The Great Book of Amber - Chronicles 1-10

by Roger Zelazny

  Later—again, how much later I do not know—a big man, the girl’s Black Davy, came and slapped me across the face and dragged me to my feet. I seized his right biceps and hung on. He half carried, half pulled me toward the door.

  When I realized that he was going to cast me out into the cold, I tightened my grip to protest it. I squeezed with all my remaining strength, mumbling half-coherent pleas.

  Then through sweat and tear-filled eyes. I saw his face break open and heard a scream come forth from between his stained teeth.

  The bone in his arm had broken where I’d squeezed it.

  He pushed me away with his left hand and fell to his knees, weeping. I sat upon the floor, and my head cleared for a moment.

  “I . . . am . . . staying here,” I said, “until I feel better. Get out. If you come back—I’ll kill you.”

  “You’ve got the plague!” he cried. “They’ll come for your bones tomorrow!” and he spat then, got to his feet, and staggered out.

  I made it to the door and barred it. Then I crawled back to the bed and slept.

  If they came for my bones the next day, they were disappointed. For, perhaps ten hours later, in the middle of the night, I awoke in a cold sweat and realized my fever had broken. I was weak, but rational once more.

  I realized I had lived through the plague.

  I took a man’s cloak I found in the wardrobe and took some money I found in a drawer. Then I went forth into London and the night, in a year of the plague, looking for something. . . .

  I had no recollection of who I was or what I was doing there.

  That was how it had started.

  I was well into the Pattern now, and the sparks flashed continually about my feet, reaching to the height of my knees. I no longer knew which direction I faced, or where Random and Deirdre and Moire stood. The currents swept through me and it seemed my eyeballs were vibrating. Then came a pins-and-needle feeling in my cheeks and a coldness on the back of my neck, I clenched my teeth to keep them from chattering.

  The auto accident had not given me my amnesia. I had been without full memory since the reign of Elizabeth I. Flora must have concluded that the recent accident had restored me. She had known of my condition. I was suddenly struck by the thought that she was on that Shadow Earth mainly to keep tabs on me.

  Since the sixteenth century. then?

  That I couldn’t say. I’d find out, though.

  I took six more rapid steps, reaching the end of an arc and coming to the beginning place of a straight line. I set my foot upon it, and with each step that I took, another barrier began to rise against me. It was the Second Veil.

  There was a right-angle turn, then another, then another.

  I was a prince of Amber. It was true. There had been fifteen brothers and six were dead. There had been eight Sisters, and two were dead, possibly four. We had spent much of our time in wandering in Shadow, or in our own universes. It is an academic, though valid philosophical question, as to whether one with power over Shadow could create his own universe. Whatever the ultimate answer, from a practical point we could.

  Another curve began, and it was as though I were walking in glue as I moved slowly along it.

  One, two, three, four. . . I raised my fiery boots and let them down again.

  My head throbbed and my heart felt as though it were fibrillating to pieces.

  Amber!

  The going was suddenly easy once more, as I remembered Amber.

  Amber was the greatest city which had ever existed or ever would exist. Amber had always been and always would be, and every other city, everywhere every other city that existed was but a reflection of a shadow of some phase of Amber. Amber, Amber, Amber . . . I remember thee. I shall never forget thee again. I guess, deep inside me, I never really did, through all those centuries I wandered the Shadow Earth, for often at night my dreams were troubled by images of thy green and golden spires and thy sweeping terraces. I remember thy wide promenades and the decks of flowers, golden and red. I recall the sweetness of thy airs, and the temples, palaces, and pleasances thou containest, contained, will always contain, Amber, immortal city from which every other city has taken its shape, I cannot forget thee, even now, nor forget that day on the Pattern of Rebma when I remembered thee within thy reflected walls, fresh from a meal after starvation and the loving of Moire, but nothing could compare with the pleasure and the love of remembering thee; and even now, as I stand contemplating the Courts of Chaos, telling this story to the only one present to hear, that perhaps he may repeat it, that it will not die after I have died within; even now, I remember thee with love, city that I was born to rule. . . .

  Ten paces, then a swirling filigree of fire confronted me, I essayed it, my sweat vanishing into the waters as fast as it sprang forth.

  It was tricky, so devilish tricky, and it seemed that the waters of the room suddenly moved in great currents which threatened to sweep me from the Pattern. I struggled on, resisting them. Instinctively, I knew that to leave the Pattern before I’d completed it would mean my death. I dared not raise my eyes from the places of light that lay before me, to see how far I had come, how far I had yet to go.

  The currents subsided and more of my memories returned, memories of my life as a prince of Amber. . . . No, they are not yours for the asking: they are mine, some vicious and cruel, others perhaps noble—memories going back to my childhood in the great palace of Amber, with the green banner of my father Oberon flaring above it, white unicorn rampant, facing to the dexter.

  Random bad made it through the Pattern. Even Deirdre had made it. Therefore, I, Corwin, would make it, no matter what the resistance.

  I emerged from the filigree and marched along the Grand Curve. The forces that shape the universe fell upon me and beat me into their image.

  I had an advantage over any other person who attempted the walk, however. I knew that I had done it before, so I knew that I could do it. This helped me against the unnatural fears which rose like black clouds and were gone again, only to return, their strength redoubled. I walked the Pattern and I remembered all, I remembered all the days before my centuries on the Shadow Earth and I remembered other places of Shadow, many of them special and dear to me, and one which I loved above all, save for Amber.

  I walked three more curves, a straight line, and a series of sharp arcs, and I held within me once again a consciousness of the things which I had never really lost: mine was the power over Shadows.

  Ten arcs which left me dizzy, another short arc, a straight line, and the Final Veil.

  It was agony to move. Everything tried to beat me aside. The waters were cold, then boiling. It seemed that they constantly pushed against me. I struggled, putting one foot before the other. The sparks reached as high as my waist at this point, then my breast, my shoulders. They were into my eyes. They were all about me. I could barely see the Pattern itself.

  Then a short arc, ending in blackness.

  One, two. . . And to take the last step was like trying to push through a concrete wall.

  I did it.

  Then I turned slowly and looked back over the course I had come. I would not permit myself the luxury of sagging to my knees. I was a prince of Amber, and by God! nothing could humble me in the presence of my peers. Not even the Pattern!

  I waved jauntily in what I thought to be the right direction. Whether or not I could be made out very clearly was another matter.

  Then I stood there a moment and thought.

  I knew the power of the Pattern now. Going back along it would be no trick at all.

  But why bother?

  I lacked my deck of cards, but the power of the Pattern could serve me just as well. . . .

  They were waiting for me, my brother and sister and Moire with her thighs like marble pillars.

  Deirdre could take care of herself from here on out—after all, we’d saved her life. I didn’t feel obligated to go on protecting her on a day-by-day basis. Random was stuck in Rebma for a year, un
less he had guts enough to leap forward and take the Pattern to this still center of power and perhaps escape. And as for Moire, it had been nice knowing her, and maybe I’d see her again some day, and like that. I closed my eyes and bowed my head.

  Before I did so, though, I saw a fleeting shadow.

  Random? Trying it? Whatever, he wouldn’t know where I was headed. No one would.

  I opened my eyes and I stood in the middle of the same Pattern, in reverse.

  I was cold, and I was damn tired, but I was in Amber—in the real room, of which the one I had departed was but an image. From the Pattern, I could transfer myself to any point I wished within Amber.

  Getting back would be a problem, however.

  So I stood there and dripped and considered.

  If Eric had taken the royal suite, then I might find him there. Or perhaps in the throne room. But then, I’d have to make my own way back to the place of power, I’d have to walk the Pattern again, in order to reach the escape point.

  I transferred myself to a hiding place I knew of within the palace. It was a windowless cubicle into which some light trickled from observation slits high overhead. I bolted its one sliding panel from the inside, dusted off a wooden bench set beside the wall, spread my cloak upon it and stretched out for a nap. If anyone came groping his way down from above, I’d hear him long before he reached me.

  I slept.

  After a while, I awakened. So I arose, dusted off my cloak and donned it once more. Then I began to negotiate the series of pegs which laddered their way up into the palace.

  I knew where it was, the third floor, by the markings on the walls.

  I swung myself over to a small landing and searched for the peephole. I found it and gazed through. Nothing. The library was empty. So I slid back the panel and entered.

  Within, I was stricken by the multitudes of books. They always do that to me. I considered everything, including the display cases, and finally moved toward the place where a crystal case contained everything that led up to a family banquet—private joke. It held four decks of the family cards, and I sought about for a means of obtaining one without setting off an alarm which might keep me from using it.

  After maybe ten minutes, I succeeded in gimmicking the proper case. It was tricky. Then, pack in hands, I found a comfortable seat for the consideration thereof.

  The cards were just like Flora’s and they held us all under glass and were cold to the touch. Now, too, I knew why.

  So I shuffled and spread them all out before me In the proper manner. Then I read them, and I saw that bad things were in store for the entire family; and I gathered them all together then.

  Save for one.

  It was the card depicting my brother Bleys. I replaced the others in their case and tucked it into my belt. Then I considered Bleys.

  At about that time there came a scratching In the lock of the great door to the library. What could I do? I loosened my blade in its scabbard and waited. I ducked low behind the desk, though.

  Peering out, I saw that it was a guy named Dik, who had obviously come to clean the place, as he set out emptying the ashtrays and wastebaskets and dusting the shelves.

  Since it would be demeaning to be discovered, I exposed myself.

  I rose and said, “Hello, Dik. Remember me?”

  He turned three kinds of pale, half bolted, and said:

  “Of course, Lord. How could I forget?”

  “I suppose it would be possible, after all this time.”

  “Never, Lord Corwin,” he replied.

  “I suppose I’m here without official sanction, and engaged in a bit of illicit research,” I said “but if Eric doesn’t like it when you tell him that you saw me, please explain that I was simply exercising my rights, and he will be seeing me personally—soon.”

  “I’ll do that, m’lord,” he said, bowing.

  “Come sit with me a moment, friend Dik, and I’ll tell you more.”

  And he did, so I did.

  “There was a time,” I said, addressing this ancient visage, “when I was considered gone for good and abandoned forever. Since I still live, however, and since I maintain all my faculties, I fear that I must dispute Eric’s claim to the throne of Amber. Though it’s not a thing to be settled simply, as he is not the first-born, nor do I feel he would enjoy popular support if another were in sight. For these, among other reasons—most of them personal—I am about to oppose him. I have not yet decided how, nor upon what grounds, but by God! he deserves opposition! Tell him that. If he wishes to seek me, tell him that I dwell among Shadows, but different ones than before. He may know what I mean by that. I will not be easily destroyed, for I will guard myself at least as well as he does here. I will oppose him from hell to eternity, and I will not cease until one of us is dead. What say you to this, old retainer?”

  And he took my hand and kissed it.

  “Hail to thee, Corwin, Lord of Amber,” he said, and there was a tear in his eye.

  Then the door cracked a crack behind him and swung open.

  Eric entered.

  “Hello,” said I, Rising and putting a most obnoxious twang to my voice. “I didn’t expect to meet with you this early in the game. How go things in Amber?”

  And his eyes were wide with amaze and his voice heavy with that which men call sarcasm, and I can’t think of a better word, as he replied:

  “Well, when it comes to things, Corwin. Poorly, on other counts, however.”

  “Pity,” said I, “and how shall we put things aright?”

  “I know a way,” he said, and then he glared at Dik, who promptly departed and closed the door behind him. I heard it snick shut.

  Eric loosened his blade in its scabbard.

  “You want the throne,” he said.

  “Don’t we all?” I told him.

  “I guess so,” he said, with a sigh. “It’s true, that uneasy-lies-the-head bit. I don’t know why we are driven to strive so for this ridiculous position. But you must recall that I’ve defeated you twice, mercifully granting you your life on a Shadow world the last occasion.”

  “It wasn’t that merciful,” I said. “You know where you left me, to die of the plague. The first time, as I remember, it was pretty much a draw.”

  “Then it is between the two of us now, Corwin,” he said. “I am your elder and your better. If you wish to try me at arms, I find myself suitably attired. Slay me, and the throne will probably be yours. Try it. I don’t think you can succeed, however. And I’d like to quit your claim right now. So come at me. Let’s see what you learned on the Shadow Earth.”

  And his blade was in his hand and mine in mine.

  I moved around the desk.

  “What an enormous chutzpah you possess,” I told him. “What makes you better than the rest of us, and more fit to rule?”

  “The fact that I was able to occupy the throne,” he replied. “Try and take it.”

  And I did.

  I tried a headcut, which he parried; and I parried his riposte to my heart and cut at his wrist.

  He parried this and kicked a small stool between us. I set it aside, hopefully in the direction of his face, with my right toe, but it missed and he had at me again.

  I parried his attack, and he mine. Then I lunged, was parried, was attacked, and parried again myself.

  I tried a very fancy attack I’d learned in France, which involved a beat, a feint in quarte, a feint in sixte, and a lunge veering off into an attack on his wrist.

  I nicked him and the blood flowed.

  “Oh, damnable brother!” he said, retreating. “Report has it Random accompanies thee.”

  “This is true,” said I. “More than one of us are assembled against you.”

  And he lunged then and beat me back, and I felt suddenly that for all my work he was still my master. He was perhaps one of the greatest swordsmen I had ever faced. I suddenly had the feeling that I couldn’t take him, and I parried like mad and retreated in the same fashion as he beat m
e back, step by step. We’d both had centuries under the greatest masters of the blade in business. The greatest alive, I knew, was brother Benedict, and he wasn’t around to help, one way or the other. So I snatched things off the desk with my left hand and threw them at Eric. But he dodged everything and came on strong, and I circled to his left and all like that, but I couldn’t draw the point of his blade from my left eye. And I was afraid. The man was magnificent. If I didn’t hate him so, I would have applauded his performance.

  I kept backing away, and the fear and the knowledge came upon me: I knew I still couldn’t take him. He was a better man than I was, when it came to the blade. I cursed this, but I couldn’t get around it. I tried three more elaborate attacks and was defeated on each occasion. He parried me and made me retreat before his own attacks.

  Now don’t get the wrong idea. I’m damn good. It’s just that he seemed better.

  Then there were some alarms and excursions in the hall outside. Eric’s retainers were coming, and if he didn’t kill me before they arrived, then I was confident that they’d do the job-probably with a bolt from a crossbow.

  There was blood dripping from his right wrist. His hand was still steady but I had the feeling then that under other circumstances, by fighting a defensive fight, I just might be able to wear him down with that wrist injury going against him, and perhaps I could get through his guard at the proper moment when he began to slow.

  I cursed softly and he laughed.

  “You’re a fool to have come here,” he said.

  He didn’t realize what I was doing until it was too late. (I’d been retreating until the door was at my back. It was risky, leaving myself with no room for retreat, but it was better than sure death.)

  With my left hand, I managed to drop the bar. It was a big, heavy door and they’d have to knock it down now to get in. That gave me a few more minutes. It also gave me a shoulder wound, from an attack I could only partly parry as I dropped the bar. But it was my left shoulder. My sword arm remained intact.

  I smiled, to put up a good front.

  “Perhaps you were a fool, to enter here,” I said. “You’re slowing. you know,” and I tried a hard, fast, vicious attack,