The Great Book of Amber - Chronicles 1-10

by Roger Zelazny

“I came upon Borel before he died,” she said. “He told me how ignobly you had bested him.”

  I could not help it, I could not control it. A dry chuckle rose in my throat. Of all the stupid things to get upset about. I might have told her that Borel had been far better equipped and far fresher than I, and that he had come to me looking for a fight. I might have told her that I do not recognize rules when my life is at stake, or that I do not consider war a game. I could have said a great number of things, but if she did not know them already or did not choose to understand them, they would not have made a bit of difference. Besides, her feelings were already plain.

  So I simply said one of the great trite truths: “There is generally more than one side to a story.”

  “I will settle for the one I have,” she told me.

  I thought about shrugging, but my shoulders were too sore.

  “You have cost me two of the most important persons in my life,” she said then.

  “Oh?” I said. “I’m sorry, for you.”

  “You are not what I was led to believe. I had seen you as a truly noble figure—strong, yet understanding and sometimes gentle. Honorable . . .”

  The storm, much closer now, was flaring at her back. I thought of something vulgar and said it. She let it pass as if she had not heard me.

  “I am going now,” she said, “back to my own people. You have won the day thus far—but that way lay Amber.” She gestured toward the storm. I could only stare. Not at the raging elements. At her. “I doubt there is anything of my new allegiance left for me to renounce,” she continued.

  “What about Benedict?” I asked softly.

  “Don’t . . .” she said, and she turned away. There was a silence. Then, “I do not believe that we will ever meet again,” she said, and her horse carried her off to my left, in the direction of the black road.

  A cynic might have decided that she had simply chosen to toss in her lot with what she now saw as the winning side, as the Courts of Chaos would likely survive. I simply did not know. I could think only of what I had seen when she had gestured. The cowling had slipped away and I had gotten a glimpse of what she had become. It had not been a human face, there within the shadows. But I turned my head and watched until she was gone. With Deirdre, Brand and Dad gone, and now a parting with Dara on these terms, the world was much emptier—whatever was left of it.

  I lay back and sighed. Why not just remain here when the others departed, wait for the storm to wash over me, and sleep . . . dissolve? I thought of Hugi. Had I digested his flight from life as well as his flesh? I was so tired that it seemed the easiest course. . . .

  “Here, Corwin.”

  I had been dozing again, though only for a moment. Fiona was beside me once more, with rations and a flask. Someone was with her.

  “I did not wish to interrupt your audience,” she said. “So I waited.”

  “You heard?” I asked.

  “No, but I can guess,” she said, “since she is gone. Here.”

  I swallowed some wine, turned my attention to the meat, the bread. Despite my state of mind, they tasted good to me.

  “We will be moving soon,” Fiona said, casting a glance at the raging stormfront. “Can you ride?”

  “I think so,” I said.

  I took another drink of the wine.

  “But too much has happened, Fi,” I told her. “I have gone numb emotionally. I broke out of a sanitarium on a shadow world. I have tricked people and I’ve killed people. I have calculated and I have fought. I won back my memory and I have been trying to straighten out my life. I have found my family, and found that I love it. I have been reconciled with Dad. I have fought for the kingdom. I have tried everything I know to hold things together. Now it appears that it has all come to nothing, and I have not enough spirit left to mourn further. I have gone numb. Forgive me.”

  She kissed me.

  “We are not yet beaten. You will be yourself again,” she said.

  I shook my head.

  “It is like the last chapter of Alice” I said. “If I shout, ‘You are only a pack of cards!’ I feel we will all fly into the air, a hand of painted pasteboards. I am not going with you. Leave me here. I am only the Joker, anyway.”

  “Right now, I am stronger than you are,” she said. “You are coming.”

  “It is not fair,” I said softly.

  “Finish eating,” she said. “There is still some time.”

  As I did, she went on, “Your son Merlin is waiting to see you. I would like to call him up here now.”

  “Prisoner?”

  “Not exactly. He was not a combatant. He just arrived a little while ago, asking to see you.”

  I nodded and she went away. I abandoned my rations and took another swig of wine. I had just become nervous. What do you say to a grown son you only recently learned existed? I wondered about his feelings toward me. I wondered whether he knew of Dara’s decision. How should I act with him?

  I watched him approach from a place where my relatives were clustered, far off to my left. I had wondered why they had left me by myself this way. The more visitors I received the more apparent it became. I wondered whether they were holding up the withdrawal because of me. The storm’s moist winds were growing stronger. He was staring at me as he advanced, no special expression on that face so much like my own. I wondered how Dara felt now that her prophecy of the destruction seemed to have been fulfilled. I wondered how her relationship with the boy actually stood. I wondered . . . many things.

  He leaned forward to clasp my hand.

  “Father . . .” he said.

  “Merlin.”

  I looked into his eyes. I rose to my feet, still holding his hand.

  “Do not get up.”

  “It is all right.”

  I clasped him to me, then released him.

  “I am glad,” I said.

  Then: “Drink with me.” I offered him the wine, partly to cover my lack of words.

  “Thank you.”

  He took it, drank some and passed it back.

  “Your health,” I said and took a sip myself.

  “Sorry I cannot offer you a chair.”

  I lowered myself to the ground. He did the same.

  “None of the others seemed to know exactly what you have been doing,” he said, “except for Fiona, who said only that it had been very difficult.”

  “No matter,” I said. “I am glad to have made it this far, if for no other reason than this. Tell me of yourself, son. What are you like? How has life treated you?”

  He looked away.

  “I have not lived long enough to have done too much,” he said.

  I was curious whether he possessed the shapeshifting ability, but restrained myself from asking at this point. No sense in looking for our differences when I had just met him.

  “I have no idea what it was like,” I said, “growing up in the Courts.”

  He smiled for the first time.

  “And I have no idea what it would have been like anywhere else,” he responded. “I was different enough to be left to myself a lot. I was taught the usual things a gentleman should know—magic, weapons, poisons, riding, dancing. I was told that I would one day rule in Amber. This is not true anymore, is it?”

  “It does not seem too likely in the foreseeable future,” I said.

  “Good,” he replied. “This is the one thing I did not want to do.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I want to walk the Pattern in Amber as Mother did and gain power over Shadow, so that I might walk there and see strange sights and do different things. Do you think I might?”

  I took another rip and I passed him the wine.

  “It is quite possible,” I said, “that Amber no longer exists. It all depends on whether your grandfather succeeded in something he attempted—and he is no longer around to tell us what happened. However, one way or the other, there is a Pattern. If we live through this demon storm, I promise you that I will fi
nd you a Pattern, instruct you and see you walking it.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “Now will you tell me of your journey here?”

  “Later,” I told him. “What did they tell you of me?”

  He looked away.

  “I was taught to dislike many of the things about Amber,” he finally said. Then, after a pause: “You, I was taught to respect, as my father. But I was reminded that you were of the party of the enemy.”

  Another pause. “I remember that time on patrol, when you had come to this place and I found you, after your fight with Kwan. My feelings were mixed. You had just slain someone I had known, yet—I had to admire the stance you took. I saw my face in your own. It was strange. I wanted to know you better.”

  The sky had rotated completely and the darkness was now above us, the colors passing over the Courts. The steady advance of the flashing stormfront was emphasized by this. I leaned forward and reached for my boots, began pulling them on. Soon it would be time to begin our retreat.

  “We will have to continue our conversation on your home ground,” I said. “It is about time to fly the storm.”

  He turned and considered the elements, then looked back out over the abyss.

  “I can summon a filmy if you wish.”

  “One of those drifting bridges such as you rode on the day we met?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “They are most convenient. I—”

  There had been a shout from the direction of my assembled relatives. Nothing threatening seemed to be about when I regarded them. So I got to my feet and took a few steps toward them. Merlin rising to follow me.

  Then I saw her. A white form, pawing air it seemed, and rising out of the abyss. Her front hoofs finally struck its brink, and she came forward and then stood still, regarding us all: our Unicorn.

  13

  For a moment, my aches and my fatigue fell away. I felt a tiny twinge of something like hope as I considered the dainty white form which stood before us. A part of me wanted to rush forward, but something much stronger kept me motionless, waiting.

  How long we stood thus, I could not tell. Below, on the slopes, the troops had been readying themselves for travel. The prisoners had been bound, horses loaded, equipment secured. But this vast army in the process of march, ordering its gear had suddenly halted. It was not natural that they should have become aware so quickly, but every head that I could see was turned in this direction, toward the Unicorn on the brink, limned against that wild sky.

  I was suddenly aware that the wind at my back had grown still, though the thunder continued to rumble and explode and the lightning flares threw dancing shadows before me.

  I thought of the other time I had seen the Unicorn—at the recovery of the Shadow—Caine’s body, the day I had lost a fight with Gerard. I thought of the stories I had heard. . . . Could she really help us?

  The Unicorn took a step forward and halted.

  She was such a lovely thing that somehow I was heartened just by looking upon her. It was a kind of aching feeling that she aroused, though; hers was a beauty of the sort to be taken in small doses. And I could somehow sense the unnatural intelligence within that snowy head. I wanted very badly to touch her, but knew that I could not.

  She cast her gaze all about. Her eyes lighted upon me, and I would have looked away if I had been able. This was not possible, however, and I returned that gaze in which I read an understanding beyond my own. It was as if she knew everything about me, and in this instant had comprehended all of my recent trials—seeing, understanding, possibly sympathizing. For a moment, I felt that I saw something of pity and a strong love reflected there—and perhaps a touch of humor.

  Then her head turned and the gaze was broken. I sighed involuntarily. At that moment, in the lightning’s glare, I thought I caught a glimpse of something shining at the side of her neck.

  She advanced another step, and now she was looking upon the crowd of my kinsmen toward which I had been moving. She lowered her head and made a small whickering noise. She tapped at the earth with her right front hoof.

  I felt Merlin at my side. I thought upon things I would be losing if it all ended here.

  She took several dancing steps forward. She tossed her head and lowered it. It seemed that she did not like the notion of approaching so large a group of people.

  At her next step, I saw the glitter again, and more. A tiny spark of red shone through her fur farther down on her neck. She was wearing the Jewel of Judgment. How she had retrieved it, I had no idea. And it did not matter. If she would just deliver it, I felt that I could break the storm—or at least shield us from this section of it until it had passed.

  But that one glance had been enough. She paid me no more heed. Slowly, carefully, as if ready to bolt at the slightest disturbance, she advanced upon the spot where Julian, Random, Bleys, Fiona, Llewella, Benedict and several nobles stood.

  I should have realized then what was occurring, but I did not. I simply watched the sleek beast’s movements as she picked her way forward, passing about the periphery of the group.

  She halted once again and lowered her head. Then she shook her mane and dropped to her front knees. The Jewel of Judgment hung suspended from her twisted, golden horn. The tip of her horn was almost touching the person before whom she knelt.

  Suddenly, in my mind’s eye, I saw our father’s face in the heavens, and his words came back to me: “With my passing, the problem of the succession will be upon you. . . . I have no choice but to leave this on the horn of the Unicorn.”

  A murmur moved through the group, as I realized this same thought must be occurring to the others. The Unicom did not stir at this disturbance, however, but remained a soft, white statue, not even seeming to breathe.

  Slowly, Random reached forward and removed the Jewel from her horn. His whisper, carried to me.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Julian unsheathed his blade and placed it at Random’s feet as he knelt. Then Bleys and Benedict and Caine, Fiona and Llewella. I went and joined them. So did my son.

  Random stood silent for a long while. Then, “I accept your allegiance,” he said. “Now get up, all of you.” As we did, the Unicorn turned and bolted. She raced down the slope and was out of sight in a matter of moments.

  “I had never expected anything like this to happen,” Random said, still holding the Jewel at eye level. “Corwin, can you take this thing and stop that storm?”

  “It is yours now,” I said, “and I do not know how extensive the disturbance is. It occurs to me that in my present condition I might not be able to hold up long enough to keep us all safe. I think it is going to have to be your first regal act.”

  “Then you are going to have to show me how to work it. I thought we needed a Pattern to perform the attunement.”

  “I think not. Brand indicated that a person who was already attuned could attune another. I have given it some thought since then, and I believe I know how to go about it. Let’s get off to one side somewhere.”

  “Okay. Come on.”

  Already, something new had come into his voice and posture. The sudden role had begun working its change immediately, it seemed. I wondered what sort of king and queen he and Vialle would become. Too much. My mind felt disassociated. Too much had happened too recently. I could not contain all of the latest events in one big piece of thinking. I just wanted to crawl off somewhere and sleep around the clock. Instead, I followed him to a place where a small cooking fire still smoldered.

  He poked at the fire and tossed a handful of sticks onto it. Then he seated himself close to it and nodded to me. I went over and sat down beside him.

  “About this king business,” he said. “What am I going to do, Corwin? It caught me totally unprepared.”

  “Do? Probably a very good job,” I replied.

  “Do you think there were many hard feelings?”

  “If there were, they did not show,” I said. “You were a good choice. Random. So much has happened recently .
. . Dad sheltered us actually, maybe more than was good for us. The throne is obviously no plum. You have a lot of hard work ahead of you. I think the others have come to realize this.”

  “And yourself?”

  “I wanted it only because Eric did. I did not realize it at the time, but it is true. It was the winning counter in a game we had been playing across the years. The end of a vendetta, really. And I would have killed him for it. I am glad now that he found another way to die. We were more alike than we were different, he and I. I did not realize that until much later either. But after his death, I kept finding reasons for not taking the throne. Finally, it dawned on me that it was not really what I wanted. No. You are welcome to it. Rule well, brother. I am sure that you will.”

  “If Amber still exists,” he said after a time, “I will try. Come, let us be about this business with the Jewel. That storm is getting uncomfortably near.”

  I nodded and took the stone from his fingers. I held it by its chain with the fire behind it. The light came through; its insides seemed clear.

  “Lean closer and stare into the Jewel with me,” I directed.

  He did this, and while we both regarded the stone, I told him, “Think of the Pattern,” and I commenced thinking of it myself, trying to summon to mind its loops and swirls, its palely glowing lines.

  I seemed to detect a slight flaw near to the stone’s center. I considered it as I thought upon the twistings, the turns, the Veils. . . . I imagined the current which swept through me every time I essayed that complex way. The imperfection in the stone grew more distinct.

  I lay my will upon it, summoning it into fullness, clarity. A familiar feeling came over me as this occurred. It was that which had taken me on the day I had attuned myself to the Jewel. I only hoped that I was strong enough now to go through the experience once again.

  I reached out and clasped Random by the shoulder.

  “What do you see?” I asked him.

  “Something like the Pattern,” he said, “only it seems to be three dimensional. It lies at the bottom of a red sea. . . .”

  “Come with me then,” I said. “We must go to it.”

  Again, that feeling of movement, drifting at first, then falling with increasing velocity toward the never fully seen sinuosities of the Pattern within the Jewel. I willed us ahead, feeling my brother’s presence beside me, and the ruby glow which surrounded us darkened, becoming the blackness of a clean right sky. This special Pattern grew with each thudding heartbeat. Somehow, the process seemed easier than it had before—perhaps because I was already attuned.