The Great Book of Amber - Chronicles 1-10

by Roger Zelazny

  I caught hold of him again and we approached the way. I wrapped us in energies as it took us, and I lofted us above the field of blades and flowers as we departed.

  There were footfalls from up the corridor. I swirled us away to another place.

  I took us to Jurt’s apartment, which didn’t seem a place anyone was likely to come looking for a man who was still in his cell; and I knew that Jurt had no need of it just then.

  Corwin sprawled on the bed and squinted at me. “By the way,” he said, “thanks.”

  “Anytime,” I told him.

  “You know your way around this place pretty well?” he said.

  “It doesn’t seem to have changed that much,” I told him.

  “Then how’s about raiding an icebox for me while I borrow your brother’s scissors and razor for a quick shave and haircut.”

  “What would you like?”

  “Meat, bread, cheese, wine, maybe a piece of pie,” he said. “Just so it’s fresh and there’s lots of it. Then you’re going to have a lot of story to tell me.”

  “I guess I am,” I said.

  And so I made my way to the kitchen, down familiar halls and ways I had traversed as a boy. The place was lit by just a few tapers, the fires banked. No one was about.

  I proceeded to raid the larder, heaping a tray with the various viands requested, adding a few pieces of fruit I came across. I almost dropped the wine bottle when I heard a sharp intake of breath near the doorway I had entered.

  It was Julia, in a blue silk wrap.

  “Merlin!”

  I crossed to her.

  “I owe you several apologies,” I said. “I’m ready to make them.”

  “I’d heard you were back. I heard you were to be king.”

  “Funny, I heard that, too.”

  “Then it would be unpatriotic of me to stay mad, wouldn’t it?”

  “I never meant to hurt you,” I said. “Physically, or any other way.”

  Suddenly, we were holding each other. It lasted a long time before she told me, “Jurt says you’re friends now.”

  “I guess we sort of are.”

  I kissed her.

  “If we got back together again,” she said, “he’d probably try to kill you again.”

  “I know. This time the consequences could really be cataclysmic, too.”

  “Where are you going right now?”

  “I’m on an errand, and it’s going to take me several hours.”

  “Why don’t you stop by when you’re finished? We’ve got a lot to talk about. I’m staying in a place called the Wisteria Room for now. Know where that is?”

  “Yes,” I said. “This is crazy.”

  “See you later?”

  “Maybe.”

  The next day I traveled to the Rim, for I’d heard report that the Pit-divers—those who seek after artifacts of creation beyond the Rim—had suspended operations for the first time in a generation. When I questioned them they told me of dangerous activities in the depths—whirlwinds, wings of fire, blasts of new-minted matter.

  Sitting in a secluded place and looking down, I used the spikard I wore to question the one I didn’t. When I removed the shield in which I’d encased it, it commenced a steady litany, “Go to Mandor. Get crowned. See your brother. See your mother. Begin preparations.” I wrapped it again and put it away. If I didn’t do something soon he was going to suspect that I was beyond its control. Did I care?

  I could just absent myself, perhaps going away with my father, helping him at whatever showdown might finally develop over his Pattern. I could even ditch both spikards there, enhancing the forces in that place. I could still rely on my own magic in a pinch. But my problem was right here. I had been bred and conditioned to be a perfect royal flunky, under the control of my mother, and possibly my brother Mandor. I loved Amber, but I loved the Courts as well. Fleeing to Amber, while assuring my safety, would no more solve my personal problem than running off with my dad—or returning to the Shadow Earth I also cared for, with or without Coral. No. The problem was here—and inside me.

  I summoned a filmy to bear me to an elevated way to take me back to Sawall. As I traveled, I thought of what I must do, and I realized that I was afraid. If things got pushed as far as they well might, there was a strong possibility that I would die. Alternatively, I might have to kill someone I didn’t really want to.

  Either way, though, there had to be some resolution or I’d never know peace at this pole of my existence.

  I walked beside a purple stream beneath a green sun atop a pearly sky. I summoned a purple and gray bird, which came and sat upon my wrist. I had thought to dispatch it to Amber with a message for Random. Try as I might, however, I could phrase no simple note. Too many things depended on other things. Laughing, I released it and leapt from the bank, where I struck another way above the water.

  Returned to Sawall, I made my way to the sculpture hall. By then, I knew what I must try to do and how I must go about it. I stood where I had stood—how long ago?—regarding massive structures, simple figures, intricate ones.

  “Ghost?” I said. “You in the neighborhood?”

  There was no response.

  “Ghost!” I repeated more loudly. “Can you hear me?”

  Nothing.

  I dug out my Trumps, located the one I had done for Ghostwheel, bright circle.

  I regarded it with some intensity, but it was slow to grow cool. This was understandable, considering some of the odd areas of space to which this hall gave access. Also, it was irritating.

  I raised the spikard. Using it here at the level I intended would be like setting off a burglar alarm. Amen.

  I touched the Tarot with a line of subtle force, attempting to enhance the instrument’s sensitivity. I maintained my concentration.

  Again, nothing.

  I backed it with more force. There followed a perceptible cooling. But there was no contact.

  “Ghost,” I said through clenched teeth. “This is important. Come to me.”

  No reply. So I sent power into the thing. The card began to glow and frost crystals formed upon it. Small crackling sounds occurred in its vicinity.

  “Ghost,” I repeated.

  A weak sense of his presence occurred then, and I poured more juice into the card. It shattered in my hand, and I caught it in a web of forces and held all of the pieces together, looking like a small stained-glass window. I continued to reach through it.

  “Dad! I’m in trouble!” came to me then.

  “Where are you? What’s the matter?” I asked.

  “I followed this entity I met. Pursued her—it. Almost a mathematical abstraction. Called Kergma. Got caught here at an odd-even dimensional interface, where I’m spiraling. Was having a good time up until then—”

  “I know Kergma well. Kergma is a trickster. I can feel your spatial situation. I am about to send bursts of energy to counter the rotation. Let me know if there are problems. As soon as you’re able to Trump through, tell me and come ahead.”

  I pulsed it through the spikard and the braking effect began. Moments later, he informed me, “I think I can escape now.”

  “Come on, then.”

  Suddenly, Ghost was there, spinning about me like a magic circle.

  “Thanks, Dad. I really appreciate this. Let me know if there’s ever anything—”

  “There is,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Shrink yourself down and hide somewhere about my person.”

  “Wrist okay again?”

  “Sure.”

  He did that thing. Then, “Why?” he asked.

  “I may need a sudden ally,” I replied.

  “Against what?”

  “Anything,” I said. “It’s showdown time.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “Then leave me now. I won’t hold it against you.”

  “I couldn’t do that.”

  “Listen, Ghost. This thing has escalated, and a line must
be drawn now. I—”

  The air began to shimmer, off to my right. I knew what it meant.

  “Later,” I said. “Be still.”

  . . . And there was a doorway, and it opened to admit a tower of green light: eyes, ears, nose, mouth, limbs cycling about its sea-like range—one of the more inspired demonic forms I’d beheld of late. And, of course, I knew the features.

  “Merlin,” he said. “I felt you ply the spikard here.”

  “I thought you might,” I replied, “and I am at your service, Mandor.”

  “Really?”

  “In all respects, brother.”

  “Including a certain matter of succession?”

  “That in particular.”

  “Excellent! And what business were you about here?”

  “I was but seeking something I had lost.”

  “That can wait upon another day, Merlin. We have much to do just now.”

  “Yes, that is true.”

  “So assume a more pleasing form and come with me. We must discuss the measures you are to take upon assuming the throne—which Houses are to be suppressed, who outlawed—”

  “I must speak with Dara immediately.”

  “I would rather lay some groundwork first. Come! Shift, and let us be away!”

  “Would you know where she is just now?”

  “Gantu, I believe. But we will confer with her later.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to have her Trump handy, would you?”

  “I fear not. I thought you carried a deck of your own?”

  “I do. But hers was inadvertently destroyed one night when I was drinking.”

  “No matter,” he said. “We will see her later, as I explained.”

  I had been opening channels on the spikard as we spoke. I caught him at the center of a whirlwind of forces. I could see the transformation procedure within him, and it was a simple matter to reverse it, collapsing the green and spinning tower into the form of a white-haired man clad in black and white and looking very irritated.

  “Merlin!” he cried. “Why have you changed me?”

  “This thing fascinates me,” I said, waving the spikard. “I just wanted to see whether I could do it.”

  “Now you’ve seen it,” he said. “Kindly release me to turn back, and find a more fitting form for yourself.”

  “A moment,” I said, as he attempted to melt and flow. “I require you just as you are.”

  I held him against his effort, and I drew a fiery rectangle in the air. A series of quick movements filled it with a rough likeness of my mother.

  “Merlin! What are you doing?” he cried.

  I suppressed his effort to extricate himself by means of a transport spell.

  “Conference time,” I announced. “Bear with me.”

  I didn’t just meditate upon the impromptu Trump I had hung in the air before me, but practically attacked it with a charge of the energies I was cycling through my body and the space about me.

  Suddenly, Dara stood within the frame I had created—tall, coal-black, eyes of green flame.

  “Merlin! What’s happening?” she cried.

  I’d never heard of it being done quite this way before, but I held the contact, willed her presence, and blew away the frame. She stood before me then, perhaps seven feet tall, pulsing with indignation.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she asked.

  I caught her as I had Mandor and collapsed her down to human scale.

  “Democracy,” I said “Let’s all look alike for a minute.”

  “This is not amusing,” she responded, and she began to change back.

  I canceled her effort.

  “No, it isn’t,” I answered. “But I called this meeting, and it will be run on my terms.”

  “Very well,” she said, shrugging. “What has become so terribly urgent?”

  “The succession.”

  “The matter is settled. The throne is yours.”

  “And whose creature am I to be?” I raised my left hand, hoping they had no way of telling one spikard from another. “This thing confers great powers. It also charges for their use. It bore a spell for control of its wearer.”

  “It was Swayvill’s,” Mandor said. “I got it to you when I did to accustom you to the force of its presence. And yes, there is a price. Its wearer must come to terms with it.”

  “I have wrestled with it,” I lied, “and I am its master. But the main problems were not cosmic. They were compulsions of your own installation.”

  “I do not deny it,” he said. “But there was a very good reason for their presence. You were reluctant to take the throne. I felt it necessary to add an element of compulsion.”

  I shook my head.

  “Not good enough,” I said. “There was more to it than that. It was a thing designed to make me subservient to you.”

  “Necessary,” he responded. “You’ve been away. You lack intimate knowledge of the local political scene. We could not simply let you take the reins and go off in your own direction—not in times such as these, when blunders could be very costly. The House needed some means to control you. But this was only to be until your education was complete.”

  “Permit me to doubt you, brother,” I said.

  He glanced at Dara, who nodded slightly.

  “He is right,” she said, “and I see nothing wrong with such temporary control until you learn the business. Too much is at stake to permit otherwise.”

  “It was a slave-spell,” I said. “It would force me to take the throne, to follow orders.”

  Mandor licked his lips. It was the first time I’d ever seen him betray a sign of nervousness. It instantly made me wary—though I realized moments later that it may have been a calculated distraction. It caused me to guard against him immediately; and, of course, the attack came from Dara.

  A wave of heat swept over me. I shifted my attention at once, attempting to raise a barrier. It was not an attack against my person. It was something soothing, coercive. I bared my teeth as I fought to hold it off.

  “Mother—” I growled.

  “We must restore the imperatives,” she said flatly, more to Mandor than to me.

  “Why?” I asked. “You’re getting what you want.”

  “The throne is not enough,” she answered. “I do not trust you in this, and reliance will be necessary.”

  “You never trusted me,” I said, pushing away the remains of her spell.

  “That is not true,” she told me, “and this is a technical matter, not a personal one.”

  “Whatever the matter,” I said, “I’m not buying.”

  Mandor tossed a paralysis spell at me, and I pushed it away, ready for anything now. As I was doing this, Dara hit me with an elaborate working I recognized as a Confusion Storm. I was not about to try matching them both, spell for spell. A good sorcerer may have a half dozen major spells hung. Their judicious employment is generally enough for dealing with most situations. In a sorcerous duel the strategy involved in their employment is a major part of the game. If both parties are still standing when the spells have been exhausted, then they are reduced to fighting with raw energies. Whoever controls a greater quantity usually has the edge then.

  I raised an umbrella against the Confusion Storm, parried Mandor’s Astral Club, held myself together through Mom’s Spirit Split, maintained my senses through Mandor’s Well of Blackness. My major spells had all gone stale, and I had hung no new ones since I’d begun relying on the spikard. I was already reduced to reliance on raw power. Fortunately, the spikard gave me control of more of it than I’d ever held before. All I had to do was force them to use up their spells, then all trickiness would be removed from the situation. I would wear them down, drain them.

  Mandor sneaked one partway through, hurting me in a brush with an Electric Porcupine. I battered him with a wall of force, however, slamming him into a system of revolving discs that flashed off in all directions. Dara turned into a liquid flame, coiling, waving, flowing
through circles and figure-eights, as she advanced and retreated, tossing bubbles of euphoria and pain to orbit me. I tried to blow them away, hurricane-wise, shattering the great porcelain face, uprooting towers, family groups with holes in them, glowing geometries. Mandor turned to sand, which filtered downward through the structure upon which he sprawled, became a yellow carpet, crept toward me.

  I ignored the effects and continued to beat at them with energies. I hurled the carpet through the flame and dumped a floating fountain upon them. Brushing out small fires in my clothing and hair, I forced my consciousness through numbed areas in my left shoulder and leg. I fell apart and drew myself back together again as I mastered Dara’s spell of Unweaving. I shattered Mandor’s Diamond Bubble and digested the Chains of Deliverance. On three occasions, I dropped my human form for things more suitable, but always I returned to it. I hadn’t had a workout like this since my final exams with Suhuy.

  But the ultimate advantage was obviously mine. Their only real chance had lain in surprise, and that was gone now. I opened all channels on the spikard, a thing which might have intimidated even the Pattern—though, now I thought on it, it had gotten me knocked senseless. I caught Mandor in a cone of force that stripped him down to a skeleton and built him back up again in an instant. Dara was harder to nail, but when I blasted her with all of the channels, she hit me with a Dazzlement spell she’d been holding in reserve, the only thing that saved her from turning into a statue as I’d intended. Instead, it left her in mortal form and restricted to slow motion.

  I shook my head and rubbed my eyes. Lights danced before me.

  “Congratulations,” she said, over a span of perhaps ten seconds. “You’re better than I’d thought.”

  “And I’m not even finished,” I replied, breathing deeply. “It’s time to do unto you as you’d have done unto me.”

  I began to craft the working which would place them under my control. It was then that I noticed her small slow smile.

  “I’d thought—we might—deal with—you—ourselves,” she said as the air began to shimmer before her. “I was—wrong.”

  The Sign of the Logrus took form before her. Immediately, her features grew more animated.

  Then I felt its terrible regard. When it addressed me, that pastiche-voice tore at my nervous system.