He paused to relight his pipe, which had gone out, puffed upon it for a time, went on: “Many a bruising, cudgeling, biting, and beating did I take in this place, at the hands of man and beast, only barely preserving my life. He had left me in the wickedest portion of the realm. But then one day my fortunes took a turn. An armored knight bade me depart the roadway that he might pass. At that point, I cared not whether I lived or died, so I called him a pock-marked whoreson and bade him go to the Devil. He charged me and I seized his lance and pushed its point into the ground, so unhorsing him. I drew him a smile beneath his chin with his own dagger, and thus obtained me mounting and weapons. Then did I set about paying back those who had used me poorly. I took up my old trade on the highways once again and I gained me another band of followers. We grew. When there were hundreds of us our needs were considerable. We would ride into a small town and make it ours. The local militia would fear us. This, too, was a good life, though not so splendid as the Avalon I never shall know again. All the roadside inns came to fear the thunder of our mounts, and travelers would soil their britches when they heard us coming. Ha! This lasted for several years. Large parties of armed men were sent to track us and destroy us, but always we evaded them or ambushed them. Then one day there was the dark Circle, and no one really knows why.”
He puffed more vigorously on his pipe, stared off into the distance.
“I am told it began as a tiny ring of toadstools, far to the west. A child was found dead in its center, and the man who found her—her father—died of convulsions several days later. The spot was immediately said to be accursed. It grew quickly in the months that followed, until it was half a league across. The grasses darkened and shone like metal within it, but did not die. The trees twisted and their leaves blackened. They swayed when there was no wind, and bats danced and darted among them. In the twilight, strange shapes could be seen moving—always within the Circle, mind you—and there were lights, as of small fires, throughout the night. The Circle continued to grow, and those who lived near it fled—mostly. A few remained. It was said that those who remained had struck some bargain with the dark things. And the Circle continued to widen, spreading like the ripple from a rock cast into a pond. More and more people remained, living, within it. I have spoken with these people, fought with them, slain them. It is as if there is something dead inside them all. Their voices lack the thrust and dip of men chewing over their words and tasting them. They seldom do much with their faces, but wear them like death masks. They began to leave the Circle in bands, marauding. They slew wantonly. They committed many atrocities and defiled places of worship. They put things to the torch when they left them. They never stole objects of silver. Then, after many months, other creatures than men began to come forth—strangely formed, like the hellcats you slew.
“Then the Circle slowed in its growth, almost halting, as though it were nearing some sort of limit. But now all manner of raiders emerged from it—some even faring forth during the day—laying waste to the countryside about its borders. When they had devastated the land about its entire circumference, the Circle moved to encompass those areas, also. And so its growth began again, in this fashion. The old king, Uther, who had long hunted me, forgot all about me and set his forces to patrolling that damned Circle. It was beginning to worry me, also, as I did not relish the notion of being seized by some hell-spawned bloodsucker as I slept. So I got together fifty-five of my men—that was all who would volunteer, and I wanted no cowards—and we rode into that place one afternoon. We came upon a pack of those dead-faced men burning a live goat on a stone altar and we lit into the lot of them. We took one prisoner and tied him to his own altar and questioned him there. He told us that the Circle would grow until it covered the entire land, from ocean to ocean. One day it would close with itself on the other side of the world. We had best join with them, if we wished to save our hides.
Then one of my men stabbed him and he died. He really died, for I know a dead man when I see one. I’ve made it happen often enough. But as his blood fell upon the stone, his mouth opened and out came the loudest laugh I ever heard in my life. It was like thunder all about us. Then he sat up, unbreathing, and began to burn. As he burned, his form changed, until it was like that of the burning goat—only larger—there upon the altar. Then a voice came from the thing. It said, ‘Flee, mortal man! But you shall never leave this Circle!’ And believe me, we fled! The sky grew black with bats and other—things. We heard the sound of hoofbeats. We rode with our blades in our hands, killing everything that came near us. There were cats such as you slew, and snakes and hopping things, and God knows what all else. As we neared the edge of the Circle, one of King Uther’s patrols saw us and came to our aid. Sixteen of the fifty-five who had ridden in with me rode back out. And the patrol lost perhaps thirty men itself. When they saw who I was, they hustled me off to court. Here. This used to be Uther’s palace.
I told him what I had done, what I had seen and heard. He did with me as Corwin had. He offered full pardon to me and to my men if we would join with him against the Wardens of the Circle. Having gone through what I had gone through, I realized that the thing had to be stopped. So I agreed. Then I fell ill, I am told that I was delirious for three days. I was as weak as a child after my recovery, and I learned that everyone who had entered the Circle had been likewise taken. Three had died. I visited the rest of my men, told them the story, and they were enlisted.
The patrols about the Circle were strengthened. But it would not be contained. In the years that followed, the Circle grew. We fought many skirmishes. I was promoted until I stood at Uther’s right hand, as once I had at Corwin’s. Then the skirmishes became more than skirmishes. Larger and larger parties emerged from that hellhole. We lost a few battles. They took some of our outposts. Then one night an army emerged, an army—a horde—of both men and the other things that dwelled there. That night we met the largest force we had ever engaged. King Uther himself rode to battle, against my advice—for he was advanced in years—and he fell that night and the land was without a ruler. I wanted my captain, Lancelot, to sit in stewardship, for I knew him to be a far more honorable man than myself. . . .
And it is strange here. I had known a Lancelot, just like him, in Avalon—but this man knew me not when first we met. It is strange. . . . At any rate, he declined, and the position was thrust upon me. I hate it, but here I am. I have held them back for over three years now. All my instincts tell me to flee. What do I owe these damned people? What do I care if the bloody Circle widens? I could cross over the sea to some land it would never reach during my lifetime, and then forget the whole thing. Damn it! I didn’t want this responsibility! Now it is mine, though!”
“Why?” I asked him, and the sound of my own voice was strange to me.
There was silence.
He emptied his pipe. He refilled it. He relit it. He puffed it.
There was more silence.
Then, “I don’t know,” he said. “I’d stab a man in the back for a pair of shoes, if he had them and I needed them to keep my feet from freezing. I once did, that’s how I know. But . . . this is different. This is a thing hurting everybody, and I’m the only one who can do the job. God damn it! I know they’re going to bury me here one day, along with all the rest of them. But I can’t pull out. I’ve got to hold that thing back as long as I can.”
My head was cleared by the cold night air, which gave my consciousness a second wind, so to speak, though my body felt mildly anesthetized about me.
“Couldn’t Lance lead them?” I asked.
“I’d say so. He’s a good man. But there is another reason. I think that goat-thing, whatever it was, on the altar, is a bit afraid of me. I had gone in there and it had told me I’d never make it back out again, but I did. I lived through the sickness that followed after. It knows it’s me that has been fighting it all along. We won that great bloody engagement on the night Uther died, and I met the thing again in a different form and it knew me.
Maybe this is a part of what is holding it back now.”
“What form?”
“A thing with a manlike shape, but with goat horns and red eyes. It was mounted on a piebald stallion. We fought for a time, but the tide of the battle swept us apart. Which was a good thing, too, for it was winning. It spoke again, as we swaggered swords, and I knew that head-filling voice. It called me a fool and told me I could never hope to win. But when morning came, the field was ours and we drove them back to the Circle, slaying them as they fled. The rider of the piebald escaped. There have been other sallyings forth since then, but none such as that night’s. If I were to leave this land, another such army—one that is readying even now—would come forth. That thing would somehow know of my departure—just as it knew that Lance was bringing me another report on the disposition of troops within the Circle, sending those Wardens to destroy him as he returned. It knows of you by now, and surely it must wonder over this development. It must wonder who you are, for all your strength. I will stay here and fight it till I fall. I must. Do not ask me why. I only hope that before that day comes, I at least learn how this thing came to pass—why that Circle is out there.”
Then there came a fluttering near to my head. I ducked quickly to avoid whatever it was. It was not necessary, though. It was only a bird. A white bird. It landed on my left shoulder and stood there, making small noises. I held up my wrist and it hopped over onto it There was a note tied to its leg. I unfastened it, read it, crumpled it in my hand. Then I studied invisible things distant.
“What is the matter, Sir Corey?” cried Ganelon.
The note, which I had sent on ahead to my destination, written in my own hand, transmitted by a bird of my desire, could only reach the place that had to be my next stop. This was not precisely the place that I had in mind. However, I could read my own omens.
“What is it?” he asked. “What is it that you hold? A message?”
I nodded. I handed it to him. I could not very well throw it away, since he had seen me take it. It read, “I am coming,” and it bore my signature. Ganelon puffed his pipe and read it in the glow.
“He lives? And he would come here?” he said.
“So it would seem.”
“This is very strange,” he said. “I do not understand it at all . . .”
“It sounds like a promise of assistance,” I said, dismissing the bird, which cooed twice, then circled my head and departed.
Ganelon shook his head.
“I do not understand.”
“Why number the teeth of a horse you may receive for nothing?” I said. “You have only succeeded in containing that thing.”
“True,” he said. “Perhaps he could destroy it.”
“And perhaps it’s just a joke,” I told him. “A cruel one.”
He shook his head again.
“No. That is not his style. I wonder what he is after?”
“Sleep on it,” I suggested.
“There is little else that I can do, just now,” he said, stifling a yawn.
We rose then and walked the wall. We said our good nights, and I staggered off toward the pit of sleep and fell headlong into it.
Chapter 2
Day. More aches. More pains.
Someone had left me a new cloak, a brown one, which I decided was a good thing. Especially if I put on more weight and Ganelon recalled my colors. I did not shave my beard, because be had known me in a slightly less hairy condition. I took pains to disguise my voice whenever he was about. I hid Grayswandir beneath my bed.
For all of the following week I drove myself ruthlessly. I worked and sweated and strove until the aches subsided and my muscles grew firm once more. I think I put on fifteen pounds that week. Slowly, very slowly, I began feeling like my old self.
The country was called Lorraine, and so was she. If I happened to be in the mood to hand you a line, I would tell you we met in a meadow behind the castle, she gathering flowers and me walking there for exercise and fresh air. Crap.
I guess a polite term would be camp follower. I met her at the end of a hard day‘s work, spent mainly with the saber and the mace. She was standing off on the side lines waiting for her date when I first caught sight of her. She smiled and I smiled back, nodded, winked, and passed her by. The next day I saw her again, and I said “Hello” as I passed her. That‘s all.
Well, I kept running into her. By the end of my second week, when my aches were gone and I was over a hundred-eighty pounds and feeling that way again, I arranged to be with her one evening. By then, I was aware of her status and it was fine, so far as I was concerned. But we did not do the usual thing that night. No.
Instead, we talked, and then something else happened.
Her hair was rust-colored with a few strands of gray in it. I guessed she was under thirty, though. Eyes, very blue. Slightly pointed chin. Clean, even teeth inside a mouth that smiled at me a lot. Her voice was somewhat nasal, her hair was too long, her make-up laid on too heavily over too much tiredness, her complexion too freckled, her choice in clothing too bright and tight. But I liked her. I did not think I‘d actually feel that way when I asked her out that night because, as I said, liking her was not what I had in mind.
There was no place to go but my chamber, so we had gone there. I had become a captain, and I took advantage of my rank by having dinner brought to us, and an extra bottle of wine.
“The men are afraid of you,” she said. “They say you never grow tired.”
“I do,” I said, “believe me.”
“Of course,” she said, shaking her too-long locks and smiling. “Don‘t we all?”
“I daresay,” I replied.
“How old are you?”
“How old are you?”
“A gentleman would not ask that question.”
“Neither would a lady?”
“When you first came here, they thought you were over fifty.”
“And. . . ?”
“And now they have no idea. Forty-five? Forty?”
“No,” I said.
“I didn‘t think so. But your beard fooled everyone.”
“Beards often do that.”
“You look better every day. Bigger. . .”
“Thanks. I feel better than I did when I arrived.”
“Sir Corey of Cabra,” she said. “Where‘s Cabra? What‘s Cabra? Will you take me there with you, if I ask you nicely?”
“I‘d tell you so,” I said, “but I‘d be lying.”
“I know. But it would be nice to hear.”
“Okay. I‘ll take you there with me. It‘s place.”
“Are you really as good as the men say?”
“I‘m afraid not. Are you?”
“Not really. Do you want to go to bed now?”
“No. I‘d rather talk. Have a glass of wine.”
“Thank you. . . . Your health.”
“Yours.”
“Why is it you are such a good swordsman?”
“Aptitude and good teachers.”
“. . . And you carried Lance all that distance and slew those beasts. . .”
“Stories grow with the telling.”
“But I have watched you. You are better than the others. That is why Ganelon made you whatever deal he did. He knows a good thing when he sees it. I‘ve had many friends who were swordsmen, and I‘ve watched them at practice. You could cut them to pieces. The men say you are a good teacher. They like you, even if you do scare them.”
“Why do I frighten them? Because I am strong? There are many strong men in the world. Because I can stand up and swing a blade for a long while?”
“They think there is something supernatural involved.”
I laughed.
“No, I‘m just the second-best swordsman around. Pardon me—maybe the third. But I try harder.”
“Who‘s better?”
“Eric of Amber, possibly.”
“Who is he?”
“A supernatural creature.”
“He‘s
the best?”
“No.”
“Who is?”
“Benedict of Amber.”
“Is he one, too?”
“If he is still alive, he is.”
“Strange, that‘s what you are,” she said. “And why? Tell me. Are you a supernatural creature?”
“Let‘s have another glass of wine.”
“It‘ll go to my head.”
“Good.” I poured them.
“We are all going to die,” she said.
The Chronicles of Amber Page 21
