put the house someplace where I'd be important. . . ."
Luke smiled. "I detect a shift from money to power," he said.
"Maybe so," she replied. "But what's the difference, really?"
"Money buys things," Luke said. "Power makes things happen. If you ever
have a choice, take the power."
Gail's usual faint smile had faded, and she wore a very serious
expression.
"I don't believe power should be an end in itself," she said. "One has
it only to use it in certain ways."
Julia laughed. "What's wrong with a power trip?" she asked. "It sounds
like fun to me."
"Only till you run into a greater power," Luke said.
"Then you have to think big," Julia answered.
"That's not right," Gail said. "One has duties and they come first."
Luke was studying her now, and he nodded.
"You can keep morality out of it," Julia said.
"No, you can't," Luke responded.
"I disagree," she said.
Luke shrugged.
"She's right," Gail said suddenly. "I don't see that duty and morality
are the same thing."
"Well, if you've got a duty," Luke said, "something you absolutely must
do- a matter of honor, say-then that becomes your morality."
Julia looked at Luke, looked at Gail. "Does that mean we just agreed on
something?" she asked.
"No," Luke said, "I don't think so."
Gail took a drink. "You're talking about a personal code that need not
have anything to do with conventional morality."
"Right," Luke said.
"Then it's not really morality. You're just talking duty," she said.
"You're right on the duty," Luke answered. "But it's still morality."
"Morality is the values of a civilization;' she said.
"There is no such thing as civilization," Luke replied. "The word just
means the art of living in cities."
"All right, then. Of a culture," she said.
"Cultural values are relative things," Luke said, smiling, "and mine
say I'm right."
"Where do yours come from?" Gail asked, studying him carefully.
"Let's keep this pure and philosophical, huh?" he said.
"Then maybe we should drop the term entirely," Gail said, "and just
stick with duty."
"What happened to power?" Julia asked.
"It's in there somewhere," I said.
Suddenly Gail looked perplexed, as if our discussion were not something
which had been repeated a thousand times in different forms, as if it had
actually given rise to some new turn of thought.
"If they are two different things," she said slowly, "which one is more
important?
"They're not;" Luke said. "They're the same."
"I don't think so," Julia told him. "But duties tend to be clear-cut,
and it sounds as if you can choose your own morality. So if I had to have
one I'd go with the morality."
"I like things that are clear-cut," Gail said.
Luke chugged his beer, belched lightly. "Shit!" he said. "Philosophy
class isn't till Tuesday. This is the weekend. Who gets the next round,
Merle?"
I placed my left elbow on the tabletop and opened my hand.
While we pushed together, the tension building and building between us,
he said through clenched teeth, "I was right, wasn't I?"
"You were right," I said, just before I forced his arm all the way
down.
Power.
I removed my mail from the little locked box in the hallway and carried
it upstairs to my apartment. There were two bills, some circulars and
something thick and first class without a return address on it.
I closed the door behind me, pocketed my keys and dropped my briefcase
onto a nearby chair. I had started toward the sofa when the telephone in the
kitchen rang.
Tossing the mail toward the coffee table, I turned and started for the
kitchen. The blast that occurred behind me might or might not have been
strong enough to knock me over. I don't know, because I dove forward of my
own volition as soon as it occurred. I hit my head on the leg of the kitchen
table. It dazed me somewhat, but I was otherwise undamaged. All the damage
was in the other room. By the time I got to my feet the phone had stopped
ringing.
I already knew there were lots of easier ways to dispose of junk mail,
but I wondered for a long time afterward who it was that had been on the
telephone.
I sometimes remembered the first of the series, too, the truck that had
come rushing toward me. I had only caught a glimpse of the driver's face
before I'd moved-inert, he was completely expressionless, as if he were
dead, hypnotized, drugged or somehow possessed. Choose any of the above, I
decided, and maybe more than one.
And then there was the night of the muggers. They had attacked me
without a word. When it was all over and I was heading away, I had glanced
back once. I thought I'd glimpsed a shadowy figure draw back into a doorway
up the street-a smart precaution, I'd say, in light of what had been going
on. But of course it could have been someone connected with the attack, too.
I was tom. The person was too far off to have been able to give a good
description of me. If I went back and it turned out to be an innocent
bystander, there would then be a witness capable of identifying me. Not that
I didn't think it was an open-and-shut case of selfdefense, but there'd be a
lot of hassle. So I said the hell with it, and I walked on. Another
interesting April 30.
The day of the rifle. There had been two shots as I'd hurried down the
street. They'd both missed me before I'd realized what was going on,
chipping brickbats From the side of the building to my left. There was no
third shot, but there was a thud and a splintering sound from the building
across the street. A third-floor window stood wide open.
I hurried over. It was an old apartment house and the front door was
locked, but I didn't slow down for niceties. I located the stair and mounted
it. When I came to what I thought was the proper room, I decided to try the
door the old-fashioned way and it worked. It was unlocked.
I stood to the side and pushed it open and saw that the place was
unfurnished and empty. Unoccupied, too, it seemed. Could I have been wrong?
But then I saw that the window facing the street stood wide and I saw what
lay upon the floor. I entered and closed the door behind me.
A broken rifle lay in the comer. From markings on the stock I guessed
that it had been swung with great force against a nearby radiator before it
had been cast aside. Then I saw something else on the floor, something wet
and red. Not much. Just a few drops.
I searched the place quickly. It was small. The one window in its
single bedroom also stood open and I went to it. There was a fire escape
beyond it, and I decided that it might be a good way for me to make my exit,
too.
There were a few more drops of blood on the black metal, but that was
it. No one was in sight below, or in either direction.
Power.
To kill. To preserve. Luke, Jasra, Gail. Who was responsible for what?
The more I thought of it, the more it seemed possible that there might
have been a telephone call on the morning of the open gas jets, too. Could
that be what had roused me to an awareness of danger? Each time I thought of
these matters there seemed to be a slight shifting of emphasis. Things stood
in a different light. According to Luke and the pseudo
Vinta,I was not in great danger in the later episodes, but it seemed
that any of those things could have taken me out. Who was I to blame? The
perpetrator? Or the savior who barely saved? And who was which? I remembered
how my father's story had been complicated by that damned auto accident
which played like Last Year at Marienbad-though his had seemed simple
compared to everything that was coming down on me. At least he knew what he
had to do most of the time. Could I be the inheritor of a family curse
involving complicated plotting?
Power.
I remembered Uncle Suhuy's final lesson. He had spent some time
following my completion of the Logrus in teaching me things I could not
have learned before then. There came a time when I thought I was finished. I
had been confirmed in the Art and dismissed. It seemed I had covered all the
basics and anything more would be mere elaboration. I began making
preparations for my journey to the shadow Earth. Then one morning Suhuy sent
for me. I assumed that he just wanted to say good-bye and give me a few
friendly words of advice.
His hair is white, he is somewhat stooped and there are days when he
carries a staff. This was one of them. He had on his yellow caftan, which I
had always thought of as a working garment rather than a social one.
"Are you ready for a short trip?" he asked me.
"Actually, it's going to be a long one," I said. "But I'm almost
ready."
"No," he said. "That was not the journey I meant."
"Oh. You mean you want to go somewhere right now?"
"Come," he said.
So I followed him, and the shadows parted before us. We moved through
increasing bleakness, passing at last into places that bore no sign of life
whatsoever. Dark, sterile rock lay all about us, stark in the brassy light
of a dim and ancient sun. This final place was chill and dry, and when we
halted and I looked about, I shivered.
I waited, to see what he had in mind. But it was a long while before he
spoke. He seemed oblivious of my presence for a time, simply staring out
across the bleak landscape.
Finally, "I have taught you the ways of Shadow," he said slowly, "and
the composition of spells and their working."
I said nothing. His statement did not seem to require a reply.
"So you know something of the ways of power," he continued. "You draw
it from the Sign of Chaos, the Logrus, and you invest it in various ways."
He glanced at me at last, and I nodded.
"I understand that those who bear the Pattern, the Sign of Order, may
do similar things in ways that may or may not be similar," he went on. "I do
not know for certain, for I am not an initiate of the Pattern. I doubt the
spirit could stand the strain of knowing the ways of both. But you should
understand that there is another way of power, antithetical to our own.
"I understand," I said, for he seemed to be expecting an answer.
"But you have a resource available to you," he said, "which those of
Amber do not. Watch!"
His final word did not mean that I should simply observe as he leaned
his staff against the side of a boulder and raised his hands before him. It
meant that I should have the Logrus before me so I could see what he was
doing at that level. So I summoned my vision and watched him through it.
Now the vision that hung before him seemed a continuation of my own,
stretched and twisting. I saw and felt it as he joined his hands with it and
extended a pair of its jagged limbs outward across the distance to touch
upon a boulder that lay downhill of us.
"Enter the Logrus now yourself," he said, "remaining passive. Stay with
me through what I am about to do. Do not, at any time, attempt to
interfere."
"I understand," I said.
I moved my hands into my vision, shifting them about, feeling after
congruity, until they became a part of it.
"Good," he said, when I had settled them into place. "Now all you need
do is observe, on all levels."
Something pulsed along the limbs he controlled, passing down to the
boulder. I was not prepared for what came after.
The image of the Logrus turned black before me, becoming a seething
blot of inky turmoil. An awful feeling of disruptive power surged through
me, an enormous destructive force that threatened to overwhelm me, to carry
me into the blissful nothingness of ultimate disorder. A part of me seemed
to desire this, while another part was screaming wordlessly for it to cease.
But Suhuy maintained control of the phenomenon, and I could see how he was
doing it, just as I had seen how he had brought it into being in the first
place.
The boulder became one with the turmoil, joined it and was gone. There
was no explosion, no implosion, only the sensation of great cold winds and
cacophonous sounds. Then my uncle moved his hands slowly apart, and the
lines of seething blackness followed them, flowing out in both directions
from that area of chaos which had been the boulder, producing a long dark
trench wherein I beheld the paradox of both nothingness and activity.
Then he stood still, arresting it at that point. Moments later, he
spoke. "I could simply release it," he stated, "letting it run wild. Or I
could give it a direction and then release it."
As he did not continue,I asked, "What would happen then? Would it
simply continue until it had devastated the entire shadow?"
"No," he replied. "There are limiting factors. The resistance of Order
to Chaos would build as it extended itself. There would come a point of
containment."
"And if you remained as you are, and kept summoning more?"
"One would do a great deal of damage."
"And if we combined our efforts?"
"More extensive damage. But that is not the lesson I had in mind. I
will remain passive now while you control it."
So I took over the Sign of the Logrus and ran the line of disruption
back upon itself in a great circle, like a dark moat surrounding us.
"Banish it now," he said, and I did.
Still, the winds and the sounds continued to rage, and I could not see
beyond the dark wall which seemed to be advancing slowly upon us from all
sides.
"Obviously, the limiting factor has yet to be achieved," I observed.
He chuckled. "You're right. Even though you stopped, you exceeded a
certain critical limit, so that it is now running wild."
"Oh," I said. "How long till those natural limitations you mentioned
dampen it?"
"Sometime after it has completely annihilated the area on which we
stand," he said.
"It is receding in all directions as well as heading this way?" "Yes."
"Interesting. What is the critical mass?"
"I'll have to show you. But we'd better find a new place first. This
one is going away. Take my hand."
I did, and he conducted me to another shadow. This time I summoned the
Chaos and conducted the operations while he observed. This time I did not
let it run wild.
When I had finished and I stood, shaken, staring into a small crater I
had caused, he placed his hand on my shoulder and told me, "As you knew in
theory, that is the ultimate power behind your spells. Chaos itself. To work
with it directly is dangerous. But, as you have seen, it can be done. Now
you know it, your training is complete."
It was more than impressive. It was awesome. And for most situations I
could visualize it was rather like using nukes for skeet shooting. Offhand,
I couldn't think of any circumstances under which I would care to employ the
technique, until Victor Melman really pissed me off.
Power, in its many shapes, varieties, sizes and styles, continues to
fascinate me. It has been so much a part of my life for so long that I feel
very familiar with it, though I doubt that I will ever understand it fully.
10
"It's about time," I said, to whatever lurked in the shad
ows. The sound that followed was not human. It was a low
snarl. I wondered what manner of beast I confronted. I was certain an
attack was imminent, but it did not come. Instead the growl died down, and
whatever it was spoke again.
"Feel your fear," came the whisper.
"Feel your own," I said, "while you still can."
The sounds of its breathing came heavy. The flames danced at my back.
Smoke had drawn as far away across the campsite as his lengthy tether
permitted.
"I could have killed you while you slept," it said slowly. "Foolish of
you not to," I said. "It will cost you."
"I want to look at you, Merlin," it stated. "I want to see you puzzled.
I want to see your fear. I want to see your anguish before I see your
blood." "Then I take it this is a personal rather than a business matter?"
There came a strange noise which it took me several moments to inter
pret as an inhuman throat trying to manage a chuckle.
Then, "Let us say that, magician," it responded. "Summon your Sign and
your concentration will waver. I will know it and will rend you before you
can employ it."
"Kind of you to warn me."
"I just wanted to foreclose that option in your thinking. The thing
wound about your left wrist will not help you in time either."
"You have good vision."
"In these matters, yes."
"You wish perhaps to discuss the philosophy of revenge with me now?"
"I am waiting for you to break and do something foolish, to increase my
pleasure. I have limited your actions to the physical, so you are doomed."
"Keep waiting, then," I said.
There was a sound of movement within the brush as something drew
nearer. I still could not see it, though. I took a step to my left then, to
allow firelight to reach that darkened area. At that, something shone, low.
The light was reflected, yellow, from a single glaring eye.
I lowered the point of my weapon, directing it toward the eye. What the
hell. Every creature I know of tries to protect its eyes.
"Banzai!" I cried, as I lunged. The conversation seemed to have
stagnated, and I was anxious to get on to other matters.
It rose instantly and with great power and speed rushed toward me,
avoiding my thrust. It was a large, black, lop-eared wolf, and it slipped
past a frantic slash I managed and went straight for my throat.
My left forearm came up automatically and I thrust it forward into the
open jaws. At the same time, I brought the hilt of my blade across and
slammed it against the side of its head. At this, the clamping force of the
bite loosened even as I was home over backward, but the grip remained,
penetrating shirt and flesh. And I was turning and pulling before I hit the
ground, wanting to land on top, knowing I wouldn't.
I landed on my left side, attempting to continue the roll, and added
another belt of the pommel to the side of the beast's skull. It was then
that fortune favored me, for a change, when I realized that we lay near the
lip of my firs pit and were still turning in that direction. I dropped my
weapon and sought its throat with my right hand. It was heavily muscled, and
there was no chance of crushing the windpipe in time. But that was not what
I was after.
My hand went up high and back beneath the lower jaw, where I commenced
squeezing with all my strength. I scrabbled with my feet until I found
purchase and then pushed with my legs as well as my arms. Our movement
continued the short distance necessary to push its snarling head back into
the fire.
For a moment nothing happened save the steady trickle of blood from my
forearm into its mouth and out again. The grip of its jaws was still strong
and painful.
Seconds later, my arm was released as the fur of its neck and head
caught fire and it struggled to draw away from the flames. I was thrust
aside as it rose and pulled free, an ear-piercing howl rising from its
throat. I rolled to my knees and raised my hands, but it did not come at me
again. Instead, it rushed past me into the woods in the opposite direction
from which it had come.
I snatched up my blade and took off after it. No time to pause and pull
on my boots; I was able to shapeshift the soles of my feet a bit to toughen
them against the litter and irregularity of the forest floor. My adversary
was still in sight, for its head still smoldered; though I might have been
able to follow just from the howling, which was almost continuous. And
strangely, the tone and character of the howls was changing, sounding more
and more like human cries and less like the complaint of a wolf. Strangely,
too, the beast was fleeing with something less than the speed and guile I
would have expected from one of its kind. I heard it crashing through the
shrubbery and running into trees. On several of these latter occasions, it
even emitted sounds that seemed to bear the pattern of human cursing. So I
was able to stay closer to it than I had any reason to expect, even gaining
on it somewhat after the first few minutes.
Then, suddenly, I realized its apparent destination.I saw again that
pale light I had noted earlier-brighter now and its source larger, as we
moved toward it. Roughly rectangular in shape, I judged it as being eight or
nine feet in height, perhaps five in width. I forgot about hacking the wolf
by ear and headed for the light. That had to be its goal, and I wanted to
reach it first.
I ran on. The wolf was ahead of me and to my left. Its hair had ceased
to blaze now, though it still snarled and yipped as it rushed along. Before
us, the light grew brighter still, and I was able to see into it-through it
and distinguish some of its features for the first time. I saw a hillside
with a low stone building upon it, approached by a flagged walkway and a
series of stone steps-framed like a picture within the rectangle-hazy at
first, but coming clearer with each step. It was a cloudy afternoon within
the picture, and the thing stood about twenty meters away now, in the midst
of a clearing.
I realized as I saw the beast burst into the clearing that I was not
going to be able to reach the place in time to snatch up the thing I knew
must lie nearby. Still, I thought I might have a chance of catching the
creature and halting its passage.
But it put on additional speed once it was in the clear. I could see
the scene toward which it was headed more clearly than anything else in the
vicinity. I shouted to distract it, but that did not work. My final burst of
speed was not good enough. Then, on the ground, near the threshold, I saw
what I was looking for. Too late. Even as I watched, the beast lowered its
head and caught up in its teeth a flat rectangular object, without even
breaking stride.
I halted and turned away as it plunged ahead, dropping my blade as I
dove, rolling, continuing to roll.
I felt the force of the silent explosion, followed by the implosion and
the small series of shock waves. I lay there thinking nasty thoughts until
the turmoil had ceased; then I rose and retrieved my weapon.
The night was normal about me once again. Starlight.The wind in the
pines. There was no need for me to turn, though I did, to know that the
thing toward which I had been racing but moments before was now gone,
without leaving any sign that it had been there, bright doorway to another
place.
I hiked back to my camp and spent a while talking to Smoke, calming
him. I donned my boots and cloak then, kicked dirt over the embers in my
pit, and led the horse back to the road.
I mounted there and we moved on up the road toward Amber for the better
part of an hour, before I settled upon a new campsite under a bonewhite
piece of moon.
The rest of my night was untroubled. I was awakened by increased light
and morning bird calls through the pines. I took care of Smoke, breakfasted
quickly on the remains of my rations, put myself in the best order I could
and was on my way within half an hour.
It was a cool morning, with banks of cumulus far off to my left, clear
skies overhead. I did not hurry. My main reason for riding back rather than
trumping home was to learn a little more of what this area near Amber was
like, and the other was to gain a bit of solitude for thinking. With Jasra a
prisoner, Luke in sick bay and Ghostwheel occupied it seemed that any major
threats to Amber or myself were in abeyance, and a small breathing spell
could be justified. I felt that I was actually near to a point where I could
handle everything personally with regard to Luke and Jasra, as soon as I'd
worked out a few more details. And I was certain I could deal with Ghost
after that, as I'd found our most recent conversation somewhat encouraging.
That was the big stuff. I could worry about loose ends later. A two-bit
wizard like Sharu Garrul was only a pain when considered in conjunction with
everything else that was troubling me. Dueling with him would be no problem
when I had a bit of leisure-though I had to admit I was puzzled as to why he
should be interested in me at all.
Then there was the matter of the entity which had for a time been
Vinta. While I saw no real threat in it, there was certainly a mystery which
affected my peace of mind, and which seemed ultimately to have something to
do with my security. This, too, was a matter to be dealt with when that bit
of leisure finally came along.
And Luke's offer to reveal a piece of information vital to Amber's
security, once Jasra was rescued, troubled me. Because I believed him, and I
believed he'd keep his word. I had a hunch, though, that he wouldn't be
giving it away unless it was too late to do much about it. Guesswork was, of
course, futile; there was no way of knowing what preparations would be
appropriate. Was the offer itself, no matter how authentic, also a bit of
psychological warfare? Luke had always been more subtle than his bluff
exterior seemed to indicate. It had taken me a long time to learn that, and
I wasn't about to forget it now.
I felt I could discount the business of the blue stones for the moment,
and I planned soon to be rid of all traces of their vibes. No problem there,
other than a mental string around the finger for extra wariness, just in
case -and I was already in that frame of mind, had been for some time.
That left the business of last night's wolf to be fitted into the
bigger picture.
Obviously, it had been no normal beast, and its intent had been
apparent enough. Other matters concerning its visit were less than clear,
however. Who or what was it? Was it a principal or an agent? And, if the
latter, who had sent it? And finally, finally, why?
Its clumsiness indicated to me-since I had tried that sort of business
myself in the past-that it was a shapeshifted human rather than a true wolf
magically gifted with speech. Most people who daydream of transforming
themselves into some vicious beast and going about tearing people's throats
out, dismembering them, disfiguring them and perhaps devouring them tend
mainly to dwell upon how much fun it would be and generally neglect the
practicalities of the situation. When you find yourself a quadruped, with a
completely different center of gravity and a novel array of sensory input,
it is not all that easy to get around for a time with any measure of grace.
One is generally far more vulnerable than one's appearance would lead others
to believe. And certainly one is nowhere near as lethal and efficient as the
real thing with a lifetime of practice behind it. No. I've always tended to
think of it more as a terrorist tactic than anything else.
Be that how it may, the manner of the beast's coming and going was
actually the main cause of my trepidation concerning the entire affair. It
had employed a Trump Gate, which is not a thing one does lightly-or at all,
for that matter, if it can be avoided. It is a flashy and spectacular thing
f; - to make Trump contact with some distant place and then pour tons of
power into the objectification of such a gateway as a form possessed for a
time of an independent existence. It is exceedingly profligate of energy and
effort-even a hellrun is much easier-to create one which will stand for even
fifteen minutes. It can drain most of your resources for a long while. Yet
this was what had occurred. The reason behind it did not trouble me, as much
as the fact that it had happened at all. For the only people capable of the
feat were genuine initiates of the Trumps. It couldn't be done by someone
who just happened to come into possession of a card.
Which narrowed the field considerably.
I tried to picture the werebeast about its errand. First, it would have
to locate me and-
Of course. I suddenly recalled the dead dogs in the grove near Arbor
House and the large doglike tracks in the vicinity. The thing had spotted me
sometime before, then, and had been watching, waiting. It had followed me
when I set out yesterday evening, and when I made my camp it made its move.
It set up-or was set up with-the Trump Gate, for a retreat that would brook
no pursuit. Then it came to kill me. And I had no way of telling whether it
involved Sharu Garrul, Luke's secret, the blue stones or the body-switching
entity's mission. For now it would simply have to dangle as yet another
loose end, while I concentrated on basics.
I overtook and passed a line of wagons headed for Amber. A few horsec
men went by me headed in the other direction. No one I knew, though everyone
waved. The clouds continued to mount to my left, but nothing resembling a
storm took shape. The day remained cool and sunny. The road dipped and rose
again, several times, though overall it rose more than it dipped. I stopped
at a large, busy inn for lunch, had a quick, filling meal and did not
linger. The road improved steadily after that, and it was not long before I
caught distant glimpses of Amber atop Kolvir, sparkling in the noonday
light.
Traffic grew heavier as the sun advanced through the heavens. I
continued to make plans and indulge in whatever speculations came to mind as
I rode on into afternoon. My uphill way took several turnings as the route
passed through the heights, but Amber remained in sight most of the time.
I recognized no one along the way, and I reached the Eastern Gatepart
of an ancient fortification-late in the afternoon. I made my way up East
Vine and stopped at the Bayle town house, where I had once attended a party.
I left Smoke with a groom at the stable in the rear, and they both seemed
happy to see each other. I walked around to the front door then and knocked.
A servant informed me that the Baron was out, so I identified myself and
gave him Vinta's message, which he promised to deliver when his employer
returned.
That duty out of the way, I proceeded up East Vine on foot. Near the
top, but before the slope grew roughly level, I smelled food and discarded
my plan of waiting to eat until I was back at the palace. I halted and cast
about me for the source of the aromas. I located it up a side sheet to my
right where the way widened into a large circle, a fountain at its centerin
which a rearing copper dragon with a wonderful green patina pissed into a
pink stone basin. The dragon faced a basement restaurant called the Pit,
with ten outside tables enclosed by a low fence of copper pickets, potted
plants along its inside perimeter. I crossed the circle. As I passed the
fountain I saw a great number of exotic coins within its clear water,
including a U.S. Bicentennial quarter. Crossing to the fenced area, I
entered, made my way through and was about to descend the stair when I heard
my name called.
"Merle! Over here!"
I looked about but did not see anyone I recognized at any of the four
occupied tables. Then, as my eyes retraced their route, I realized that the
older man at the corner table to my right was smiling.
"Bill!" I exclaimed.
Bill Roth rose to his feet-more a touch of display than any formality,
I realized immediately. I hadn't recognized him at first because he now
sported the beginnings of a grizzled beard and a mustache. Also, he had on
brown trousers with a silver stripe running down their outside seams,
vanishing into a pair of high brown boots. His shirt was silver with brown
piping, and a black cloak lay folded upon the chair to his right. A wide
black sword belt lay atop it and a sheathed blade of short-to-medium length
was hung upon it.
"You've gone native. Also, you've lost some weight."
"True," he said, "and I'm thinking of retiring here. It agrees with
me."
We seated ourselves.
"Did you order yet?" I asked him.
"Yes, but I see a waiter on the stair now," he said. "Let me catch him
for you."
Which he did, and ordered for me too.
"Your Thari's much better," I said afterward.
"Lots of practice," he replied.
"What've you been doing?"
"I've sailed with Gerard. I've been to Deiga, and to one of Julian's
camps in Arden. Visited Rebma, too. Fascinating place. I've been taking
fencing lessons. And Droppa's been showing me around town."
"All the bars, most likely."
"Well, that's not all. In fact, that's why I'm here. He owns a half
interest in the Pit, and I had to promise him I'd eat here a lot. A good
place, though. When did you get back?"
"Just now," I said, "and I've another long story for you."
"Good. Your stories tend to be bizarre and convoluted," he said. "Just
the thing for a cool autumn's eve. Let's hear it."
I talked throughout dinner and for a long while afterward.The day'send
chill began making it uncomfortable then, so we headed for the palace. I
finally wound up my narrative over hot cider in front of the fireplace in
one of the smaller rooms in the eastern wing.
Bill shook his head. "You do manage to stay busy," he finally said. "I
have just one question."
"What?"
"Why didn't you bring Luke in?"
"I already told you."
"It wasn't much of a reason. For some nebulous piece of information he
says is important to Amber? And you've got to catch him to get it?"
"It's not like that at all."
"He's a salesman, Merle, and he sold you a line of shit. That's what I
think."
"You're wrong, Hill. I know him."
"For a long time," he agreed. "But how well? We've been all through
this before. What you don't know about Luke far outweighs what you do know."
"He could have gone elsewhere, but he came to me."
"You're part of his plan, Merle. He intends to get at Amber through
you."
"I don't think so," I said. "It's not his style."
"I think he'll use anything that comes to hand-or anyone." I shrugged.
"I believe him. You don't. That's all."
"I guess so," he said. "What are you going to do now, wait and see what
happens?"
"I've a plan," I said. "Just because I believe him doesn't mean I won't
take out insurance. But I've a question for you."
"Yes?"
"If I brought him back here and Random decided the facts weren't
clear enough and he wanted a hearing, would you represent Luke?"
His eyes widened, and then he smiled. "What kind of hearing?" he asked.
"I don't know how such things are conducted here."
"As a grandson of Oberon," I explained, "he'd come under House Law.
Random is head of the House now. It would be up to him whether to forget
about a thing, render a summary judgment or call a hearing. As I understand
it, such a hearing could be as formal or informal as Random wanted. There
are books on the subject in the library. But a person has always had the
right to be represented at one if he wanted."
"Of course I'd take the case," Bill said. "It doesn't sound like a
legal experience that comes along too often.
"But it might look like a conflict of interest," he added, "since I
have done work for the Crown."
I finished my cider and put the glass on the mantelpiece. I yawned. "I
have to go now, Bill."
He nodded; then, "This is all just hypothetical, isn't it?" he asked.
"Of course," I said. "It might turn out to be my hearing. G'night." He
studied me. "Uh-this insurance you were talking about," he said.
"It probably involves something risky, doesn't it?"
I smiled.
"Nothing anyone could help you with, I suppose?"
"Nope."
"Well, good luck."
"Thanks."
"See you tomorrow?"
"Later in the day, maybe. . . ."
I went to my room and sacked out. I had to get some rest before I went
about the business I had in mind. I don't recall any dreams, pro or con, on
the matter.
It was still dark when I woke. Good to know that my mental alarm was
working.
It would have been very pleasant to turn over and go back to sleep, but
I couldn't allow myself the luxury. The day that lay ahead was to be an
exercise in timing. Accordingly, I got up, cleaned up and dressed myself in
fresh clothes.
I headed for the kitchen then, where I made myself some tea and toast
and scrambled a few eggs with chilis and onions and a bit of pepper. I
turned up some melka fruit from the Snelters, too-something I hadn't had in
a long while.
Afterward, I went out through the rear and made my way into the garden.
Dark it was, moonless and damp, with a few wisps of mist exploring invisible
paths. I followed a path to the northwest. The world was a very quiet place.
I let my thoughts get that way, too. It was to be a onething-at-a-time day,
and I wanted to start it off with that habit of mind in place.
I walked until I ran out of garden, passing through a break in a hedge
and continuing along the rough trail my path had become. It mounted slowly
for the first few minutes, took an abrupt turn and grew immediately steeper.
I paused at one jutting point and looked back, from where I was afforded a
view of the dark outline of the palace, a few lighted windows within it.
Some scatters of cirrus high above looked like raked starlight in the
celestial garden over which Amber brooded. I turned away moments later.
There was still a good distance to travel.
When I reached the crest I was able to discern a faint line of
lightening to the east, beyond the forest I had traversed so recently. I
hurried past the three massive steps of song and story and began my descent
to the north. Slow at first, the way I followed steepened abruptly after a
time and led off to the northeast, then into a gentler decline. When it
swung back to the northwest there was another steep area followed by another
easy one, and I knew the going would be fine after that. The high shoulder
of Kolvir at my back blocked all traces of the pre-dawn light I had
witnessed earlier, and star-hung night lay before me and above, rubbing
outlines to ambiguity on all but the nearest boulders. Still, I knew
approximately where I was going, having been this way once before, though
I'd only halted briefly at that time.
It was about two miles past the crest, and I slowed as I neared the
area, searching. It was a large, somewhat horseshoe-shaped declivity, and
when I finally located it I entered slowly, a peculiar feeling rising within
me. I had not consciously anticipated all my reactions in this matter; but
at some level I must have, I was certain.
As I moved into it, canyonlike walls of stone rising at either hand, I
came upon the trail and followed it. It led me slightly downhill, toward a
shadowy pair of trees, and then between them to where a low stone building
stood, various shrubs and grasses grown wild about it. I understand that the
soil was actually transported there to support the foliage, but afterward it
was forgotten and neglected.
I seated myself on one of the stone benches in front of the building
and waited for the sky to lighten. This was my father's tomb-well, cenotaph
-built long ago when he had been presumed dead. It had amused him
considerably to be able to visit the place later on. Now, of course, its
status might well have changed. It could be the real thing now. Would this
cancel the irony or increase it? I couldn't quite decide. It bothered me,
though, more than I'd thought it would. I had not come here on a pilgrimage.
I had come here for the peace and quiet a sorcerer of my sort needs in order
to hang some spells. I had come here-
Perhaps I was rationalizing. I had chosen this spot because, real tomb
or fake, it had Corwin's name on it, so it raised a sense of his presence,
for me. I had wanted to get to know him better, and this might be as close
as I could ever come. I realized, suddenly, why I had trusted Luke. He had
been right, back at the Arbor House. If I learned of Corwin's death and saw
that blame could be fixed for it, I knew that I would drop everything else,
that I would go off to present the bill and collect it, that I would have to
close the account, to write the receipt in blood. Even had I not known Luke
as I did, it was easy to see myself in his actions and too uncomfortable a
thing to judge him.
Damn. Why must we caricature each other, beyond laughter or insight,
into the places of pain, frustration, conflicting loyalties?
I rose. There was enough light now to show me what I was doing.
I went inside and approached the niche where the empty stone
sarcophagus stood. It seemed an ideal safe deposit box, but I hesitated when
I stood before it because my hands were shaking. It was ridiculous. I knew
that he wasn't in there, that it was just an empty box with a bit of carving
on it. Yet it was several minutes before I could bring myself to take hold
of the lid and raise it. . . .
Empty, of course, like so many dreams and fears. I tossed in the blue
button and lowered the lid again. What the hell. If Sharu wanted it back and
could find it here, let him have the message that he was walking close to
the grave when he played his games.
I went back outside, leaving my feelings in the crypt. It was time to
begin. I'd a mess of spells to work and hang, for I'd no intention of going
gently to the place where the wild winds blew.
11
I stood on the rise above the garden, admiring the autumn foliage
below. The wind played games with my cloak. A mellow afternoon light bathed
the palace. There was a chill in the air. A flock of dead leaves rushed,
lemming-like, past me and blew off the edge of the trail, rattling, into the
air.
I had not really stopped to admire the view, however. I had halted
while I blocked an attempted Trump contact-the day's second. The first had
occurred earlier, while I was hanging a spell like a rope of tinsel on the
image of Chaos. I figured that it was either Random-irritated that I was
back in Amber and had not seem fit to bring him up to date on my most recent
doings and my plans-or Luke, recovered now and wanting to request my
assistance in his move against the Keep. They both came to mind because they
were the two individuals I wished most to avoid; neither of them would much
like what I was about to do, though for different reasons.
The call faded, was gone, and I descended the trail, passed through the
hedge and entered the garden. I did not want to waste a spell to mask my
passage, so I took a trail to the left, which led through a series of arbors
where I was less exposed to the gaze of anyone who happened to glance out of
a window. I could have avoided this by humping in, but that card always
delivers one to the main hall, and I had no idea who might be there.
Of course, I was headed that way. . . .
I went back in the way I had come out, through the kitchen, helping
myself to a sandwich and a glass of milk on the way. Then I took the back
stairs up a flight, lurked a bit and made it to my rooms without being
spotted. There, I buckled on the sword belt I had left hanging at the head
of my bed, checked the blade, located a small dagger I had brought with me
from Chaos-a gift from the Pit-diver Borquist, whom I'd once fixed up with
an introduction that led to a patronage (he was a middling-good poet)-and
hung it on the other side of my belt. I pinned a Trump to the inside of my
left sleeve. I washed my hands and face and brushed my teeth, too. But then
I couldn't think of any other ways to stall. I had to go and do something I
feared. It was necessary to the rest of my plan. I was overwhelmed by a
sudden desire to be off sailing. Just lying on the beach would do, actually.
. . .
Instead, I departed my quarters and made my way back downstairs,
returning the way I had come. I headed west along the back corridor,
listening for footsteps and voices, retreating once into a closet to let
some nameless parties pass. Anything to avoid official notice for just a
little longer. Finally, I turned left, walked a few paces and waited the
better part of a minute before entering the major corridor, which led past
the large marble dining hall. No one in sight. Good. I sprinted to the
nearest entrance and peered within. Great. The place was not in use. It
wasn't normally used every day, but I'd no way of knowing whether today was
some state occasion-though this was not a normal dining hour either.
I entered and passed through. There is a dark, narrow corridor to its
rear, with a guard normally posted somewhere near the passage's mouth or the
door at its end. All members of the family have access there, though the
guard would log our passage. His superior wouldn't have that information
until the guard reported when he went off duty, though. By then it shouldn't
matter to me.
Tod was short, stocky, bearded. When he saw me coming he presented arms
with an ax that had been leaning against the wall moments before. "At ease.
Busy?" I asked.
"To tell the truth, no, sir."
"I'll be heading down. I hope there are some lanterns up here. I don't
know that stairway as well as most."
"I checked a number inside when I came on duty, sir. I'll light you
one."
Might as well save the energy that would have gone into the fire spell,
I decided. Every little bit helps...
"'Thanks."
He opened the door, hefted, successively, three lanterns which stood
inside to the right, selected the second one. He took it back outside, where
he lit it from the massive candle in its stand partway up the corridor.
"I'll be awhile," I said as I accepted it from him. "You'll probably be
off duty before I'm finished."
"Very good, sir. Watch your step."
"Believe me, I will."
The long spiraling stair turned round and round with very little
visible in any direction but below, where a few chimneyed candles, sconced
torches or hung lanterns flared along the central shaft, doing more for
acrophobia than absolute blackness might, I suppose. There were just those
little dots of light below me. I couldn't see the distant Boor, or any
walls. I kept one hand on the railing and held the lantern out in front with
the other. Damp down here. Musty, too. Not to mention chilly.
Again, I tried counting the steps. As usual, I lost count somewhere
along the way. Next time. . . .
My thoughts went back to that distant day when I had come this route
believing I was headed for death. The fact that I hadn't died was small
comfort now. It had still been an ordeal. And it was still possible that I
could screw up on it this time and get fried or go up in a puff of smoke.
Around, around. Down, down. Night thoughts in the middle of the
afternoon. . . .
On the other hand, I'd heard Flora say that it was easier the second
time around. She'd been talking about the Pattern moments before, and I
hoped that's what she was referring to.
The Grand Pattern of Amber, Emblem of Order. Matching in power the
Great Logrus of the Courts, Sign of Chaos. The tensions between the two seem
to generate everything that matters. Get involved with either, lose
control-and you're done for. Just my luck to be involved with both. I've no
one with whom to compare notes as to whether this makes things rougher,
though it massages my ego to think that the mark of the one makes the other
more difficult . . . and they do mark you, both of them. At some level you
are torn apart and reassembled along the lines of vast cosmic principles
when you undergo such an experience-which sounds noble, important,
metaphysical, spiritual and lovely, but is mainly a pain in the ass. It is
the price we pay for certain pawers, but there is no cosmic principle
requiring me to say I enjoy it.
Both the Pattern and the Logrus give to their initiates the ability to
traverse Shadow unassisted-Shadow being the generic term for the possibly
infinite collection of reality variations we play about in. And they also
give us other abilities. . . .
Around and down. I slowed. I was feeling slightly dizzy, just like
before. At least I wasn't planning on coming back this way. . . .
When the bottom finally came into sight I speeded up again. There was a
bench, a table, a few racks and cases, a light to show them all. Normally,
there was a guard on duty there, but I didn't see one. Could be off making
rounds, though. There were cells somewhere to the left in which particularly
unfortunate political prisoners might sometimes be found scrabbling about
and going slowly out of their minds. I didn't know whether there were any
such individuals doing time at the moment. I kind of hoped not. My father
had once been one, and from his description of the experience it did not
sound like easy time to do.
I halted when I reached the floor and called out a couple of times. I
got back a suitably eerie echo, but no answer.
I moved to the rack and took up a filled lantern with my other hand. An
extra one might come in handy. It was possible I would lose my way. I headed
to the right then. The tunnel I wanted lay in that direction. After a long
while, I stopped and raised a light, as it almost seemed I had come too far.
There was still no tunnel mouth in sight. I looked back. The guard post was
still in sight. I continued on, searching my memories of that last time.
Finally, there was a shifting of sounds-abrupt echoes of my footfalls.
It would seem I was nearing a wall, an obstacle. I raised a lantern again.
Yes. Pure darkness ahead. Gray stone about it. I went that way.
...
