The Great Book of Amber - Chronicles 1-10

by Roger Zelazny

  “Not with the additional circuit of confinement I established on the way out,” he replied. “Not many could figure a way past it, and certainly not in ten minutes.”

  “She’s just full of secrets, that damned ty’iga,” I said. “Kind of makes me wonder who’s really the prisoner here.”

  “She’s only trading some bit of knowledge for Jasra’s cooperation,” he said. “She wants the lady to accompany us if she can’t go herself, since it will mean extra protection for you.”

  “Then why can’t we be present?”

  “Nothing that I learned from her sheds any light on this,” he said.

  “Well, since I have a few minutes, there is a small errand I want to run. Would you keep an eye on things here and take charge if she calls us in before I get back?”

  He smiled.

  “If one of your relatives strolls by, should I introduce myself as a lord of Chaos?”

  “I thought you were also a lord of deception.”

  “Of course,” he said, and he clapped his hands and vanished.

  “I’ll hurry,” I said.

  “Cheerio,” came his voice, from somewhere.

  I hurried off up the hall. It was a little pilgrimage, I suppose—one that I had not made in a long while. On the brink of an enterprise such as this, it seemed somehow appropriate.

  When I reached the door, I stood outside it for a moment, my eyes closed, visualizing the interior as last I had seen it. It was my father’s apartment. I had wandered through it on many occasions, trying to judge from the furnishings, the layout, his bookshelves, and his curious collections something more than I already knew about the man. There was always some little thing that caught my attention, that answered a question or raised a new one—an inscription on the flyleaf of a book or a note in a margin, a silver hairbrush bearing the wrong set of initials, a daguerreotype of an attractive brunette signed “To Carl, Love, Carolyn,” a snapshot of my father shaking hands with General MacArthur. . . .

  I unlocked the door and pushed it open.

  I did not move for several seconds, however, as a light glowed inside the place. For more long moments I listened, but there were no sounds from within. Slowly then, I entered. A number of candles burned upon the dresser set against the far wall. There was no one in sight.

  “Hello?” I called out. “It’s me. Merlin.” There came no answer.

  I drew the door closed behind me and moved forward. A bud vase stood upon the dresser amid the candles. It contained a single rose, and it appeared to be silver in color. I drew nearer. Yes, it was real, not artificial. And it was silver. In what shadow did such flowers grow?

  I picked up one of the candles by its holder and moved away with it, shielding its flame with my hand. I crossed to my left and entered the next room. Immediately, on opening the door, I saw that there was no need to have brought the candle. More of them were burning here.

  “Hello?” I repeated.

  Again, no answer. No sounds of any sort.

  I set the candle upon a nearby table and crossed to the bed. I raised a sleeve and let it fall. A silvery shirt was laid out upon the counterpane beside a black pair of trousers—my father’s colors. They had not been there when last I had visited.

  I seated myself beside them and stared across the room into a shadowy corner. What was going on? Some bizarre household ritual? A haunting? or. . . .

  “Corwin?” I said.

  In that I’d hardly expected a reply, I was not disappointed. When I rose, however, I bumped against a heavy object hung upon the nearest bedpost. I reached out and raised it for a better view. A belt with a sheathed weapon hung upon it. These had not been present last time either. I gripped the haft and drew the blade.

  A portion of the Pattern, contained within the gray metal, danced in the candlelight. This was Grayswandir, sword of my father. What it was doing back here now, I had no idea.

  And I realized with a pang that I could not stick around to see what might be going on. I had to get back to my own problems. Yes, timing was definitely against me today.

  I resheathed Grayswandir.

  “Dad?” I said. “If you can hear me, I want to get together again. But I have to go now. Good luck on whatever you’re about.”

  Then I departed the room, touched the silver rose as I passed and locked the door behind me. As I turned away, I realized that I was shaking.

  I passed no one on the walk back, and when I approached my own door I wondered whether I should enter, knock, or wait. Then something touched my shoulder, and I turned around but no one was there. When I turned forward once again Mandor stood before me, his brow slightly creased.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked. “You appear more troubled than when you left.”

  “Something totally different,” I told him, “I think. Any word from inside yet?”

  “I heard a shriek from Jasra while you were gone,” he said, “and I turned to the door and opened it. But she was laughing and she asked me to close it.”

  “Either ty’igas know some good stories or the news is favorable.”

  “So it would seem.”

  A little later the door opened and Jasra nodded to us.

  “Our conversation is concluded,” she said.

  I studied her as I entered the room. She looked a lot more cheerful than she had seemed when we’d left. There was a bit more of a crinkling about the outer edges of her eyes, and she seemed almost to be fighting the corners of her mouth down into place.

  “I hope it was a fruitful interview,” I said.

  “Yes. On the whole, I’d say it was that,” she answered.

  A glance at Nayda showed me that nothing had changed in terms of her position or expression.

  “I’ll have to be asking you for a decision now,” I said. “I can’t afford to cut things much closer than this.”

  “What happens if I say no?” she asked.

  “I’ll have you conducted to your quarters and inform the others that you’re up and about,” I said.

  “As a guest?”

  “As a very well-protected guest.”

  “I see. Well, I do not really care to inspect those quarters. I have decided to accompany you and assist you under the terms we discussed.”

  I bowed to her.

  “Merlin!” Nayda said.

  “No!” I answered, and I looked to Mandor. He approached and stood before Nayda.

  “It is best that you sleep now,” he told her, and her eyes closed, her shoulders slumped. “Where is a good place for her to rest deeply?” he asked me.

  “Through there,” I said, indicating the doorway to the next room.

  He took her by the hand and led her away. After a time, I heard him speaking softly, and then there was only silence. He emerged a little later, and I went to the door and glanced inside. She was stretched out on my bed. I did not see any of his metal spheres in the neighborhood.

  “She’s out of it?” I said.

  “For a long time,” he replied.

  I looked at Jasra, who was glancing down into the mirror.

  “Are you ready?” I inquired.

  She regarded me through lowered lashes.

  “How do you propose transporting us?” she asked.

  “Do you have an especially tricky means of getting us in?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “Then I will be calling upon the Ghostwheel to take us there.”

  “Are you certain it is safe? I’ve conversed with that . . . device. I am not sure it is trustworthy.”

  “It’s fine,” I said. “Any spells you want to prime first?”

  “Not necessary. My . . . resources should be in good order.”

  “Mandor?”

  I heard a clicking sound from somewhere within his cloak.

  “Ready,” he said.

  I withdrew the Ghostwheel Trump and studied it. I began my meditation. Then I reached. Nothing happened. I tried again, recalling, tuning, expanding. I reached again, ca
lling, feeling. . . .

  “The door. . . . ” Jasra said.

  I glanced at the door to the hallway, but there was nothing unusual about it. Then I looked at her and realized the direction of her gaze.

  The doorway to the next room, where Nayda slept, had begun to glow. It shone with a yellow light, and even as I watched, it grew in intensity. A spot of greater brightness then occurred at its center. Abruptly, the spot began a slow up-and-down movement.

  Then came music, from where I was not certain, and Ghost’s voice announced, “Follow the bouncing ball.”

  “Stop it!” I said. “It’s distracting!”

  The music went away. The circle of light grew still.

  “Sorry,” Ghost said. “I thought you’d find a little comic relief relaxing.”

  “You guessed wrong,” I replied. “I just want you to take us to the citadel at the Keep of the Four Worlds.”

  “Do you want the troops, also? I can’t seem to locate Luke.”

  “Just the three of us,” I answered.

  “What about the one who sleeps next door? I’ve met her before. She doesn’t scan right.”

  “I know. She’s not human. Let her sleep.”

  “Very well, then. Pass through the door.”

  “Come on,” I said to the others, picking up my weapons belt and buckling it on, adding my spare dagger, grabbing my cloak off a chair, and drawing it over my shoulders.

  I walked toward the portal and Mandor and Jasra followed. I stepped through, but the room was no longer there. Instead, there came a moment of blurring, and when my senses cleared, I was staring down and outward across a great distance beneath a heavily overcast sky, a cold wind whipping at my garments.

  I heard an exclamation from Mandor and, a moment later, another from Jasra—behind me and to the left. The great ice field lay bone-white to my right, and in the opposite direction a slate-gray sea tossed whitecaps like serpents in a bucket of milk. Far below, before me, the dark ground simmered and steamed.

  “Ghost!” I cried. “Where are you?”

  “Here,” came a soft response, and I looked down to behold a tiny ring of light near the toe of my left boot. Directly ahead and below, the Keep stood stark in the distance. There were no signs of life outside its walls. I realized that I must be in the mountains, standing somewhere near the place where I had held my lengthy colloquy with the old hermit named Dave.

  “I wanted you to take us into the citadel within the Keep,” I explained. “Why did you bring us up here?”

  “I told you I don’t like that place,” Ghost answered. “I wanted to give you a chance to look it over and decide exactly where you wished to be sent within. That way I can move very fast on the delivery, and not expose myself overlong to forces I find distressing.”

  I continued to study the Keep. A pair of twisters were again circling the outer walls. If there had not been a moat, they would probably have done a good job of creating one. They stayed almost exactly 180 degrees apart, and they took turns at illumination. The nearest one grew spark-shot with bolts of lightning, acquiring an eerie incandescence; then, as it began to fade, the other brightened. They passed through this cycle several times as I watched.

  Jasra made a small noise, and I turned and asked her, “What’s going on?”

  “The ritual,” she responded. “Someone is playing with those forces right now.”

  “Can you tell how far along they might be?” I asked.

  “Not really. They could just be starting, or they could be finished already. All the poles of fire tell me is that everything is in place.”

  “You call it then, Jasra,” I told her. “Where should we put in our appearance?”

  “There are two long hallways leading to the chamber of the fountain,” she said. “One is on the same level and the other a floor above it. The chamber itself is several stories high.”

  “I recall that,” I acknowledged.

  “If they are working directly with the forces and we simply appear within the chamber,” she continued, “the advantage of surprise will only be momentary. I can’t say for certain what they might hit us with. Better to approach along one of the two hallways and give me a chance to assess the situation. Since there is a possibility that they could note our approach along the lower hallway, the upper one would be best for all our purposes.”

  “All right,” I agreed. “Ghost, can you put us back a distance in that upper hallway?”

  The circle spread, tilted, rose, stood high above us for a moment, then dropped.

  “You are . . . already . . . there,” Ghost said, as my vision swam and the circle of light passed over us, head to toe. “Good-bye.”

  He was right. We were on target this time. We stood in a long, dim corridor, its walls of dark, hewn stone. Its one end was lost in darkness. Its other led into an area of illumination. The ceiling was of rough timbers, the heavy cross-beams softened by curtains and plumes of spider-webbing. A few blue wizard globes flickered within wall brackets, shedding a pale light that indicated they were near the ends of their spells. Others had already gone dead. Near the brighter end of the hallway some of these had been replaced by lanterns. From overhead came the sounds of small things scurrying within the ceiling. The place smelled damp, musty. But the air had an electric quality to it, as though we were breathing ozone, with an edge of event jitteriness permeating everything.

  I shifted to Logrus Sight, and immediately there was a considerable brightening. Lines of force like glowing yellow cables ran everywhere. They provided the additional illumination I now perceived. And every time my movements intersected one, it heightened the overall tingling effect I experienced. I could see now that Jasra was standing at the intersection of several of these and seemed to be drawing energy from them into her body. She was acquiring a glowing quality I was not certain my normal vision would have detected. When I glanced at Mandor I saw the Sign of the Logrus hovering before him also, which meant that he was aware of everything I was seeing.

  Jasra began moving slowly along the corridor toward the lighted end. I fell in behind her and slightly to her left. Mandor followed me, moving so silently I had to glance back occasionally to assure myself he was still with us. As we advanced I became aware of a certain throbbing sensation, as of the beating of a vast pulse. Whether this was being transmitted through the floor or along those vibrating lines we continually encountered, I could not say.

  I wondered whether our disturbing this net of forces was betraying our presence, and even our position, to the adept working with the stuff down at the Fount. Or was his concentration on the task at hand sufficiently distracting to permit us to approach undetected?

  “It has started?” I whispered to Jasra.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “How far along?”

  “The major phase could be completed.”

  A few paces more, and then she asked me, “What is your plan?”

  “If you’re right, we attack immediately. Perhaps we should try to take out Jurt first—all of us, I mean—if he’s become that high-powered, that dangerous.”

  She licked her lips.

  “I’m probably best equipped to deal with him, because of my connection with the Fount,” she said then. “Better you don’t get in my way. I’d rather see you dealing with Mask while I’m about it. It might be better to keep Mandor in reserve, to lend his aid to whichever of us might need it.”

  “I’ll go along with your judgment,” I said. “Mandor, did you hear all that?”

  “Yes,” he replied softly. “I’ll do as she says.”

  Then, “What happens if I destroy the Fount itself?” he asked Jasra.

  “I don’t believe it can be done,” she answered.

  He snorted, and I could see the dangerous lines along which his thoughts were running.

  “Humor me and suppose,” he said.

  She was silent for a time, then, “If you were able to shut it down, even for a little while,” she offered, “
the citadel would probably fall. I’ve been using its emanations to help hold this place up. It’s old, and I never got around to buttressing it where it needs it. The amount of energy required to attack the Fount successfully, though, would be much better invested elsewhere.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  She halted, extending a hand into one of the lines of force and closing her eyes as if she were taking a pulse. “Very strong,” she said a little later. “Someone is tapping it at deep levels now.”

  She began moving again. The light at the end of the hallway grew brighter, then dimmer, brighter, dimmer. The shadows retreated and flowed back repeatedly as this occurred. I became aware of a sound something like the humming of high wires. There was also an intermittent crackling noise coming from that direction. I increased my pace as Jasra began to hurry. At about that time there came a sound of laughter from up ahead. Frakir tightened upon my wrist. Flakes of fire flashed past the corridor’s mouth.

  “Damn, damn, damn,” I heard Jasra saying.

  She raised her hand as we came into sight of the landing where Mask had stood at the time of our encounter. I halted as she moved very slowly, approaching the railing. There were stairs both to the right and the left, leading downward to opposite sides of the chamber.

  She looked down for only an instant; then she threw herself back and to the right, rolling when she hit the floor. Taking out a piece of railing, a ball of orange flame fled upward like a slow comet, passing through the area she had just quitted. I rushed to her side, slipped an arm beneath her shoulders, began to raise her.

  I felt her stiffen, as her head jerked slightly to the left. Somehow, I already knew what I would see when I turned that way.

  Jurt stood there, stark naked save for his eye patch, glowing, smiling, a pulse away from substantiality.

  “Good of you to drop by, brother,” he said. “Sorry you can’t stay.”

  Sparks danced at his fingertips as he swung his arm in my direction. I doubted that shaking hands was foremost in his mind.

  The only response I could think of was, “Your shoelace is untied,” which of course didn’t stop him, but it actually had him looking puzzled for a second or two.

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