Knight of Shadows tcoa-9

by Roger Joseph Zelazny

  Hey! You can’t do that! Frakir said. The whole idea is that you sit up all night and watch.

  And a very half assed idea it is, I said. I refuse to play such a stupid game. If anything wants the stuff, I’ll give it a good price on it.

  Go ahead and sleep if you want. But what if something comes along and decides you had better be taken out of the picture first?

  To begin with, I replied, I don’t believe that anything could care about that pile of medieval junk, let alone lust after it — and in closing, it’s your job to warn me of danger.

  Aye, aye, Captain. But this is a weird place. What if it limits my sensitivity some way?

  You’re really reaching now, I said. I guess you’ll just have to improvise.

  I dozed. I dreamed that I stood within a magic circle and various things tried to get at me. When they touched the barrier, though, they were transformed into stick figures, cartoon characters which rapidly faded. Except for Corwin of Amber, who smiled faintly and shook his head.

  “Sooner or later you’ll have to step outside,” he said.

  “Then let it be later,” I replied.

  “And all your problems will still be there, right where you left them.”

  I nodded.

  “But I’ll be rested,” I answered.

  “Then it’s a trade-off. Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  The dream fell apart into random images then. I seem to remember standing outside the circle a little later, trying to figure a way to get back in…

  I wasn’t certain what woke me. It couldn’t have been a noise. But suddenly I was alert and rising, and the first thing I beheld was a dwarf with a mottled complexion, his hands clasped at his throat, lying unmoving in a twisted position near the armor pile.

  “What’s going on?” I tried saying. But there was no reply.

  I crossed and knelt beside the short big-shouldered guy. With my fingertips, I felt after a carotid pulse but couldn’t locate one. At that moment, however, I felt a tickling sensation about my wrist, and Frakir — phasing into and out of visibility — made her way back into touch with with me.

  You took that guy out? I asked.

  There came a soft pulsation then. Suicides don’t strangle themselves, she replied.

  Why didn’t you alert me?

  You needed your rest, and it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. Our empathy is too strong, though. Sorry I woke you.

  I stretched.

  How long was I asleep?

  Several hours, I’d judge.

  I feel kind of sorry about this, I said. That scrap heap isn’t worth somebody’s life.

  It is now, Frakir answered.

  True. Now that someone’s died for the stuff have you gotten the word as to what we do next?

  Things are a little clearer, but not enough to act on. We must remain until morning for me to be certain.

  Does the information you have include anything on whether there’s food or drink available in the neighborhood?

  Yes. There’s supposed to be a jug of water behind the altar. Also a loaf of bread. But that’s for morning. You’re supposed to be fasting throughout the night.

  That’f only if I take this whole business seriously, I said, turning toward the altar.

  I took two steps, and the world started to come apart. The floor of the chapel trembled, and I heard my first sounds since my arrival; a deep growling, grating noise came from somewhere far beneath me. A horde of colors flashed through the air of this colorless place, half blinding me with their intensity Then the colors fled, and the room divided itself. The whiteness grew intense in the vicinity of the archway by which I had entered. I had to raise my hand to shield my eyes against it. Across from this, a profound darkness occurred, masking the three doorways in that wall.

  What… is it? I asked.

  Something terrible, Frakir replied, beyond my ability to access.

  I clasped the hilt of the blade I wore and reviewed the spells I still had hanging. Before I could do any more than that, an awful sense of presence pervaded the place. So potent did it seem that I did not feel that drawing my blade or reciting a spell was the most politic action I might take.

  Ordinarily I’d have summoned the Sign of the Logrus by then, but that way was barred to me also. I tried clearing my throat, but no sound came forth. Then there came a movement at the heart of the light, a coalescing…

  The shape of a Unicorn, like Blake’s Tyger, burning bright, took form, so painful to behold that I had to look away.

  I shifted my gaze to the deep, cool blackness, but there was no rest for my eyes in that place either. Something stirred within the darkness, and there came another sound — a grating, as of metal being scraped on stone. This was followed by a powerful hissing. The ground trembled again. Curved lines flowed forward. Even before the brightness of the Unicorn etched its lineaments within that mighty gloom, I realized it was the head of a one-eyed serpent which had come partway into the chapel. I shifted my gaze to a point between them, catching each within my peripheral vision. Far better than any attempt to behold either directly I felt their gazes upon me, the Unicorn of Order and the Serpent of Chaos. It was not a pleasant feeling, and I retreated until the altar was at my back.

  Both came slightly farther into the chapel. The Unicorn’s head was lowered, horn pointed directly at me. The Serpent’s tongue darted in my direction.

  “Uh, if either of you want this armor and stuff,” I ventured, “I certainly have no object —”

  The Serpent hissed and the Unicorn raised a hoof and let it fall, cracking the floor of the chapel, the fracture line racing toward me like a streak of black lightning and halting just at my feet.

  “On the other hand,” I observed, “no insult is intended by the offer, Your Eminences —”

  Wrong thing to say — again, Frakir interjected, weakly.

  Tell me what’s right, I said, trying for a mental sotto voce.

  I don’t — Oh!

  The Unicorn reared; the Serpent drew itself upward. I dropped to my knees and looked away, their gazes having somehow become physically painful. I was trembling, and all of my muscles had begun to ache.

  It is suggested, Frakir recited, that you play the game the way it is set up.

  What metal entered my backbone I know not. But I raised my head and turned it, looking first to the Serpent, then to the Unicorn. Though my eyes watered and ached as if I were trying to stare down the sun, I managed the gesture.

  “You can make me play,” I said, “but you cannot make me choose. My will is my own. I will guard this armor all night, as is required of me. In the morning I will go on without it because I do not choose to wear it.”

  Without it you may die, Frakir stated, as if translating.

  I shrugged.

  “If it is my choice to make, I choose not to place one of you before the other.”

  A rush of wind blew hot and cold past me, seemed a cosmic sigh.

  You will choose, Frakir relayed, whether you become aware of it or not. Everyone does. You are simply being asked to formalize your choice.

  “What’s so special about my case?” I asked.

  Again that wind.

  Yours is a dual heritage, combined with great power.

  “I never wanted either of you for an enemy,” I stated.

  Not good enough, came the reply.

  “Then destroy me now.”

  The game is already in progress.

  “Then let’s get on with it,” I answered.

  We are not pleased with your attitude.

  “Vice versa,” I answered.

  The thunderclap that followed left me unconscious.

  The reason I felt I could afford total honesty was a strong hunch that players for this game might be hard to come by.

  I woke sprawled across the pile of greaves, cuirasses, gauntlets, helms, and other good things of a similar nature, all of them possessed of corners or protuberances, most of which were jabbing
into me. I became aware of this only by degrees, for I had gone numb in lots of important places.

  Hi, Merlin.

  Frakir, I responded. Have I been out for long?

  I don’t know. I just came around myself.

  I didn’t know a piece of rope could be knocked out.

  Neither did I. It never happened to me before.

  Let me amend my question then: Any idea how long we’ve been out?

  Fairly long, I feel. Get me a glimpse out the doorway, and I may be able to give you a better idea.

  I pushed myself slowly to my feet, could not remain standing, dropped. I crawled to the entranceway, noting in passing that nothing on the heap seemed to be missing. The floor was indeed cracked. There really was a dead dwarf to the rear of the chamber.

  I looked outside, beheld a bright sky, black points disposed within it.

  Well? I asked after a time.

  If I figure right, it should be morning soon. Always brightest before the dawn, eh?

  Something like that.

  My legs burned as their circulation was restored. I pushed myself upright, stood leaning against the wall.

  Any new instructions?

  Not yet. I’ve a feeling they’re due with the dawn.

  I staggered to the nearest bench, collapsed upon it.

  If anything comes in now, all I’ve got to hit it with is an odd assortment of spells. Sleeping on armor leaves a few kinks. Almost as bad as sleeping in it.

  Throw me at the enemy and the least I can do is buy you time.

  Thanks.

  How far back does your memory go?

  To when I was a little kid, I guess. Why?

  I recall sensations from when I was first enhanced, back in the Logrus. But everything up until we got here is kind of dreamlike. I just sort of used to react to life.

  A lot of people are that way, too.

  Really? I couldn’t think, or communicate this way before.

  True.

  Do you think it will last?

  What do you mean?

  Might this just be a temporary condition? Might I just have been enhanced to deal with the special circumstances in this place?

  I don’t know, Frakir, I answered, massaging my left calf. I suppose its possible. Are you getting attached to the state?

  Yes. Silly of me, I guess. How can I care about something I won’t miss when it’s gone?

  Good question, and I don’t know the answer. Maybe you would have achieved this state anyway eventually.

  I don’t think so. But I don’t know for certain.

  You afraid to regress?

  Yes.

  Tell you what. When we find a way out of here, you stay behind.

  I couldn’t do that.

  Why not? You’ve come in handy on occasion, but I can take care of myself. Now you’re sentient you should have a life of your own.

  But I’m a freak.

  Aren’t we all? I just want you to know I understand, and it’s okay with me.

  She pulsed once and shut up.

  I wished I weren’t afraid to drink the water.

  I sat there for perhaps the better part of an hour, going over everything that had happened to me recently, looking for patterns, clues.

  I can sort of hear you thinking, Frakir said suddenly, and I can offer you something in one area.

  Oh? What might that be?

  The one who brought you here.

  The thing that looked like my father?

  Yes.

  What of him?

  He was different from your other two visitors. He was human. They weren’t.

  You mean it might actually have been Corwin?

  I never met him, so I can’t say. He wasn’t one of those constructs, though.

  Do you know what they were?

  No. I only know one peculiar thing about them, and I don’t understand it at all.

  I leaned forward and rubbed my temples. I took several deep breaths. My throat was very dry, and my muscles ached.

  Go ahead. I’m waiting.

  I don’t quite know how to explain it, Frakir said. But back in my presentient days you inconsiderately wore me about your wrist when you walked the Pattern.

  I recall. I had a scar for a long time after, from your reaction to it.

  Things of Chaos and things of Order do not mix well. But I survived. And the experience is recorded within me. Now the Dworkin and the Oberon figures that visited you back at the cave —

  Yes?

  Beneath their apparent humanity they were pulsing energy fields within geometrical constructs.

  Sounds sort of like computer animation.

  Maybe it is something like that. I couldn’t say.

  And my father wasn’t one of these?

  Nope. But that wasn’t what I was getting at. I recognized the source.

  I was suddenly alert.

  What do you mean?

  The swirls — the geometrical constructs on which the figure were based — they reproduced sections of the Pattern at Amber.

  You must be mistaken.

  No. What I lacked in sentience I made up in memory. Both figures were three-dimensional twistings of Pattern segments.

  Why would the Pattern be creating simulacra to bug me?

  I’m just a humble killing aid. Reasoning is not one of my strong points yet.

  If the Unicorn and the Serpent are involved, I suppose the Pattern might be also.

  We know that the Logrus is.

  And it seemed to me that the Pattern demonstrated sentience the day Coral walked it. Say that’s true and add on the ability to manufacture constructs — Is this the place it wanted them to bring me? Or did Corwin transport me someplace else? And what does the Pattern want of me? And what does my father want of me?

  I envy your ability to shrug, Frakir answered. Those are what I take it you call rhetorical questions?

  I guess so.

  Information of another sort is beginning to come to me, so I assume the night is ending.

  I sprang to my feet.

  Does that mean I can eat — and drink? I asked.

  I believe so.

  I moved quickly then.

  While I am new to these things, I cannot help wondering whether it might be considered disrespectful to vault over an altar that way, Frakir commented.

  The black flames flickered as I passed between them.

  Hell, I don’t even know what it’s an altar to, I answered, and I’ve always thought of disrespect as something that had to be identity-specific.

  The ground trembled slightly as I seized the jug and took a deep swallow.

  Then, again, perhaps you have a point there, I said, choking.

  I carried the jug and the loaf around the altar, past the stiffening dwarf and over to the bench which ran along the back wall. Seating myself, I commenced eating and drinking more slowly.

  What comes next? I asked. You said that the information was flowing again.

  You have kept vigil successfully, she said. Now you must select what you need from among the armor and weapons you watched, then pass through one of the three doorways in this wall.

  Which one?

  One is the door of Chaos, one the door of Order, and I know not the nature of the third.

  Uh, how does one make an informed decision in these matters?

  I think your way may be barred by all but the one you’re supposed to pass.

  Then one does not really have a choice, does one?

  I believe that the matter of the doorways may be predicated upon the choice one makes in the hardware department.

  I finished the bread, washed it down with the rest of the water. I got to my feet then.

  Well, I said, let’s see what they’ll do if I don’t make a choice. Too bad about the dwarf.

  He knew what he was doing, what chances he was taking.

  That’s more than I can say.

  I approached the right-hand door since it was the nearest. It let into a bright corri
dor which grew brighter and brighter as it receded until sight of it was lost to me beyond a few paces’ distance. I kept walking. Damn near broke my nose, too. It was as if I’d encountered a wall of glass. It figures. I couldn’t picture myself walking off into the light that way.

  You’re actually getting more cynical as I watch, Frakir observed. I caught that thought.

  Good.

  I approached the middle one more carefully. It wore gray and seemed to let into a long corridor also. I could see down it perhaps a little farther than the first, though no features other than walls, roof, and floor presented themselves. I extended my arm and discovered that my way was not barred.

  Seems to be the one, Frakir observed.

  Maybe.

  I moved over to the left-hand doorway, its passage black as the inside of God’s pocket. Again there was no resistance when I explored for hidden barriers.

  Hm. It appears I do have a choice.

  Odd. I haven’t any instructions to cover this.

  I returned to the middle one, took a step forward. Hearing a sound behind me, I turned. The dwarf had sat up. He was holding his sides and laughing. I tried to turn back then, but now something barred my return. Suddenly then the scene dwindled, as if I were accelerating to the rear.

  I thought the little guy was dead, I said.

  So did I. He gave every indication.

  I turned away, back to the direction I’d been headed. There was no feeling of acceleration. Perhaps it was the chapel that was receding while I stood still.

  I took a step forward, then another. Not a sound from my footfalls. I began walking. After a few paces I put out my hand to touch the left-hand wall. It encountered nothing. I tried again with the right. Again nothing. I took a step to the right and reached again. Nope. I still seemed approximately equidistant from two shadowy walls. Growling, I ignored them and strode forward.

  What’s the matter, Merle?

  Do you or do you not sense walls to the right and left of us? I asked.

  Nope, Frakir replied.

  Any idea at all where we are?

  We are walking between shadows.

  Where are we headed?

  Don’t know yet. We’re following the Way of Chaos, though.

  What? How do you know that? I thought we had to pick something Chaosian for the pile to be admitted here.

  At this I gave myself a quick search. I found the dagger tucked into my right boot sheath. Even in the dim light I could recognize the workmanship as something from back home.