The horses raced, half-maddened now, as geysers began to erupt along the trail. Scalding waters spewed across the roadway, narrowly missing us, running in steaming, slick sheets. The sky was brass and the sun was a mushy apple. The wind was a panting dog with bad breath.
The ground trembled, and far off to our left a mountain blew its top toward the heavens and buried fires after it. An ear-splitting crash temporarily deafened us and concussion waves kept beating against our bodies. The wagon swayed and shimmied.
The ground continued to shake and the winds slammed us with near-hurricane force as we rushed toward a row of black-topped hills. We left what there was of a roadway when it turned in the wrong direction and headed, bumping and shuddering, across the plain itself. The hills continued to grow, dancing in the troubled air.
I turned when I felt Ganelon‘s hand on my arm. He was shouting something, but I could not hear him. Then he pointed back and I followed his gesture. I saw nothing that I had not expected to see. The air was turbulent, filled with dust, debris, ashes. I shrugged and returned my attention to the hills.
A greater darkness occurred at the base of the nearest hill. I made for it.
It grew before me as the ground slanted downward once more, an enormous cavern mouth, curtained by a steady fall of dust and gravel.
I cracked the whip in the air and we raced across the final five or six hundred yards and plunged into it.
I began slowing the horses immediately, letting them relax into a walk.
We continued to move downward, turned a corner, and came into a wide, high grotto. Light leaked down from holes high above, dappling stalactites and falling upon quivering green pools. The ground continued to shake, and my hearing took a turn for the better as I saw a massive stalagmite crumble and heard the faint tinkle of its fall.
We crossed a black-bottomed chasm on a bridge that might have been limestone, which shattered behind us and vanished.
Bits of rock rained down from overhead and sometimes large stones fell. Patches of green and red fungus glowed in corners and cracks, streaks of minerals sparkled and bent, large crystals and flat flowers of pale stone added to the moist, eerie beauty of the place. We wheeled through caverns like chains of bubbles and coursed a white-chested torrent until it vanished into a black hole.
A long, corkscrew gallery took us upward once more, and I heard Ganelon‘s voice, faint and echoing, “I thought that I glimpsed movement—that might be a rider—at the crest of the mountain—just for an instant-back there.” We moved into a slightly brighter chamber.
“If it was Benedict, he‘s got a hard act to follow,” I shouted, and there came the tremors and muffled crashings as more things collapsed behind us.
We proceeded onward and upward, until finally openings began to occur overhead, giving upon patches of clear blue sky. The hoof clicks and the sounds of the wagon gradually assumed a normal volume and their echoes came to us also. The tremors ceased, small birds darted above us, and the light increased in intensity.
Then another twisting of the way, and our exit lay before us, a wide, low opening onto day. We had to duck our heads as we passed beneath the jagged lintel. We bounced up and over a jutting lip of moss-covered stone, then looked upon a bed of gravel that lay like a scythed track upon the hillside, passing among gigantic trees, vanishing within them, below. I made a clicking noise with my tongue, encouraging the horses on their way.
“They are very tired now,” Ganelon remarked.
“I know. Soon they will get to rest, one way or another.”
The gravel crunched beneath our wheels. The smell of the trees was good.
“Have you noticed it? Down there, off to the right?”
“What . . . ?” I began, turning my head. Then, “Oh,” I finished.
The infernal black road was with us still, perhaps a mile distant.
“How many shadows does it cut across?” I mused.
“All of them, it would seem,” Ganelon suggested.
I shook my head slowly. “I hope not,” I said.
We proceeded downward, beneath a blue sky and a golden sun westering in a normal way.
“I was almost afraid to come out of that cave,” Ganelon said after a time. "No telling what would be on this side.”
“The horses couldn‘t take much more. I had to let up. If that was Benedict we saw, his horse had better be in very good condition. He was pushing it hard. Then to have it face all that . . . I think he would fall back.”
“Maybe it‘s used to it,” Ganelon said, as we crunched around a bend to the right, losing sight of the cave mouth.
“There is always that possibility,” I said, and I thought of Dara again, wondering what she was doing at that moment.
We wove our way steadily downward, shifting slowly and imperceptibly. Our trail kept drifting to the right, and I cursed when I realized we were nearing the black road.
“Damn! It‘s as persistent as an insurance salesman!” I said, feeling my anger turn to something like hatred. “When the time is right, I am going to destroy that thing!”
Ganelon did not reply. He was taking a long drink of water. He passed me the bottle and I did, too.
At length, we achieved level terrain, and the trail continued to twist and curve at the least excuse. It allowed the horses to take it easy and it would slow a mounted pursuer.
About an hour later, I began to feel comfortable and we stopped to eat. We had just about finished our meal when Ganelon—who had not removed his gaze from the hillside—stood and shaded his eyes.
“No,” I said, leaping to my feet. “I don‘t believe it.”
A lone rider had emerged from the mouth of the cave. I watched as he halted for a moment, then continued on down the trail.
“What do we do now?” Ganelon asked.
“Let‘s pick up our stuff and get moving again. We can at least delay the inevitable a little longer. I want more time to think.”
We rolled once more, still moving at a moderate pace, though my mind was racing at full speed. There had to be a way to stop him. Preferably, without killing him.
But I couldn‘t think of any.
Except for the black road, which was edging nearer once more, we had come into a lovely afternoon in a beautiful place. It was a shame to dampen it with blood, particularly if it might be my blood. Even with his blade in his left hand, I was afraid to face him. Ganelon would be of no use to me. Benedict would barely notice him.
I shifted as we took another turning. Moments later, a faint smell of smoke came to my nostrils. I shifted slightly again.
“He‘s coming fast!” Ganelon announced. “I just saw—There‘s smoke! Flames! The woods are on fire!”
I laughed and looked back. Half the hillside swam under smoke and an orange thing raced through the green, its crackling just then reaching my ears. Of their own accord, the horses increased their pace.
“Corwin! Did you—?”
“Yes! If it were steeper and there were no trees, I‘d have tried an avalanche.”
The air was momentarily filled with birds. We drew nearer the black way. Firedrake tossed his head and whinnied. There were flecks of foam on his muzzle. He tried to bolt, then reared and pawed the air. Star made a frightened noise and pulled to the right. I fought a moment, regained control, decided to let them run a bit.
“He‘s still coming!” cried Ganelon.
I cursed and we ran. Eventually, our path brought us alongside the black road. We were on a long straightaway, and a glance back showed me that the whole hillside was ablaze, the trail running like a nasty scar down its middle. It was then that I saw the rider. He was almost halfway down and moving like something in the Kentucky Derby. God! What a horse that had to be! I wondered what shadow had borne him.
I drew on the reins, gently at first, then harder, until finally we began to slow. We were only a few hundred feet from the black road by then, and I had seen to it that there was a place not too far ahead where the gap narrowed to thir
ty or forty. I managed to rein in the horses when we reached it, and they stood there quivering. I handed the reins to Ganelon, drew Grayswandir, and stepped down to the road.
Why not? It was a good, clear, level area, and perhaps that black, blasted slice of land, contrasting with the colors of life and growth immediately beside it, appealed to some morbid instinct in me.
“What now?” Ganelon asked.
“We cannot shake him,” I said, “and if he makes it through the fire he will be here in a few minutes. There is no sense to running any farther. I‘ll meet him here.”
Ganelon twisted the reins around a side bar and reached for his blade.
“No,” I said. “You cannot affect the outcome one way or the other. Here is what I want you to do: Take the wagon on up the road and wait there with it. If things are resolved to my satisfaction, we will be continuing on. If they are not, surrender immediately to Benedict. It is me that he wants, and he will be the only one left who can take you back to Avalon. He will do it, too. You will at least retire to your homeland that way.”
He hesitated.
“Go on,” I told him. “Do as I said.”
He looked down at the ground. He unwound the reins. He looked at me.
“Good luck,” he said, and he shook the horses forward.
I backed off the trail, moved to a position before a small stand of saplings, and waited. I kept Grayswandir in my hand, glanced once at the black road, then fixed my eyes on the trail.
Before long, he appeared up near the flame line, smoke and fire all about him, burning branches falling. It was Benedict all right, his face partly muffled, the stump of his right arm upraised to shield his eyes, coming like some ghastly escapee from hell. Bursting through a shower of sparks and cinders, he came into the clear and plunged on down the trail.
Soon, I could hear the hoofbeats. A gentlemanly thing to do would be to sheathe my blade while I waited. If I did that, though, I might not have a chance to draw it again.
I found myself wondering how Benedict would be wearing his blade and what sort it would be. Straight? Curved? Long? Short? He could use them all with equal facility. He had taught me how to fence. . . .
It might be smart as well as gentlemanly to sheathe Grayswandir. He might be willing to talk first—and this way I was asking for trouble. As the hoofbeats grew louder, though, I realized I was afraid to put it away.
I wiped my palm only once before he came into view. He had slowed for the turn, and he must have seen me at the same instant I saw him. He rode straight toward me, slowing. But halting did not appear to be his immediate aim.
It was almost a mystical experience. I do not know how else to put it. My mind outran time as he neared, and it was as though I had an eternity to ponder the approach of this man who was my brother. His garments were filthy, his face blackened, the stump of his right arm raised, gesturing anywhere. The great beast that he rode was striped, black and red, with a wild red mane and tail. But it really was a horse, and its eyes rolled and there was foam at its mouth and its breathing was painful to hear. I saw then that he wore his blade slung across his back, for its haft protruded high above his right shoulder. Still slowing, eyes fixed upon me, he departed the road, bearing slightly toward my left, jerked the reins once and released them, keeping control of the horse with his knees. His left hand went up in a salute-like movement that passed above his head and seized the hilt of his weapon. It came free without a sound, describing a beautiful arc above him and coming to rest in a lethal position out from his left shoulder and slanting back, like a single wing of dull steel with a minuscule line of edge that gleamed like a filament of mirror. The picture he presented was burned into my mind with a kind of magnificence, a certain splendor that was strangely moving. The blade was a long, scythe like affair that I had seen him use before. Only then we had stood as allies against a mutual foe I had begun to believe unbeatable. Benedict had proved otherwise that night. Now that I saw it raised against me I was overwhelmed with a sense of my own mortality, which I had never experienced before in this fashion. It was as though a layer had been stripped from the world and I had a sudden, full understanding of death itself.
The moment was gone. I backed into the grove. I had stood there so that I could take advantage of the trees. I dropped back about twelve feet among them and took two steps to my left. The horse reared at the last possible moment and snorted and whinnied, moist nostrils flaring. It turned aside, tearing up turf. Benedict‘s arm moved with near-invisible speed, like the tongue of a toad, and his blade passed through a sapling I‘d guess at three inches in diameter. The tree continued to stand upright for a moment, then slowly toppled.
His boots struck the earth and he strode toward me. I had wanted the grove for this reason, also, to make him come to me in a place where a long blade would be hampered by branches and boles.
But as he advanced, he swung the weapon, almost casually, back and forth, and the trees fell about him as he passed. If only he were not so infernally competent. If only he were not Benedict. . . .
“Benedict,” I said, in a normal voice, “she is an adult now, and she is capable of making up her own mind about things.”
But he gave no sign of having heard me. He just kept coming, swinging that great blade from side to side. It made an almost ringing sound as it passed through the air, followed by a soft thukk! as it bit through another tree, slowing only slightly. I raised Grayswandir to point at his breast.
“Come no farther, Benedict,” I said. “I do not wish to fight with you.”
He moved his blade into an attack position and said one word:
“Murderer!”
His hand twitched then and my blade was almost simultaneously beaten aside. I parried the ensuing thrust and he brushed my riposte aside and was at me again.
This time I did not even bother to riposte. I simply parried, retreated, and stepped behind a tree.
“I don‘t understand,” I said, beating down his blade as it slid by the trunk and nearly skewered me. “I have not murdered anyone recently. Certainly not in Avalon.”
Another thukk! and the tree was falling toward me. I got out of its way and retreated, parrying.
“Murderer,” he said again.
“I don‘t know what you are talking about, Benedict.”
“Liar!”
I stood my ground then and held it. Damn it! It was senseless to die for the wrong reason! I riposted as fast as I could, seeking openings everywhere. There were none.
“At least tell me!” I shouted. “Please!”
But he seemed to be finished with talking. He pressed forward and I had to fall back once more. It was like trying to fence with a glacier. I became convinced then that he was out of his mind, not that that helped me any. With anybody else, an insane madness would cause the loss of some control in a fight. But Benedict had hammered out his reflexes over the centuries, and I seriously believed that the removal of his cerebral cortex would not have altered his movements from their state of perfection.
He drove me steadily back, and I dodged among trees and he cut them down and kept coming. I made the mistake of attacking and barely stopped his counterthrusts inches from my breast. I fought down the first wave of panic that came to me when I saw that he was driving me back toward the edge of the grove. Soon he would have me in the open, with no trees to slow him.
My attention was focused on him so completely that I did not realize what was then to occur until it did.
With a mighty cry, Ganelon sprang from somewhere, wrapping his arms about Benedict and pinning his sword arm to his side.
Even had I really wanted to, though, I did not have the opportunity to kill him then. He was too fast, and Ganelon was not aware of the man‘s strength.
Benedict twisted to his right, interposing Ganelon between us, and at the same time brought the stump of his arm around like a club, striking Ganelon in the left temple. Then he pulled his left arm free, seized Ganelon by his belt, swept him off his fe
et, and threw him at me. As I stepped aside, he retrieved his blade from where it had fallen near his feet and came at me again. I barely had time to glance and see that Ganelon had landed in a heap some ten paces to my rear.
I parried and resumed my retreat. I only had one trick remaining, and it saddened me that if it failed Amber would be deprived of its rightful liege.
It is somewhat more difficult to fence with a good left-hander than a good right-hander, and this worked against me also. But I had to experiment a bit. There was something I had to learn, even if it meant taking a chance.
I took a long step back, moving momentarily out of range, then leaned forward and attacked. It was a very calculated thing, and very fast.
One unexpected result, which I am certain was at least partly luck, was that I got through, even though I missed my target. For an instant, Grayswandir rode high off one of his parries and nicked his left ear. This slowed him slightly for a few moments, but not enough to matter. If anything, it served to strengthen his defense. I continued to press my attack, but there was simply no getting through then. It was only a small cut, but the blood ran down to his ear lobe and spattered off, a few drops at a time. It could even be distracting, if I permitted myself to do more than take note of it.
Then I did what I feared, but had to try. I left him a small opening, just for a moment, knowing that he would come right through it toward my heart.
He did, and I parried it at the last instant. I do not like to think about how close he came that time. Then I began to yield once more, giving ground, backing out of the grove. Parrying and retreating, I moved past the spot where Ganelon lay. I fell back another fifteen feet or so, fighting defensively, conservatively.
Then I gave Benedict another opening.
He drove in, as he had before, and I managed to stop him again. He pressed the attack even harder after that, pushing me back to the edge of the black road.
There, I stopped and held my ground, shifting my position to the spot I had chosen. I would have to hold him just a few moments longer, to set him up. . . .
The Great Book of Amber - Chronicles 1-10 Page 34
