The Great Book of Amber - Chronicles 1-10

by Roger Zelazny

  “You’re saying . . . ?”

  “I’m saying that if something happens to me and he comes up a winner in this game, I believe she knows some special way of destroying him.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m also pretty sure that she’ll have to be asked very nicely.”

  “Somehow, I think I already knew that.”

  He gave a humorless chuckle.

  “So you tell her that I’ve ended the vendetta, that I’m satisfied, and then offer her the citadel in return for her help.”

  “What if she says that’s not enough?”

  “Hell! Turn her back into a coat-rack then! It’s not as if the guy can’t be killed. My dad still died with an arrow through his throat, despite his fancy powers. A death stroke is still a death stroke. It’s just that delivering it to a guy like that is a lot harder.”

  “You really think that’ll be enough?” I said.

  He halted and looked at me, frowning.

  “She’ll argue, but of course she’ll agree,” he said. “It’ll be a step up in the world. And she’ll want revenge on Mask as much as that piece of her former holdings. But to answer your question, don’t trust her. No matter what she promises, she’ll never be happy with less than she had before. She’ll be scheming. She’ll be a good ally till the job’s done. Then you’ve got to think about protecting yourself against her. Unless . . . ”

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless I come up with something to sweeten the pot.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know yet. But don’t lift that spell until things are definitely settled between Dalt and me. Okay?”

  He resumed walking.

  “Wait a minute,” I said “What are you planning?”

  “Nothing special,” he answered. “Like I told the queen, I’m just going to play things by ear.”

  “I sometimes get the feeling you’re as devious as you make her out to be,” I said.

  “I hope so,” he replied. “But there’s a difference. I’m honest.”

  “I don’t know that I’d buy a used car from you, Luke.”

  “Every deal I make is special,” he said, “and for you it’s always top of the line.”

  I glanced at him, saw that he kept his expression under control.

  “What else can I say?” he added, indicating the sitting room with a quick gesture.

  “Nothing, now,” I answered, and we entered there.

  Vialle turned her head in our direction as we came in, hr expression as unreadable as Luke’s.

  “I take it you are properly attired now?” she asked.

  “I am indeed,” he answered.

  “Then let’s be about this,” she said, raising her left hand, which I saw to contain a Trump. “Come over here, please.”

  Luke approached her and I followed him. I could see then that it was Julian’s Trump that she held.

  “Place your hand upon my shoulder,” she told him.

  “All right.”

  He did, and she reached, found Julian and began speaking to him. Shortly, Luke was party to the conversation, explaining what he intended to do. I overheard Vialle saying that the plan had her approval.

  Moments later I saw Luke raise his free hand and extend it. I also saw the shadowy figure of Julian reaching forward, though I was not part of the Trump nexus. This was because I had summoned my Logrus Sight and had become sensitive to such things. I needed it for the timing, not wanting Luke whisked away before I could move.

  I let my hand fall upon his shoulder and I moved forward as he did.

  “Merlin! What are you doing?” I heard Vialle call.

  “I’d like to see what happens,” I said. “I’ll come right home when things are concluded,” and the rainbow gate closed behind me.

  We stood within the flickering of oil lamps inside a large tent. From outside, I could hear the wind and the sounds of stirring branches. Julian stood facing us. He let Luke’s hand fall and regarded him without expression.

  “So you are Caine’s killer,” he said.

  “I am,” Luke replied.

  And I was remembering that Caine and Julian had always been particularly close. If Julian were to kill Luke and cry vendetta, I was certain that Random would merely nod and agree. Perhaps he’d even smile. Hard to say. If I were Random, I would greet Luke’s removal with a sight of relief. In fact, that was one of the reasons I’d come along. Supposing this whole deal were a setup? I couldn’t picture Vialle as a part of it, but she could easily have been deceived by Julian and Benedict. Supposing Dalt wasn’t even out there?

  Or suppose he were—and that what he’d really asked for was Luke’s head? After all, he had tried to kill Luke fairly recently. I had to admit the possibility now, and I also had to admit that Julian was the most likely candidate to be a willing party to such a design. For the good of Amber.

  Julian’s gaze met mine, and I wore as affectless a mask as his own.

  “Good evening, Merlin,” he said. “Do you have a special part in this plan?”

  “I’m an observer,” I answered. “Anything else I may do will be dictated by circumstance.”

  From somewhere outside I heard the growling of a hellhound.

  “So long as you keep out of the way,” Julian said.

  I smiled.

  “Sorcerers have special ways of avoiding notice,” I replied.

  He studied me again, wondering, I am certain, whether that involved some sort of threat—to defend Luke or avenge him.

  Then he shrugged and turned away to where a small table held an unrolled map, weighted in place with a rock and a dagger. He indicated that Luke should join him there, and I followed when he did.

  It was a map of the western fringe of Arden, and he pointed out our position on it. Garnath lay to our south-southwest, Amber to the southeast.

  “Our troops are situated here;” he said, with a movement of his finger. “And Dalt’s are here.” He described another line, roughly paralleling our own.

  “What about Benedict’s force?” I inquired.

  He glanced at me, showing the slightest of frowns.

  “It is good for Luke to know that there is such a force,” he stated, “but not its size, location, or objective. That way, if Dalt were to capture and question him, he’d have a lot to worry about and nothing to act upon.”

  Luke nodded. “Good idea,” he said.

  Julian pointed again, to a spot midway between the lines. “This is the place where I met with him when we spoke earlier,” he explained. “It is a clear, level area, in view of both sides during daylight. I’d suggest we use it again, for your meeting.”

  “All right,” Luke said, and I noticed that as he spoke, Julian’s fingertips caressed the handle of the dagger that lay before him. Then I saw that Luke’s right hand, in casual movement, had come to rest upon his belt, slightly to the left and near to his own dagger.

  Simultaneously, then, Luke and Julian smiled at each other, and held it several seconds too long. Luke was bigger than Julian, and I knew he was fast and strong. But Julian had centuries of experience with weapons behind him. I wondered how I would intervene if either made a move toward the other, because I knew that I would try to stop them. But they let their hands fall to their sides then, as if by sudden agreement, and Julian said, “Let me offer you a glass of wine.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Luke replied, and I wondered whether my presence had kept them from fighting. Probably not. I’d the feeling that Julian had just wanted to make his feelings clear, and Luke had wanted to let him know he didn’t give a damn. I really don’t know which one I’d have bet on.

  Julian placed three cups upon the table, filled them with Bayle’s Best, gestured for us to help ourselves as he corked the bottle, then picked up the remaining cup and took a swallow before either of us could do more than sniff ours. A quick assurance that we weren’t being poisoned and that he wanted to talk business.

  “When I met with him we each b
rought two retainers along,” he said.

  “Armed?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “More for show, really.”

  “Were you mounted or on foot?” Luke asked.

  “On foot,” he replied. “We each left our lines at the same time and proceeded at the same pace till we met there in the middle, several hundred paces from either side.”

  “I see,” Luke said. “No hitches?”

  “None. We talked and returned.”

  “When was this?”

  “Around sundown.”

  “Did he seem to be a man in a normal state of mind?”

  “I’d say. I count a certain arrogant posturing and a few insults toward Amber as normal for Dalt.”

  “Understandable,” Luke said. “And he wanted me or my mother, or both? And failing to get us, he threatened to attack?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he give any indication as to why he wants us?”

  “None,” Julian replied.

  Luke took a sip of his wine.

  “Did he specify whether he wanted us dead or alive?” he asked.

  “Yes. He wants you alive,” Julian answered.

  “What are your impressions?”

  “If I give you to him, I’m rid of you,” Julian said. “If I spit in his eye and take him on in battle, I’m rid of him. Either way, I come out ahead.”

  Then his gaze moved to the wine cup, which Luke had picked up with his left hand, and for an instant his eyes widened. I realized he had just then noticed that Luke was wearing Vialle’s ring.

  “It looks as if I get to kill Dalt, anyway,” he concluded.

  “By impressions,” Luke went on, unperturbed. “I meant, do you believe he will really attack? Do you have any idea where he came from? Any indication where he might be headed when he leaves here—if he leaves?”

  Julian swirled his wine in his cup.

  “I have to go under the assumption that he means what he says and plans to attack. When we first became aware of his troop movements, he was advancing from the general direction of Begma and Kashfa—probably Eregnor, since he hangs out there a lot. Your guess is as good as anyone’s as to where he wants to go if he leaves here.”

  Luke took a quick swallow of wine a fraction of a second too late for it to conceal what appeared to be a sudden smile. No, I realized right then, Luke’s guess was not as good as anyone else’s. It was probably a hell of a lot better. I took a quick drink myself, though I’m not sure what expression I might have been concealing.

  “You can sleep here,” Julian said. “If you’re hungry, I’ll have some food brought in. We’ll set up this meeting for you at daybreak.”

  Luke shook his head.

  “Now,” Luke said, with another subtle but obvious display of the ring. “We want it set up right away.”

  Julian studied him for several pulsebeats. Then, “You’ll not be in the clearest sight of either side in the dark, especially with snow coming down,” he said. “Some little misunderstanding could result in an attack, from either side.”

  “If both of my companions bore large torches—and if both of his did the same—” he suggested, “we ought to be visible to both sides at a few hundred yards.”

  “Possibly,” Julian said. “All right. I’ll have the message sent to his camp, and I’ll choose two retainers to accompany you.”

  “I already know who I want to have with me,” Luke said. “Yourself and Merlin here.”

  “You are a curious individual,” Julian observed. “But yes, I agree. I would like to be there when whatever happens, happens.”

  Julian moved to the front of his tent, opened the flap, and summoned an officer with whom he spoke for several minutes. In this space, I asked, “You know what you’re doing, Luke?”

  “Certainly,” he replied.

  “I’ve a feeling this is a little more than playing it by ear,” I said. “Any reason why you can’t tell me your plan?”

  He appraised me for a moment, then said, “I only recently realized that I, too, am a son of Amber. We’ve met, and we’ve seen that we’re too much like each other. Okay. That’s good. It means we can do business, right?”

  I allowed myself to frown. I wasn’t sure what he was trying to say.

  He clasped my shoulder lightly.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “You can trust me. Not that you have a great deal of choice at this point. But you may a bit later. I want you to remember then that, whatever happens, you must not interfere.”

  “What do you think is going to happen?”

  “We haven’t the time or the privacy to speculate,” he said. “So let it go, and remember everything I said this evening.”

  “As you said, I haven’t much choice at this point.”

  “I want you to remember it later,” he said, as Julian lowered the flap and turned toward us.

  “I’ll take you up on that meal,” Luke called to him. “How about you, Merle? Hungry?”

  “Lord, no!” I replied. “I just sat through a state dinner.”

  “Oh?” he inquired almost too casually. “What was the occasion?”

  I began to laugh. It was too much for one day. I was about to tell him that we hadn’t the time or the privacy. But Julian had just reopened the tent flap and was calling for an orderly, and I wanted to throw a few curve balls through Luke’s broken field just to see what they did to his composure.

  “Oh, it was for the Begman prime minister, Orkuz, and some of his staff,” I explained.

  He waited while I pretended to take a long drink of wine. Then I lowered it and said, “That’s all.”

  “Come on, Merlin. What’s it about? I’ve been relatively square with you recently.”

  “Oh?” I said.

  For a minute I didn’t think he’d see the humor in it, but then he began to laugh, too.

  “Sometimes the mills of the gods grind too damned fast and we get buried in grist,” he observed. “Look, how about giving me this one for free. I don’t have anything brief to trade right now. What’s he want?”

  “You’ll bear in mind that this is classified until tomorrow?”

  “Okay. What happens tomorrow?”

  “Arkans, Duke of Shadburne, gets crowned in Kashfa.”

  “Holy shit!” Luke said. He glanced at Julian, then back at me. “That was a damned clever choice on Random’s part,” he said after a time. “I didn’t think he’d move this fast.”

  He stared off into some vanishing point for a long while. Then he said, “Thanks.”

  “Well, does it help or hurt?” I asked.

  “Me, or Kashfa?” he said.

  “I hadn’t split it down that fine.”

  “That’s okay, because I’m not sure how to take this. I need to do some thinking. Get the big picture.”

  I stared at him and he smiled again.

  “It is interesting,” he added. “You got anything else for me?”

  “That’s enough,” I said.

  “Yeah, probably you’re right,” he agreed. “Don’t want to overload the systems. Think we’re losing touch with the simple things, old buddy?”

  “Not so long as we know each other,” I said.

  Julian dropped the flap, returned to us, and sought his wine cup.

  “Your food will be along in a few minutes,” he told Luke.

  “Thanks.”

  “According to Benedict,” he said, “you told Random that Dalt is a son of Oberon.”

  “I did,” Luke acknowledged. “One who’s walked the Pattern, at that. Does it make a difference?”

  Julian shrugged.

  “Won’t be the first time I’ve wanted to kill a relative,” he stated. “By the way, you’re my nephew, aren’t you?”

  “Right . . . uncle.”

  Julian swirled the contents of his cup again.

  “Well, welcome to Amber,” he said. “I heard a banshee last night. I wonder if there’s any connection?”

  “Change,” Luke said.
“They mean things are changing and they wail for what’s being lost.”

  “Death. They mean death, don’t they?”

  “Not always. Sometimes they just show up at turning points for dramatic effect.”

  “Too bad,” Julian said. “But one can always hope.”

  I thought Luke was going to say something else, but Julian began again before he could.

  “How well did you know your father?” he asked.

  Luke stiffened slightly, but answered, “Maybe not as well as most. I don’t know. He was like a salesman. Always coming and going. Didn’t usually stay with us long.”

  Julian nodded.

  “What was he like, near the end?” he inquired.

  Luke studied his hands.

  “Well, he wasn’t exactly normal, if that’s what you mean,” he finally said. “Like I was telling Merlin earlier, I think the process he undertook to gain his powers might have unbalanced him some.”

  “I never heard that story.”

  Luke shrugged.

  “The details aren’t all that important—just the results.”

  “You’re saying he wasn’t a bad father before that?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. I never had another father to a compare him to. Why do you ask?”

  “Curiosity. It’s a part of his life I knew nothing about.”

  “Well, what kind of brother was he?”

  “Wild,” Julian said. “We didn’t get along all that well. So we pretty much stayed out of each other’s ways. He was smart, though. Talented, too. Had a flare for the arts. I was just trying to figure how much you might take after him.”

  Luke turned his hands palms upward. “Beats me,” he said.

  “Well, no matter,” Julian replied, setting down his cup and turning toward the front of the tent again. “I believe your food is about to arrive.”

  He moved off in that direction. I could hear the tiny crystals of ice rattling against the canvas overhead, and a few growls from outside: concerto for wind and hellhound. No banshees, though. Not yet.

  9

  I walked a pace or so behind Luke, a couple of yards off to his left, trying to keep even with Julian, who was over to the right. The torch I bore was a big thing, about six tapering feet of pitchy wood, sharpened at its terminus to make it easy to drive into the ground. I held it at arm’s distance, because the oily flames licked and lashed in all directions in accord with vagaries of the wind. Sharp, icy flakes fell upon my cheek, my forehead, my hands, with a few catching in my eyebrows and lashes. I blinked vigorously as the heat of the torch melted them and they ran into my eyes. The grasses beneath my feet were sufficiently cold to give a brittle, crunching sensation every time I took a step. Directly ahead I could see the slow advance of two other torches toward us, and the shadowy figure of a man who walked between them. I blinked and waited for the flow from one or the other of his torches to give me a better look. I’d only seen him once, very briefly, via Trump, back at Arbor House. His hair looked golden, or even coppery, by what light there was upon it, but I remembered it as a kind of dirty blond by natural light. His eyes, I recalled, were green, though there was no way I could see that now. I did begin to realize for the first time, however, that he was pretty big—either that or he had chosen fairly short torchbearers. He had been alone that one time I’d seen him, and I had had no standard for comparison. As the light from our torches reached him I saw that he had on a heavy, green sleeveless doublet without a collar, over something black and also heavy, with sleeves that extended down his arms to vanish within green gauntlets. His trousers were black, as were the high boots they entered; his cloak was black and lined with an emerald green that caught our light as the cloak furled about him in shifting, oily landscapes of yellow and red. He wore a heavy circular medallion, which looked to be gold, on a chain about his neck; and though I could not make out the details of its device, I was certain that it bore a Lion rending a Unicorn. He came to a halt about ten or twelve paces from Luke, who stopped an instant later. Dalt gestured, and his retainers drove the butts of their torches into the ground. Julian and I immediately did the same, and we remained near them, as Dalt’s men were doing. Then Dalt nodded to Luke, and they both advanced again, meeting at the center of the box formed by the lights, clasping right forearms, staring into each other’s eyes. Luke’s back was to me, but I could see Dalt’s face. He showed no signs of emotion, but his lips were already moving. I couldn’t hear a word that was being said, between the wind and the fact that they seemed intentionally to be keeping it low. At least, I finally had a point of reference for Dalt’s size. Luke is about six three, and I could see that Dalt was several inches taller. I glanced at Julian, but he was not looking my way. I wondered how many eyes regarded us from both sides of the field.