Prince of chaos tcoa-10

by Roger Joseph Zelazny

  “Rise to my left wrist,” I bade.

  Dara stared as he found his place, taking on the appearance of Frakir. In the meantime, the final flash of lightning did not depart, but stood for a time like a sizzling stalk at the water’s edge. Then it collapsed into a ball that hovered in the middle air for several moments before drifting in our direction. As it came on, its structure began to change.

  When it drifted to a position beside our table it had become a bright, pulsing Sign of the Logrus.

  “Princess Dara, Prince Merlin,” came that awful voice I had last heard on the day of the confrontation at Amber Castle, “I did not wish to disturb your repast, but that thing you harbor makes it necessary.” A jagged branch of the image was flipped in the direction of my left wrist.

  “It’s blocking my ability to shift away,” Ghost said.

  “Give it to me!”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “That thing has traversed the Logrus,” came the words, differing at seeming random in pitch, volume, accent.

  It occurred to me that I might defy it now if I were really as valuable to the Logrus as Dara had indicated. So, “It’s theoretically open to all comers,” I responded.

  “I am my own law, Merlin, and your Ghostwheel has crossed me before. I’ll have it now.”

  “No,” I said, moving my awareness into the spikard, seeking and locating a means of instant transport to an area where the Pattern ruled. “I’ll not surrender my creation so readily.”

  The brightness of the Sign increased.

  At this, Dara was on her feet, moving to interpose herself between it and myself.

  “Stay,” she said. “We’ve more important matters to deal with than vengeance upon a toy. I have dispatched my cousins Hendrake for the bride of Chaos. If you wish this plan to succeed, I suggest you assist them.”

  “I recall your plan for Prince Brand, setting the lady Jasra to snare him. It could not fail, you told me.”

  “It brought you closer than you ever came, old Serpent, to the power you desire.”

  “That is true,” it acknowledged.

  “And the bearer of the Eye is a simpler being than Jasra.”

  The Sign slid past her, a tiny sun turning itself into a succession of ideograms.

  “Merlin, you will take the throne and serve me when the time comes?”

  “I will do what is necessary to redress the balance of power,” I replied.

  “That is not what I asked! Will you take the throne under the terms I set?”

  “If that is what is needed to set things right,” I answered.

  “This pleases me,” it said. “Keep your toy.”

  Dara moved aside, and it passed near to her before fading.

  “Ask him of Luke and Corwin and the new Pattern,” it said, and then it was gone.

  She turned toward me and stared.

  “Pour me a glass of wine,” she said.

  I did this. She raised it and took a swallow.

  “So tell me of Luke and Corwin and the new Pattern,” she said.

  “Tell me of Jasra and Brand,” I countered.

  “No. You will go first in this,” she said.

  “Very well,” I said. “It neglected to mention that they were Pattern ghosts. Luke’s appeared to me on the way over here, sent by the Pattern to persuade me to depart this realm. The Logrus sent Lord Borel’s to dispose of Luke.”

  “Luke being Rinaldo, the son of Jasra and Brand, husband of Coral and King of Kashfa?”

  “Very good. Now tell me of all that business at the end. You set Jasra to snare Brand, to guide him down the path he took?”

  “He would have taken it anyhow. He came to the Courts seeking power to further his ends. She merely made things a little easier for him.”

  “That’s not how it sounded to me. But does that mean my father’s curse was not really a factor?”

  “No, it helped — in a metaphysical way — making it easier to extend the Black Road to Amber. Why is it you are still here, when King Rinaldo bade you depart? Is it loyalty to the Courts?”

  “I had a date with you for lunch, and it’s been a while. Hated to miss it.”

  She smiled, very slightly, and took a small sip of wine.

  “You change the subject well,” she stated. “Let us return to it now. The ghost of Borel dispatched that of Rinaldo, I take it?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My father’s ghost showed up about then and dealt with Borel, permitting us to depart.”

  “Again? Corwin bested Borel again?” I nodded.

  “Neither remembered their first encounter, of course. Their memories only go back to the time of their recording, and —”

  “I understand the principle. Then what happened?”

  “We fled,” I answered, “and I subsequently came here.”

  “What did the Logrus mean in referring to the Pattern?”

  “My father’s ghost was apparently generated by it, rather than by the old one.”

  She sat upright, eyes suddenly wide.

  “How do you know this?” she demanded.

  “He told me,” I answered.

  She stared past me then at the now-silent sea. “So the third power is actually taking a part in things,” she mused. “This is fascinating, as well as disconcerting. Damn the man for having drawn it!”

  “You really hate him, don’t you?” I said.

  Her eyes focused again upon my own.

  “Let that subject be!” she ordered. “Save for this,” she amended a moment later. “Did he give you any indication as to the new Pattern’s allegiance — or its plans? The fact that it sent him to protect Luke might be seen as a seconding of the old Pattern’s action. On the other hand — either because it was created by your father, or because it has its own uses for you — I can see it simply as an effort at your protection. What did he say?”

  “That he wanted to get me away from where I was.”

  She nodded.

  “Which he obviously did,” she said. “Did he say anything else? Did anything else happen that might be important?”

  “He asked after you.”

  “Really? And that was all?”

  “He had no special message, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I see.”

  She looked away, was silent for a time. Then, “Those ghosts don’t last very long, do they?” she said.

  “No,” I replied.

  “It’s infuriating,” she said at last, “to think that, despite everything, he is still able to play a hand in this.”

  “He’s alive, isn’t he, Mother?” I said. “And you know where he is.”

  “I’m not his keeper, Merlin.”

  “I think you are.”

  “It is impertinent to contradict me this way.”

  “Yet I must,” I responded. “I saw him off on his way to the Courts. Certainly, he wanted to be here with the others for the peace settlement. Even more, though, he must have wanted to see you. There were so many unanswered questions in his mind — where you came from, why you came to him, why you parted as you did —”

  “Enough!” she cried. “Let it be!”

  I ignored her.

  “And I know he was here in the Courts. He was seen here. He must have looked you up. What happened then? What sort of answers did you give him?”

  She rose to her feet, glaring at me now.

  “That will be all, Merlin,” she said. “It seems impossible to conduct a civilized conversation with you.”

  “Is he your prisoner, Mother? Do you have him locked away somewhere, someplace where he can’t bother you, can’t interfere with your plans?”

  She stepped quickly away from the table, almost stumbling.

  “Wretched child!” she said. “You’re just like him! Why did you have to resemble him so?”

  “You’re afraid of him, aren’t you?” I said, suddenly realizing this could well be the case. “You’re afraid to ki
ll a Prince of Amber, even with the Logrus on your side. You’ve got him locked away somewhere, and you’re afraid he’ll come loose and blow your latest plans. You’ve been scared for a long time now because of what you’ve had to do to keep him out of action.”

  “Preposterous!” she said, backing away as I rounded the table. There was a look of genuine fear on her face now. “You’re just guessing!” she went on. “He’s dead, Merlin! Give up! Leave me alone! Never mention his name in my presence again! Yes, I hate him! He would have destroyed us all! He still would, if he could!”

  “He is not dead,” I stated.

  “How can you say that?”

  I bit down on the desire to tell her I’d spoken with him, held it back.

  “Only the guilty protest so strongly,” I said. “He’s alive. Where is he?”

  She raised her hands, palms inward, and crossed them upon her breast, elbows low. The fear was gone, the anger was gone. When she spoke again, something like mockery seemed her main humor: “Then seek him, Merlin. By all means, seek him.”

  “Where?” I demanded.

  “Look for him in the Pit of Chaos.”

  A flame appeared near her left foot and began orbiting her body in a counterclockwise direction, spiraling upward, leaving a line of fire to blaze redly behind it. By the time it reached the crown of her head she was entirely concealed. It went out with a faint whooshing sound then, taking her along with it.

  I moved forward and knelt, feeling the area on which she’d stood. It was a little warm, that’s all. Nice spell. Nobody’d ever taught me that one. Thinking back on it then, I realized that Mom had always had a flair when it came to entrances and exits.

  “Ghost?”

  He danced away from my wrist to hover in the air before me.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you still barred from transporting yourself through Shadow?”

  “No,” he replied. “That was lifted when the Sign of the Logrus departed. I can travel — in or out of Shadow. I can provide transportation for you. Would you like me to?”

  “Yes. Take me into the gallery upstairs.”

  “Gallery? I plunged directly from the place of the Logrus into the dark sea, Dad. I’m not quite sure as to the lay of the land here.”

  “Never mind,” I said. “I’ll manage it myself.”

  I activated the spikard. Energies spiraled from six of its tines, encaging Ghost and myself, swirling us upward to the place of my desire in the Maze of Art. I tried for a flash of fire as we went, but had no way of knowing whether I’d achieved it. Makes you wonder how the really good ones get their practice.

  Chapter 7

  I delivered us into that eerie hall that had always been old Sawall’s chief delight in the maze. It was a sculpture garden, with no outside light sources and small base lighting only about the huge pieces, making it several times darker than my favorite lounge. The floor was uneven — concave, convex, stepped, ridged — with concavity being the dominant curve. It was difficult to guess at its dimensions, for it seemed of different size and contour depending upon where one stood. Gramble, Lord Sawall, had caused it to be constructed without any plane surfaces — and I believe the job involved some unique shadowmastery.

  I stood beside what appeared to be a complicated rigging in the absence of its ship — that, or an elaborate musical instrument fit to be strummed by Titans — and the light turned the lines to silver, running like life from darkness to darkness within some half seen frame. Other pieces jutted from walls and hung like stalactites. As I strolled, what had seemed walls became floor to me. The pieces that had seemed floored now jutted or depended.

  The room changed shape as I went, and a breeze blew through it, causing sighs, hums, buzzes, chimes. Gramble, my stepfather, had taken a certain delight in this hall, whereas for me it had long represented an exercise in intrepidity to venture beyond its threshold. As I grew older, however, I, too, came to enjoy it, partly for the occasional frisson it provided my adolescence. Now, though — Now I just wanted to wander it a few moments, for old times’ sake, as I sorted through my thoughts. There were so damned many of them. Things that had tantalized me for much of my adult life seemed near to explanation now. I was not happy with all of the possibilities that tumbled through my mind. Still, no matter which ones came out on top, it would beat ignorance.

  “Dad?”

  “Yes?”

  “What is this place, anyway?” Ghost asked.

  “It’s a part of the big art collection here at the Ways of Sawall,” I explained. “People come from all over the Courts and nearby Shadow to see it. It was a passion with my stepfather. I spent a lot of time wandering these halls when I was a kid. There are many hidden ways in this place.”

  “And this particular room? There’s something wrong with it.”

  “Yes and no,” I said. “I guess it depends on what you mean by ‘wrong’.”

  “My perceptions are strangely affected just now.”

  “That is because the space itself is folded in here, like some odd origami figure. The hall is much larger than it seems. You can wander through many times and witness a different array of displays on each occasion. There may even be some internal movement involved. I was never sure. Only Sawall knew for certain.”

  “I was right. Something’s wrong with it.”

  “I rather like it this way.”

  I seated myself on a silver stump beside a sprawled silver tree.

  “I want to see how it folds,” he said at last.

  “Go ahead.”

  As he drifted off, I thought of my recent interview with my mother. I was reminded of everything Mandor had said or implied, of the conflict between the Pattern and the Logrus, of my father as the champion of the Pattern and intended king in Amber. Had she known this, known it as fact rather than speculation? I imagined she could have, for she seemed to enjoy a special relationship with the Logrus, and it would surely have been aware of its adversary’s more prominent decisions. She’d admitted that she did not love the man. It seemed as if she had sought him for whatever genetic material had so impressed the Pattern. Had she really been trying to breed a champion for the Logrus?

  I chuckled as I considered the result. She had seen me trained well in arms, but I was nowhere near Dad’s league. I’d preferred sorcery, but sorcerers were a dime a dozen in the Courts. Finally, she’d shipped me off to college on that Shadow Earth the Amberites favor. But a degree in Computer Science from Berkeley didn’t much qualify me to uphold the banner of Chaos against the forces of Order either. I must have been a disappointment to her.

  I thought back to my childhood, to some of the strange adventures for which this place had served as a point of departure. Gryll and I would come here, Glait slithering at our feet, coiled about a limb or riding somewhere amid my garments. I would give that odd ululant cry I had learned in a dream, and sometimes Kergma would join us, come skittering down the folds of darkness, out some frayed area of twisted space. I was never sure exactly what Kergma was, or even of what gender, for Kergma was a shapeshifter and flew, crawled, hopped, or ran in a succession of interesting forms.

  On an impulse, I voiced that ancient call. Nothing, of course, happened, and I saw it moments later for what it was: a cry after a vanished childhood, when I had at least felt wanted. Now, now I was nothing — neither Amberite nor Chaosite, and certainly a disappointment to my relatives on both sides. I was a failed experiment. I’d never been wanted for myself, but as something that might come to pass. Suddenly my eyes were moist, and I held back a sob. And I’ll never know what sort of mood I might have worked myself into because I was distracted then.

  There came a flare of red light from a point high on the wall to my left. It was in the form of a small circle about the feet of a human figure.

  “Merlin!” called a voice from that direction, and the flames leapt higher. By their light, I saw that familiar face, reminding me a bit of my own, and I was pleased with the meaning it had just given to
my life, even if that meaning was death.

  I raised my left hand above my head and willed a flash of blue light from the spikard.

  “Over here, Jurt!” I called, rising to my feet. I began forming the ball of light that was to be his distraction while I readied the strike that would electrocute him. On reflection, it had seemed the surest way of taking him out. I’d lost count of the number of attempts he’d made on my life, and I’d resolved to take the initiative the next time he came calling. Frying his nervous system seemed the surest way to ice him, despite what the Fountain had done for him. “Over here, Jurt!”

  “Merlin! I want to talk!”

  “I don’t. I’ve tried it too often, and I’ve nothing left to say. Come on over and let’s get this done — weapons, hands, magic. I don’t care.”

  He raised both hands, palms outward.

  “Truce!” he cried. “It wouldn’t be right to do it here in Sawall.”

  “Don’t give me that scruples shit, brother!” I cried, but even as I said it I realized there might be something to it. I could remember how much the old man’s approval had meant to him, and I realized that he’d hate to do anything to antagonize Dara here on the premises. “What do you want, anyway?”

  “To talk. I mean it,” he said. “What do I have to do?”

  “Meet me over there,” I said, casting my ball of light to shine above a familiar object that looked like a giant house of cards made of glass and aluminum, bouncing light from hundreds of planes.

  “All right,” came the reply.

  I began walking in that direction. I saw him approaching from his, and I angled my course so that our paths would not intersect. Also, I increased my pace so as to arrive ahead of him.

  “No tricks,” he called out. “And if we do decide we can only take it to the end, let’s go outside.”

  “Okay.”

  I entered the structure at a point around the corner from his approach. Immediately, I encountered six images of myself.

  “Why here?” came his voice from somewhere near at hand.

  “I don’t suppose you ever saw a movie called Lady from Shanghai?”

  “No.”