“It’s about time,” I said, to whatever lurked in the shadows. 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 interpret 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.
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.
Dark. Far. There was a continuous shadow-show as my light slid over rocky irregularities, as its beams glanced off specks of brightness in the stone walls. Then there was a side passage to my left. I passed it and kept going. It seemed there should be another fairly soon. Yes. Two. . . .
The third was farther along. Then there was a fourth. I wondered idly where they all led. No one had ever said anything about them to me. Maybe they didn’t know either. Bizarre grottoes of indescribable beauty? Other worlds? Dead ends? Storerooms? One day, perhaps, when time and inclination came together. . . .
Five. . . .
And then another.
It was the seventh one I wanted. I halted when I came to it. It didn’t go back all that Ear. I thought of the others who’d passed this way, and then I strode ahead, to the big, heavy, metal-bound door. There was a great key hanging from a steel hook that had been driven into the wall to my right. I took it down, unlocked the door and hung it back up again, knowing that the downstairs guard would check it and re-lock it at some point in his rounds; and I wondered-not for the first time-why it should be locked that way in the first place if the key was kept right there. It made it seem as if there were danger from something that might emerge from within. I had asked about that, but no one I’d questioned seemed to know. Tradition, I’d been told. Gerard and Flora had suggested, respectively, that I ask Random or Fiona. And they had both thought Benedict might know, but I’d never remembered to ask him.
I pushed hard and nothing happened. I put down the lanterns and tried again, harder. The door creaked and moved slowly inward. I recovered the lanterns and entered.
The door closed itself behind me, and Frakir-child of Chaos-pulsed wildly. I recalled my last visit and remembered why no one had brought an extra lantern upon that occasion: The bluish glow of the Pattern within the smooth, black floor lit the grotto well enough for one to see one’s way about.
I lit the other lantern. I set the first one down at the near end of the Pattern and carried the other one with me about the periphery of the thing, setting it down at a point on its Farther side. I did not care that the Pattern provided sufficient illumination to take care of the business at hand. I found the damned thing spooky, cold and downright intimidating. Having an extra natural light near at hand made me feel a lot better in its presence.
I studied that intricate mass of curved lines as I moved to the comer where they began. I had quieted Frakir but I had not entirely subdued my own apprehensions. If it were a response of the Logrus within me, I wondered whether my reaction to the Logrus itself would be worse were I to go back and essay it again, now that I bore the Pattern as well. Fruitless speculation. . . .
I tried to relax. I breathed deeply. I shut my eyes for a moment. I bent my knees. I lowered my shoulders. No use waiting any longer. . . .
I opened my eyes and set my foot upon the Pattern. Immediately, sparks rose about my foot. I took another step. More sparks. A tiny crackling noise. Another step. A bit of resistance as I moved again. . . .
It all came back to me-everything I had felt the first time through: the chill, the small shocks, the easy areas and the difficult ones. There was a map of the Pattern somewhere inside me, and it was almost as if I read from it as I moved along that first curve, resistance rising, sparks flying, my hair stirring, the crackling, a kind of vibration. . . .
I reached the First Veil, and it was like walking in a wind tunnel. Every movement involved heavy effort. Resolve, though; that was all that it really took. If I just kept pushing I would advance, albeit slowly. The trick was not to stop. Starting again could be horrible, and in some places impossible. Steady pressure was all that was required just now. A few moments more and I would be through. The going would be easier. It was the Second Veil that was the real killer. . . .
Turn, turn. . . .
I was through. I knew the way would be easy now for a time. I began to stride with a bit of confidence. Perhaps Flora had been right. This part seemed a little less difficult than it had the first time. I negotiated a long curve, then a sharp switchback. The sparks reached up to my boottops now. My mind was flooded with April thirtieths, with family politics in the Courts, where people dueled and died as the succession to the succession to the succession wound and shifted its intricate way through blood rituals of status and elevation. No more. I was done with all that. Push it away. They might be a lot politer about it, but more blood was spilled there than in Amber, and for the damnedest small advantages over one’s fellows. . . .
I gritted my teeth. It was hard to keep my mind focused on the task at hand. Part of the effect, of course. I remembered that too, now. Another step. . . . Tingling sensations all the way up my legs. . . . The crackling sounds as loud as a storm to me. . . . One foot in front of the other. . . . Pick them up, put them down. . . . Hair standing on end now. : . . Turn. . . . Push. . . . Bringing the Starburst in before an autumn squall, Luke running the sails, wind like the breath of dragons at our back. . . . Three more steps and resistance rises. . . .
I am upon the Second Veil, and it is suddenly as if I am trying to push a car out of a muddy ditch. . . . All my strength goes forward, and the return on it is infinitesimal. I move with glacial slowness and the sparks are about my waist. I am blue flame. . . .
My mind is abruptly stripped of distraction. Even Time goes away and leaves me alone. There is only this pastless, nameless thing I am become, striving with its entire being against the inertia of all its days-an equation so finely balanced that I should be frozen here in mid-stride forever, save that this cancellation of masses and forces leaves the will unimpaired, purifies it in a way, so that the process of progress seems to transcend the physical striving. . . .
Another step, and another, and I am through, and ages older and moving again, and I know that I am going to make it despite the fact that I am approaching the Grand Curve, which is tough and tricky and long. Not at all like the Logrus. The power here is synthetic, not analytic. . . .
The universe seemed to wheel about me. Each step here made me feel as if I were fading and coming back into focus, being broken down and reassembled, scattered and gathered, dying and reviving. . . .
Outward. Onward. Three more curves then, followed by a straight line. I pushed ahead. Dizzy, nauseated. Soaking wet. End of the line. A series of arcs. Turn. Turn. Turn again. . . .
I knew that I was coming up to the Final Veil when the sparks rose to become a cage of lightnings and my feet began to drag again. The stillness and the terrible pushing. . . .
But this time I felt somehow fortified, and I drove onward knowing that I would win through. . . .
I made it, shaking, and only a single short arc remained. Those final three steps may well be the worst, however. It is as if, having gotten to know you this well, the Pattern is reluctant to release you. I fought it here, my ankles sore as at any race’s end. Two steps. . . . Three
Off. Standing still. Panting and shuddering. Peace. Gone the static. Gone the sparks. If that didn’t wash off the blue stones’ vibes I didn’t know what would.
Now-well, in a minute-I could go anywhere. From this point, in this moment of empowerment, I could command the Pattern to transport me anywhere and I would be there delivered. Hardly a thing to waste to, say, save myself a walls up the spiral staircase and back to my rooms. No. I had other plans. In a minute...
I adjusted my apparel, ran my hand through my hair, checked my weapons and my hidden Trump, waited for the pounding of my pulse to subside.
Luke had sustained his injuries in a battle at the Keep of the Four Worlds, fighting with his former friend and ally Dalt, the mercenary, son of the Desacratrix. Dalt meant little to me save as a possible obstacle, in that he now seemed in the employ of the keeper of the Keep. But even allowing for any time differential-which was probably not that great-I had seen him fairly soon following his fight with Luke. Which seemed to indicate that he was at the Keep when I had reached him via his Trump.
Okay.
I tried to recall it, my memory of the room where I had reached Dalt.
It was pretty sketchy. What was the minimum amount of data the Pattern required in order to operate? I recalled the texture of the stone wall, the shape of the small window, a bit of worn tapestry upon the wall, strewn rushes on the floor; a low bench and a stool had come into view to his rear when Dalt had moved, a crack in the wall above them- and a bit of cobweb. . .
I formed the image as sharply as I could. I willed myself there. I wanted to be in that place. . . .
And I was.
I turned around quickly, my hand on the hilt of my blade, but I was alone in the chamber. I saw a bed and an armoire, a small writing table, a storage chest, none of which had been in my line of sight during my brief view of the place. Daylight shone through the small window.
I crossed the room to its single door and stood there for a long while, listening. There was only silence on the other side. I opened it a crack-it swung to the left-and looked upon a long, empty hallway. I eased the door farther open. There was a stairway directly across from me, leading down. To my left was a blank wall. I stepped outside and closed the door. Go down or go right? There were several windows on both sides of the hallway. I moved to the nearest one, which was to my right, and looked out.
I saw that I was near to the lower comer of a rectangular courtyard, more buildings across the way and to my right and left, all of them con nected at the corners save for an opening to the upper right which seemed as if it led to another courtyard where a very large structure rose beyond the buildings directly across from me. There were perhaps a dozen troops in the courtyard below, disposed near various entranceways, though not giving the appearance of being formally on guard-that is, they were engaged in cleaning and repairing their gear. Two of them were heavily bandaged. Still, most seemed in such a state that they could leap to service fairly quickly.
At the yard’s Ear end was a strange bit of flotsam, looking like a large broken kite, which seemed somehow familiar. I decided to head along the hallway, which paralleled the courtyard, for it seemed that this would take me into those buildings along the farther edge of the perimeter and probably give me a view into the next yard.
I moved along the hallway, alert to any sounds of activity. There was nothing but silence as I advanced to the corner. I waited there for a long while, listening.
In that I heard nothing, I rounded the comer then, and froze. So did the man seated on the windowsill to the right. He wore a chain mail shirt, a leather cap, leather leggings and boots. There was a heavy blade at his side, but it was a dagger that he held in his hand, apparently giving himself a manicure. He looked as surprised as I felt when his head jerked in my direction.
“Who are you?” he asked.
His shoulders straightened and he lowered his hands as if to push himself from his perch and into a standing position.
Embarrassing to both of us. He seemed to be a guard. Whereas alertness or attempted stealth might have betrayed him to Frakir or myself, sloth had provided him with excellent concealment and me with a small dilemma. I was sure I couldn’t bluff him, or trust to the result if I seemed to. I did not wish to attack him and create a lot of noise. This narrowed my choices. I could kill him quickly arid silently with a neat little cardiacarrest spell I had hanging in front of me. But I value life too highly to waste it when there is no need. So, as much as I hated to spend another spell that I carried this soon, I spoke the word that caused my hand to move reflexively through an accompanying gesture, and I had a glimpse of the Logrus as its force pulsed through me. The man closed his eyes and slumped back against the casement. I adjusted his position against slippage and left him snoring peacefully, the dagger still in his hand. Besides, I might have a greater need for the cardiac-arrest spell later.
The corridor entered some sort of gallery ahead, which seemed to bulge in both directions. In that I could not sec what lay at either hand beyond a certain point, I knew that I would have to expend another spell sooner than I might wish. I spoke the word for my invisibility spell, and the world grew several shades darker. I had been hoping to get a little farther before I had to use it, since it was only good for about twenty minutes and I had no idea where my prize might lie. But I couldn’t afford to take chances. I hurried along and passed into the gallery, which proved empty.
I teamed a little more geography in that place, though. I had a view from there into the next courtyard, and it was gigantic. It contained the massive structure I had glimpsed from the other side. It was a huge, solidly built fortress; it appeared to have only one entrance, and that well guarded. From the opposite side of the gallery, I saw that there was also an outer courtyard, leading up to high, well-fortified walls.
I departed the gallery and sought a flight of stairs, almost certain that that hulking gray-stone structure was the place I should be searching. It had an aura of magic about it that I could feel down to my toes.
I jogged along the hallway, took a turn and saw a guard at the head of a stairway. (f he felt anything of my passage it was only the breeze stirred by my cloak. I rushed down the stairs. There was an adit at its foot, leading to another corridor-a dark one-off to the left; and there was a heavy ironbound door directly before me, in the wall facing the inner courtyard.
I pushed the door open, passed through and stepped aside quickly, for a guard had turned, stared and was beginning to approach. I avoided him and moved toward the citadel. A focus of powers, Luke had said. Yes. I could feel this more strongly the closer I got to the place. I did not have time to try to figure out how to deal with them, to channel them. Anyway, I’d brought along my private stock.
When I neared the wall I cut to the left. A quick circuit was in order, for informational purposes. Partway around it, I saw that my guess that there was only one apparent entrance was correct. Also, there were no windows in its walls lower than about thirty feet. There was a high, spiked metal fence about the place, and a pit on the inside of the fence. The thing that most surprised me was not a feature of the structure, however. On its far side, near the wall, were two more of the large broken kites and three relatively intact ones. The matter of context no longer clouded my perception-not with the unbroken ones before me. They were hang gliders. I was eager to take a closer look at them, but time was running on my invisibility and I couldn’t afford the detour. I hurried the rest of the way around and studied the gate.
The gate to the fence was closed and Banked by two guards. Several paces beyond it was a removable wooden bridge, reinforced with metal strapping, in place across the ditch. There were large eye bolts at its comers, and there was a winch built into the wall above the gate; the winch bore four chains terminating in hooks. I wondered how heavy the bridge was. The door to the citadel was recessed about three feet into the stone wall, and it was high, wide and plated, looking as if it could withstand a battering ram’s pounding for a good long while.
I approached the gate to the fence and studied it. No lock on it-just a simple hand-operated latching mechanism. I could open it, run through, dash across the span and be at the big door before the guards had any idea as to what might be going on. On the other hand, considering the nature of the place, they might well have had some instruction as to the possibility of an unnatural attack. If so, it would not be necessary for them to see me if they responded quickly and cornered me in the alcove. And I’d a feeling the heavy door inside was not unlocked.
I mused for several moments, sorting through my spells. I also checked again on the position of the six or eight other people in the yard. None were too near, none moving in this direction. . . .
I advanced upon the guards quietly and placed Frakir on the shoulder of the man to my left with an order for a quick choke. Three rapid steps to the right, then, and I struck the other guard on the left side of his neck with the edge of my hand. I caught him beneath the armpits, to prevent the rattling a fall would produce, and lowered him to his rump, back against the fence, to the right of the gate. Behind me, though, I heard the clatter of the other man’s scabbard against the fence as he slumped, clutching at his throat. I hurried to him, guided him the rest of the way to the ground and removed Frakir. A quick glance about showed me that two other men across the courtyard were now looking in this direction. Damn.
I unlatched the gate, slipped within, closed it and latched it behind me. I hurried across the bridge then and looked back. The two men I had noticed were now headed in this direction. Therefore, I was immediately presented with another choice. I decided to see how arduous the more strategically sound one might be.
Squatting, I caught hold of the nearest corner of the bridge-to my right. The ditch it spanned seemed something like twelve feet in depth, and it was almost twice that in width.
I began straightening my legs. Damned heavy, but the thing creaked and my comer rose several inches. I held it there for a moment, got control of my breathing and tried again. More creaking and a few more inches. Again. . . . My hands hurt where the edges pressed into them. My arms felt as if they were being slowly wrenched from their sockets. As I straightened my legs and strained upward with even greater exertion, I wondered how many people fail in robust undertakings because of sudden lower back problems. I guess they’re the ones you don’t hear about. I could feel my heart pounding as if it filled my entire chest. My corner was now about a foot above the ground, but the edge to my left was still touching. I strained again, feeling the perspiration appear as if by magic across my brow and under my arms. Breathe. . . . Up!
It went to knee level, then above. The corner to my left was finally raised. I heard the voices of the two approaching men-loud, excited they were hurrying now. I began edging to my left, dragging the whole structure with me. The corner directly across from me moved outward as I did so. Good. I kept moving. The comer to my left was now a couple of feet out over the chasm. I felt fiery pains all the way up my arms and into my shoulders and neck. Farther. . . .
The men were at the gate now, but they paused to examine the fallen guards. Good, again. I still wasn’t certain that the bridge might not catch and hold if I were to drop it. It had to slip into the chasm, or I was making myself a candidate for disk surgery for nothing. Left. . . .
It began swaying in my grip, tipping to the right. I could tell that it was going to slip from my control in a few moments. Left again, left . . . almost. . . . The men had turned their attention from the fallen guards to the moving bridge now and were fumbling at the latch. Two more were rushing to join them from across the way, and I heard a series of shouts. Another step. The thing was really slipping now. I wasn’t going to be able to hold it. . . . One more step. . . .
Let go and get back!
My corner crashed against the edge of the chasm, but the wood splintered and the edge gave way and I kept retreating. The span flopped over as it fell, struck against the far side twice and hit the bottom with a terrific crash. My arms hung at my sides, useless for the moment.
I turned and headed for the doorway. My spell was still holding, so at least I was not a target for any hurled missiles from the other side of the moat.
When I got to the door it took all that I had of effort to raise my arms to the big ring on the right-hand side and catch hold of it. But nothing happened when I pulled. The thing was secured. I had expected that, though, and was prepared. I’d had to try first, however. I do not spend my spells lightly.
I spoke the words, three of them this time-less elegant because it was a sloppy spell, though it possessed immense force.
My entire body shook as the door exploded inward as if kicked by a giant wearing a steel-toed boot. I entered immediately and was immediately confused as my eyes adjusted to the dimness. I was in a two-storyhigh hall. Stairways rose to the right and the left ahead of me, curving inward toward a railed landing, the terminus of a second-floor hallway. There was another hallway below it, directly across from me. Two stairways also headed downward, to the rear of those which ascended. Decisions, decisions. . . .
In the center of the room was a black stone fountain, spraying flamesnot water-into the air; the fire descended into the font’s basin, where it swirled and danced. The flames were red and orange in the air, white and yellow below, rippling. A feeling of power filled the chamber. Anyone who could control the forces loose in this place would be a formidable opponent indeed. With luck, I might not have to discover how formidable.
I almost wasted a special attack when I became aware of the two figures in the corner, off to my right. But they hadn’t stirred at all. They were unnaturally still. Statues, of course. . . .
I was trying to decide whether to go up, go down or move straight ahead, and I’d just about decided to descend, on the theory that there is some sort of instinct to imprison enemies in dank, below-ground quarters, when something about the two statues drew my attention again. My vision having adjusted somewhat, I could now make out that one was a white-haired man, the other a dark-haired woman. I rubbed my eyes, not realizing for several seconds that I had seen the outline of my hand. My invisibility spell was dissipating. . . .
I moved toward the figures. The fact that the old man was holding a couple of cloaks and hats should have been the tipoff. But I raised the skirt of his dark blue robe anyway. In the suddenly brighter light from the fountain I saw where the name RINALDO had been carved into his right leg. Nasty little kid, that.
The woman at his side was Jasra, saving me the problem of seeking her amid rodents below. Her arms were also outstretched, as in a warding gesture, and someone had hung a pale blue umbrella upon the left and a light gray London Fog raincoat upon the right; the matching rain hat was on her head, at a lopsided angle. Her face had been painted like a clown’s and someone had pinned a pair of yellow tassels to the front of her green blouse.
The light behind me flared even more brightly, and I tamed to see what was going on. The fountain, it turned out, was now spewing its liquid-like fires a full twenty feet into the air. They descended to overflow the basin and spread outward across the flagged floor. A major rivulet was headed in my direction. At that point, a soft chuckle caused me to look upward.
Wearing a dark robe, cowl and gauntlets, the wizard of the cobalt mask stood on the landing above me, one hand on the railing, the other pointed toward the fountain. In that I had anticipated our meeting on this expedition, I was not unprepared for the encounter. As the flames leaped even higher, forming a great bright tower that almost immediately began to bend and then topple toward me, I raised my arms in a wide gesture and spoke the word for the most appropriate of the three defensive spells I had hung earlier.
Air currents began to stir, powered by the Logrus, almost immediately achieving gale force and sending the flames back away from me. I adjusted my position then so that they were blown toward the wizard upstairs. Instantly, he gestured, and the flames fell back within the fountain, sub- . siding to the barest glowing trickle.
Okay. A draw. I had not come here to have it out with this guy. I had come to finesse Luke by rescuing Jasra on my own. Once she was my prisoner, Amber would sure as hell be safe from anything Luke had in mind. I found myself wondering, though, about this wizard, as my winds died down and the chuckle came again: Was he using spells, as I was? Or, living in the midst of a power source such as this, was he able to control the forces directly and shape them as he chose? If it were the latter, which I suspected, then he had a virtually inexhaustible source of tricks up his sleeve, so that in any full-scale competition on his turf I would eventually be reduced to flight or to calling in the nukes-that is, summoning Chaos itself to utterly reduce everything in the area-and this was a thing I was not about to do, destroying all the mysteries, including that of the wizard’s identity, rather than solving them for answers that might be essential to Amber’s well-being.
A shining metallic spear materialized in midair before the wizard, hung a moment, then flashed toward me. I used my second defensive spell, summoning a shield that turned it aside.
The only alternative I could see to my dueling with spells or blasting the place with Chaos would be for me to learn to control the forces here myself and try beating this guy at his own game. No time for practice now, though; I’d a job to do as soon as I could buy a few moments in which to get it done. Sooner or later, however, it seemed that we would have to have a full confrontation-since he seemed to have it in for me, and may well even have been the motive force behind the attack by the clumsy werewolf in the woods.
And I was not hot on taking chances to explore the power here further at this point-not if Jasra had been good enough to beat the original master of this place, Sharu Garrul, and then this guy had been good enough to beat Jasra. I’d give a lot, though, to know why he had it in for me....
So, “What do you want, anyway?” I called out.
Immediately, that metallic voice replied, “Your blood, your soul, your mind and your body.”
“What about my stamp collection?” I hollered back. “Do I get to keep the First Day Covers?”
I moved over beside Jasra and threw my right arm about her shoulders.
“What do you want with that one, funny man?” the wizard asked. “She is the most worthless property in this place.”
“Then why should you object to my taking her off your hands?”
“You collect stamps. I collect presumptuous sorcerers. She’s mine, and you’re next.”
I felt the power rising against me again even as I shouted, “What have you got against your brothers and sisters in the Art?”
There was no reply, but the air about me was suddenly filled with sharp, spinning shapes-knives, ax blades, throwing stars, broken bottles. I spoke the word for my final defense, the Curtain of Chaos, raising a chittering, smoky screen about us. The sharp items hurtling in our direction were instantly reduced to cosmic dust on coming into contact with it.
Above the din of this engagement I cried out; “By what name shall I call you?”
“Mask!” was the wizard’s immediate reply-not very original, I thought. I’d half expected a John D. MacDonald appellation-Nightmare Mauve or Cobalt Casque, perhaps. Oh, well.
I had just used my last defensive spell. I had also just raised my left arm so that that portion of my sleeve bearing the Amber Trump now hung within my field of vision. I had cut things a bit fine, but I had not yet played my full hand. So far, I had run a completely defensive show, and I was rather proud of the spell I had kept in reserve.
“She’ll do you no good, that one,” Mask said, as both our spells subsided and he prepared to strike again.
“Have a nice day, anyway,” I said, and I rotated my wrists, pointed my fingers to direct the flow and spoke the word that beat him to the punch. “An eye for an eye!” I called out, as the contents of an entire florist shop fell upon Mask, completely burying him in the biggest damned bouquet I’d ever seen. Smelled nice, too.
There was silence and a subsidence of forces as I regarded the Trump, reached through it. Just as the contact was achieved there was a disturbance in the floral display and Mask rose through it, like the Allegory of Spring.
I was probably already fading from his view as he said, “I’ll have you yet.”
“And sweets to the sweet,” I replied, then spoke the word that completed the spell, dropping a load of manure upon him.
I stepped through into the main hall of Amber, bearing Jasra with me. Martin stood near a sideboard, a glass of wine in his hand, talking with Bors, the falconer. He grew silent at Bors’s wide-eyed stare in my direction, then turned and stared himself.
I set Jasra on her feet beside the doorway. I was not about to screw around with the spell on her right now-and I was not at all sure what I’d do with her if I released her from it. So I hung my cloak on her, went over to the sideboard and poured myself a glass of wine, nodding to Bors and Martin as I passed.
I drained the glass, put it down, then said to them, “Whatever you do, don’t carve your initials on her.” Then I went and found a sofa in a room to the east, stretched out on it and closed my eyes. Like a bridge over troubled waters. Some days are diamonds. Where have all the flowers gone?
Something like that.
There was a lot of smoke, a giant worm and many flashes of colored light. Every sound was born into form, blazed to its peak, faded as it waned. Lightninglike stabs of existence, these-called from, returning to, Shadow. The worm went on forever. The dog-headed flowers snapped at me but later wagged their leaves. The flowing smoke halted before a skyhooked traffic light. The worm-no, caterpillar-smiled. A slow, blinding rain began, and all the drifting drops were faceted. . . .
What is wrong with this picture? something within me asked.
I gave up, because I couldn’t be sure. Though I’d a vague feeling the occasional landscape shouldn’t be Rowing the way that it did. . . .
“Oh, man! Merle. . . .”
What did Luke want now? Why wouldn’t he get off my case? Always a new problem.
“Look at that, will you?”
I watched where a series of bright bounding balls-or maybe they were comets-wove a tapestry of light. It fell upon the forest of umbrellas.
“Luke-“ I began, but one of the dog-headed flowers bit a hand I’d forgotten about, and everything nearby cracked as if it were painted on glass through which a shot had just passed. There was a rainbow beyond-
“Merle! Merle!”
It was Droppa shaking my shoulder, my suddenly opened eyes showed me.
And there was a damp place on the sofa where my head was resting. I propped myself on an elbow. I rubbed my eyes.
“Droppa. . . . What-?”
“I don’t know,” he told me.
“What don’t you know? I mean. . . . Hell! What happened?”
“I was sitting in that chair,” he said, with a gesture, “waiting for you to wake up. Martin had told me you were here. I was just going to tell you that Random wanted to see you when you got back.”
I nodded, then noticed that my hand was oozing blood-from the place where the flower had bitten me.
“How long was I out?”
“Twenty minutes, maybe.”
I swung my feet to the floor, sat up. “So why’d you decide to wake me?”
“You were trumping out,” he said.
“Trumping out? While I was asleep? It doesn’t work that way. Are you sure “
“I am, unfortunately, sober at the moment,” he said. “You got that rainbow glow and you started to soften around the edges and fade. Thought I’d better wake you then and ask if that’s what you really had in mind. What’ve you been drinking, spot remover?”
“No,” I said.
“I tried it on my dog once . . .”
“Dreams,” I said, massaging my temples, which had begun throbbing.
“That’s all. Dreams.”
“The kind other people can see, too? Like DTs  deux?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“We’d better go see Random.” He started to turn toward the doorway.
I shook my head. “Not yet. I’m just going to sit here and collect myself. Something’s wrong.”
When I glanced at him I saw that his eyes were wide, and he was staring past me. I turned.
The wall at my back seemed to be melting, as if it were cast of wax and had been set too near a fire.
“It appears to be alarums and excursions time,” Droppa remarked. “Help!” And he was across the room and out of the door, screaming.
Three eyeblinks later the wall was normal again in every way, but I was trembling. What the hell was going on? Had Mask managed to lay a spell on me before I’d cut out? If so, where was it headed?
I rose to my feet and turned in a slow circle. Everything seemed to be in place now. I knew that it could not have been anything as simple as hallucination born of all my recent stresses, since Droppa had seen it too. So I was not cracking up. ‘This was something else-and whatever it was, I felt that it was still lurking nearby. There was a certain unnatural clarity to the air now, and every object seemed unusually vivid within it.
I made a quick circuit of the room, not knowing what I was really seeking. Not surprisingly, therefore, I did not End it. I stepped outside then. Whatever the problem, could it spring from something I had brought back with me? Might Jasra, stiff and gaudy, have been a Trojan horse?
I headed for the main hall. A dozen steps along the way, a lopsided gridwork of light appeared before me. I forced myself to continue, and it receded as I advanced, changing shape as it did so.
“Merle, come on!” Luke’s voice, Luke himself nowhere in sight.
“Where?” I called out, not slowing.
No answer, but the gridwork split down the middle and its two halves swung away from me like a pair of shutters. They opened onto a near-blinding light; within it, I thought I glimpsed a rabbit. Then, abruptly, the vision was gone, and the only thing that saved me from believing everything was normal again was several seconds’ worth of Luke’s sourceless laughter.
I ran. Was it really Luke who was the enemy, as I had been warned repeatedly? Had I somehow been manipulated through everything which had happened recently, solely for the purpose of freeing his mother from the Keep of the Four Worlds? And now that she was safe had he the temerity to invade Amber herself and summon me to a sorcerous duel the terms of which I did not even understand?
No, I could not believe it. I was certain he did not possess that sort of power. But even if he did, he wouldn’t dare try it-not with Jasra my hostage.
As I rushed along I heard him again-from everywhere, from nowhere. This time he was singing. He had a powerful baritone voice, and the song was “Auld Lang Syne.” What sort of irony did this represent?
I burst into the main hall. Martin and Bors had departed. I saw their empty glasses on the sideboard near which they had been standing. And near the other door-? Yes, near the other door Jasra remained, erect, unchanged, still holding my cloak.
“Okay, Luke! Let’s have it out!” I cried. “Cut the crap and let’s settle this business!”
“Huh?”
The singing stopped abruptly.
I crossed slowly to Jasra, studying her as I went. Completely unchanged, save for a hat someone had added to her other hand. From somewhere else in the palace, I heard a shout. Maybe it was Droppa still alaruming.
“Luke, wherever you are,” I said, “if you can hear me, if you can see me, take a good look and listen: I’ve got her here. See? Whatever you’re planning, bear that in mind.”
The room rippled violently, as if I were standing in the midst of an unframed painting someone had just decided to give a shake, to crinkle and then draw taut.
“Well?”
Nothing.
Then, a chuckle.
“My mother the hat rack. . . . Well, well. Hey, thanks, buddy. Good show. Couldn’t reach you earlier. Didn’t know you’d gone in. They slaughtered us. Took some mercs in on hang gliders, rode the thermals. They were ready, though. Took us out. Don’t remember exactly then. . . . Hurts!”
“You okay?”
There came something like a sob, just as Random and Droppa entered the hall, the lank form of Benedict silent as death at their back.
“Merle!” Random called to me. “What’s going on?”
I shook my head. “Don’t know,” I said.
“Sure, I’ll buy you a drink,” Luke’s voice came very faintly.
A fiery blizzard swept through the center of the hall. It lasted only a moment, and then a large rectangle appeared in its place.
“You’re the sorcerer,” Random said. “Do something!”
“I don’t know what the hell it is,” I replied. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like magic gone wild.”
An outline began to appear within the rectangle, human. Its form settled and took on features, garments. . . . It was a Trump a giant Trump -hanging in the middle of the air, solidifying. It was
Me. I regarded my own features and they looked back at me. I noted that I was smiling.
“C’mon, Merle. Join the party,” I heard Luke say, and the Trump began to rotate slowly upon its vertical axis.
Sounds, as of glass bells, filled the hall.
The huge card turned until I viewed it edge-on, a black slash. Then the dark line widened with a ripple, like parting curtains, and I saw colored patches of intense light sliding beyond it. I also saw the caterpillar, puffing on a hookah, and fat umbrellas and a bright, shiny rail. A hand emerged from the slit. “Right this way.”
I heard a sharp intake of breath from Random.
Benedict’s blade was suddenly pointed at the tableau. But Random laid his hand on his shoulder and said, “No.”
There was a strange, disconnected sort of music hanging in the air now; it seemed somehow appropriate.
“C’mon, Merle.”
“You coming or going?” I asked.
“Both.”
“You made me a promise, Luke: a piece of information for your mother’s rescue,” I said. “Well, I’ve got her here. What’s the secret?”
“Something vital to your well-being?” he asked slowly.
“Vital to the safety of Amber is what you’d said.”
“Oh, that secret.”
“I’d be glad to have the other one too.”
“Sorry. One secret is all I’m selling. Which will it be?”
“The safety of Amber,” I answered.
“Dalt,” he replied.
“What of him?”
“Deela the Desacratrix was his mother-“
“I already know that.”
“-and she’d been Oberon’s prisoner nine months before he was born. He raped her. That’s why Dalt’s got it in for you guys.”
“Bullshit!” I said.
“That’s what I told him when I’d heard the story one time too many. I dared him to walk the Pattern in the sky then.”
“And?”
“He did.”
“Oh.”
“I just learned that story recently,” Random said, “from an emissary I’d sent to Kashfa. I didn’t know about his taking the Pattern, though.”
“If you knew, I still owe you,” Luke said slowly, almost distractedly.
“Okay, here’s more: Dalt visited me on the shadow Earth after that. He’s the one who raided my warehouse, stole a stock of weapons and special ammo. Burnt the place after that to cover the theft. I found witnesses, though. He’ll be along-any time. Who knows when?”
“Another relative coming to visit,” Random said. “Why couldn’t I have been an only child?”
“Make what you will of it,” Luke added. “We’re square now. Give me a hand!”
“You coming through?”
He laughed, and the whole hall seemed to lurch. The opening in the air hung before me and the hand clasped my own. Something felt very wrong.
I tried to draw him to me, but felt myself drawn toward him instead.
There was a mad power I could not fight, and the universe seemed to twist as it took hold of me. Constellations parted before me and I saw the bright railing again. Luke’s booted foot rested upon it.
From some distant point to the rear I heard Random shouting, “B-twelve! B-twelve! And out!”
. . . And then I couldn’t recall what the problem had been. It seemed a wonderful place. Silly of me to have mistaken the mushrooms for umbrellas, though. . . .
I put my own foot up on the rail as the Hatter poured me a drink and topped off Luke’s. Luke gestured to his left and the March Hare got a refill too. Humpty was fine, balanced there near the end of things. Tweedledum, Tweedledee, the Dodo and the Frog Footman kept the music moving. And the Caterpillar just kept puffing away.
Luke clapped me on the shoulder, and there was something I wanted to remember but it kept slipping out of sight.
“I’m okay now,” Luke said. “Everything’s okay.”
“No, there’s something. . . . I can’t recall. . . .”
He raised his tankard, clanked it against my own. “Enjoy!” he said.
“Life is a cabaret, old chum!”
The cat on the stool beside me just kept grinning.