The Chronicles of Amber

by Roger Zelazny

“Eventually.”

  “I mean here, soon, fighting this thing.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “It‘s too strong.”

  “Then why stick around?”

  “I‘ve no place else to go. That‘s why I ask you about Cabra”

  “And why you came here tonight?”

  “No. I came to see what you were like.”

  “I am an athlete who is breaking training. Were you born around here?”

  “Yes. In the wood”

  “Why‘d you pick up with these guys?”

  “Why not? It‘s better than getting pig shit on my heels every day.”

  “Never have a man of your own? Steady, I mean?”

  “Yes. He‘s dead. He‘s the one who found . . . the Fairy Ring.”

  “I‘m sorry.”

  “I‘m not. He used to get drunk whenever he could borrow or steal enough to afford it and then come home and beat me. I was glad when I met Ganelon.”

  “So you think that the thing is too strong, that we are going to lose to it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You may be right. But I think you‘re wrong.” She shrugged.

  “You‘ll be fighting with us?”

  “I‘m afraid so.”

  “Nobody knew for sure, or would say if they did. That might prove interesting. I‘d like to see you fight with the goat-man.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he seems to be their leader. If you killed him, we‘d have more of a chance. You might be able to do it.”

  “I have to,” I said.

  “Special reason?”

  “Yes.”

  “Private one?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  She finished her wine, so I poured her another.

  “I know he is a supernatural creature,” she said.

  “Let‘s get off the subject.”

  “All right. But will you do me a thing?”

  “Name it.”

  “Put on armor tomorrow, pick up a lance, get hold of a horse, and trounce that big cavalry officer Harald.”

  “Why?”

  “He beat me last week, just like Jarl used to. Can you do it?”

  “Yes “

  “Will you?”

  “Why not? Consider him trounced.”

  She came over and leaned against me.

  “I love you,” she said.

  “Crap.”

  “All right. How about, I like you?”

  “Good enough. I—”

  Then a chill and numbing wind blew along my spine. I stiffened and resisted what was to come by blanking my mind completely.

  Someone was looking for me. It was someone of the House of Amber, doubtless, and he was using my Trump or something very like it. There was no mistaking the sensation. If it was Eric, then he had more guts than I gave him credit for, since I had almost napalmed his brain the last time we had been in contact. It could not be Random, unless he was out of prison, which I doubted. If it was Julian or Caine, they could go to hell. Bleys was probably dead. Possibly Benedict, too. That left Gerard, Brand, and our sisters. Of these, only Gerard might mean me well. So I resisted discovery, successfully. It took me perhaps five minutes, and when it was finished I was shaking and sweating and Lorraine was staring at me strangely.

  “What happened?” she asked. “You aren‘t drunk yet, and neither am I.”

  “Just a spell I sometimes get,” I said. “It‘s a disease I picked up in the islands.”

  “I saw a face,” she said. “Perhaps it was on the floor, maybe it was in my head. It was an old man. The collar of his garment was green and he looked a lot like you, except that his beard was gray.” I slapped her then.

  “You‘re lying! You couldn‘t have. . .”

  “I‘m just telling you what I saw! Don‘t hit me! I don‘t know what it meant! Who was he?”

  “I think it was my father. God, it‘s strange. . .”

  “What happened?” she repeated.

  “A spell,” I said. “I sometimes get them, and people think they see my father on the castle wall or floor. Don‘t worry about it. It‘s not contagious.”

  “Crap,” she said. “You‘re lying to me.”

  “I know. But please forget the whole thing.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because you like me,” I told her. “Remember? And because I‘m going to trounce Harald for you tomorrow.”

  “That‘s true,” she said, and I started shaking again and she fetched a blanket from the bed and put it about my shoulders.

  She handed me my wine and I drank it. She sat beside me and rested her head on my shoulder, so I put my arm about her. A devil wind began to scream and I heard the rapid rattle of the rainfall that came with it. For a second, it seemed that something beat against the shutters. Lorraine whimpered slightly.

  “I do not like what is happening tonight,” she said.

  “Neither do I. Go bar the door. It‘s only bolted right now.”

  As she did this, I moved our seat so that it faced my single window. I fetched Grayswandir out from beneath the bed and unsheathed it. Then I extinguished every light in the room, save for a single candle on the table to my right.

  I reseated myself, my blade across my knees.

  “What are we doing?” Lorraine asked, as she came and sat down at my left.

  “Waiting,” I said.

  “For what?”

  “I am not positive, but this is certainly the night for it.”

  She shuddered and drew near.

  “You know, perhaps you had better leave,” I said.

  “I know,” she said, “but I‘m afraid to go out. You‘ll be able to protect me if I stay here, won‘t you?”

  I shook my head.

  “I don‘t even know if I‘ll be able to protect myself.”

  She touched Grayswandir.

  “What a beautiful blade! I‘ve never seen one like it.”

  “There isn‘t another,” I said, and each time that I shifted a little, the light fell differently upon it, so that one moment it seemed filmed over with unhuman blood of an orange tint and the next it lay there cold and white as snow or a woman‘s breast, quivering in my hand each time a little chill took me.

  I wondered how it was that Lorraine had seen something I had not daring the attempted contact. She could not simply have imagined anything that close to home.

  “There is something strange about you” I said.

  She was silent for four or five flickerings of the candle, then said, “I‘ve a touch of the second sight. My mother had more of it. People say my grandmother was a sorceress. I don‘t know any of that business, though. Well, not much of it. I haven‘t done it for years. I always wind up losing more than I gain.”

  Then she was silent again, and I asked her, “What do you mean?”

  “I used a spell to get my first man,” she said, “and look what he turned out to be. If I hadn‘t, I‘d have been a lot better off. I wanted a pretty daughter, and I made that happen-” She stopped abruptly and I realized she was crying.

  “What‘s the matter? I don‘t understand . . .”

  “I thought you knew,” she said.

  “No, I‘m afraid not.”

  “She was the little girl in the Fairy Circle. I thought you knew . . .”

  “I‘m sorry.”

  “I wish I didn‘t have the touch. I never use it any more. But it won‘t let me alone. It still brings me dreams and signs, and they are never over things I can do anything about. I wish it would go away and devil somebody else!”

  “That‘s the one thing it will not do, Lorraine. I‘m afraid you are stuck with it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I‘ve known people like you in the past, that‘s all.”

  “You‘ve a touch of it yourself, haven‘t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you feel that there is something out there now, don‘t you?
”

  “Yes.”

  “So do I. Do you know what it is doing?”

  “It‘s looking for me.”

  “Yes, I feel that, too. Why?”

  “Perhaps to test my strength. It knows that I am here. If I am a new ally come to Ganelon, it must wonder what I represent, who I am. . .”

  “Is it the horned one himself?”

  “I don‘t know. I think not, though.”

  “Why not?”

  “If I am really he who would destroy it, it would be foolish to seek me out here in the keep of its enemy when I am surrounded by strength. I would say one of its minions is looking for me. Perhaps, somehow, that is what my father‘s ghost . . . I do not know. If its servant finds me and names me, it will know what preparations to make. If it finds me and destroys me, it will have solved the problem. If I destroy the servant, it will know that much more about my strength. Whichever way it works out, the horned one will be something ahead. So why should it risk its own pronged dome at this stage in the game?”

  We waited, there in the shadow-clad chamber, as the taper burned away the minutes.

  She asked me, “What did you mean when you said, if it finds you and names you . . . ? Names you what?”

  “The one who almost did not come here,” I said.

  “You think that it might know you from somewhere, somehow?” she asked.

  “I think it might,” I said. She drew away from me then.

  “Don‘t be afraid,” I said. “I won‘t hurt you.”

  “I am afraid, and you will hurt me!” she said. “I know it! But I want you! Why do I want you?”

  “I don‘t know,” I said.

  “There is something out there now!” she said, sounding slightly hysterical. "It‘s near! It‘s very near! Listen! Listen!”

  “Shut up!” I said, as a cold, prickly feeling came to rest on the back of my neck and coiled about my throat. “Get over on the far side of the room, behind the bed!”

  “I‘m afraid of the dark,” she said.

  “Do it, or I‘ll have to knock you out and carry you. you‘ll be in my way here.”

  I could hear a heavy flapping above the storm, and there came a scratching on the stone of the wall as she moved to obey me.

  Then I was looking into two hot, red eyes which were looking back into my own. I dropped mine quickly. The thing stood there on the ledge outside the window and regarded me.

  It was well over six feet in height, with great branches of antlers growing out of its forehead. Nude, its flesh was a uniform ash-gray in color. It appeared to be sexless, and it had gray, leathery wings extending far out behind it and joining with the night. It held a short, heavy sword of dark metal in its right hand, and there were runes carved all along the blade. With its left hand, it clutched at the lattice.

  “Enter at your peril,” I said loudly, and I raised the point of Grayswandir to indicate its breast.

  It chuckled. It just stood there and chuckled and giggled at me. It tried to meet my eyes once more, but I would not let it. If it looked into my eyes for long, it would know me, as the hellcat had known me.

  When it spoke, it sounded like a bassoon blowing words.

  “You are not the one,” it said, “for you are smaller and older. Yet . . . That blade . . . It could be his. Who are you?”

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “Strygalldwir is my name. Conjure with it and I will eat your heart and liver.”

  “Conjure with it? I can‘t even pronounce it,” I said, “and my cirrhosis would give you indigestion. Go away.”

  “Who are you?” it repeated.

  “Misli, gammi gra‘dil, Strygalldwir,” I said, and it jumped as if given a hotfoot.

  “You seek to drive me forth with such a simple spell?” it asked when it settled again. “I am not one of the lesser ones.”

  “It seemed to make you a bit uncomfortable.”

  “Who are you?” it said again.

  “None of your business, Charlie. Ladybird, Ladybird, fly away home—”

  “Four times must I ask you and four times be refused before I may enter and slay you. Who are you?”

  “No,” I said, standing. “Come on in and burn!”

  Then it tore away the latticework, and the wind that accompanied it into the chamber extinguished the candle.

  I lunged forward, and there were sparks between us when Grayswandir met the dark rune-sword. We clashed, then I sprang back. My eyes had adjusted to the half dark, so the loss of the light did not blind me. The creature saw well enough, also. It was stronger than a man, but then so am I. We circled the room. An icy wind moved about us, and when we passed the window again, cold droplets lashed my face. The first time that I cut the creature—a long slash across the breast—it remained silent, though tiny flames danced about the edges of the wound. The second time that I cut it—high upon the arm—it cried out, cursing me.

  “Tonight I will suck the marrow from your bones!” it said. “I will dry them and work them most cunningly into instruments of music! Whenever I play upon them, your spirit will writhe in bodiless agony!”

  “You burn prettily,” I said.

  It slowed for a fraction of a second, and my opportunity was there.

  I beat that dark blade aside and my lunge was perfect. The center of its breast was my target. I ran it through.

  It howled then, but did not fall. Grayswandir was torn from my grasp and flames bloomed about the wound. It stood there wearing them. It advanced a step toward me and I picked up a small chair and held it between us.

  “I do not keep my heart where men do,” it said.

  Then it lunged, but I blocked the blow with the chair and caught it in the right eye with one of the legs. I throw the chair to the side then, and stepping forward, seized its right wrist and turned it over. I struck the elbow with the edge of my hand, as hard as I could. There came a sharp crack and the runesword clattered to the floor. Then its left hand struck my head and I fell.

  It leaped for the blade, and I seized its ankle and jerked.

  It sprawled, and I threw myself atop it and found its throat. I turned my head into the hollow of my shoulder, chin against my breast, as it clawed for my face with its left hand.

  As my death grip tightened, its eyes sought mine, and this time I did not avoid them. There came a tiny shock at the base of my brain, as we both knew that we knew.

  “You!” it managed to gasp, before I twisted my hands hard and the life went out of those red, red eyes.

  I stood, put my foot upon its carcass, and withdrew Grayswandir.

  The thing burst into flames when my blade came free, and kept burning until there was nothing remaining but a charred spot upon the floor.

  Then Lorraine came over and I put my arm about her and she asked me to take her back to her quarters and to bed. So I did, but we didn‘t do anything but lie there together until she had cried herself to sleep. That is how I met Lorraine.

  Lance and Ganelon and I sat atop our mounts on a high hill, the late morning sun hitting us in the back, and we looked down into the place. Its appearance confirmed things for me.

  It was akin to that twisted wood that filled the valley to the south of Amber.

  Oh my father! What have I wrought? I said within my heart, but there was no answer other than the dark Circle that lay beneath me and spread for as far as the eye could see.

  Through the bars of my visor, I looked down upon it—charred-seeming, desolate, and smelling of decay. I lived inside my visor these days. The men looked upon it as an affectation, but my rank gave me the right to be eccentric. I had worn it for over two weeks, since my battle with Strygalldwir. I had put it on the following morning before I trounced Harald to keep my promise to Lorraine, and I had decided that as my girth increased I had better keep my face concealed.

  I weighed perhaps fourteen stone now, and felt like my old self again. If I could help clean up this mess in the land called Lorraine, I knew that I would have a chance a
t least to try what I most wanted, and perhaps succeed.

  “So that‘s it,” I said. “I don‘t see any troops mustering.”

  “I believe we will have to ride north,” said Lance, “and we will doubtless only see them after dark.”

  “How far north?”

  “Three or four leagues. They move about a bit.”

  We had ridden for two days to reach the Circle. We had met a patrol earlier that morning and learned that the troops inside the thing continued to muster every night. They went through various drills and then were gone—to someplace deeper inside—with the coming of morning. A perpetual thunderhead, I learned, rode above the Circle, though the storm never broke.

  “Shall we breakfast here and then ride north?” I asked.

  “Why not?” said Ganelon. “I‘m starved and we‘ve time.”

  So we dismounted and ate dried meat and drank from our canteens.

  “I still do not understand that note,” said Ganelon, after belching, patting his stomach, and lighting his pipe. “Will he stand beside us in the final battle, or will he not? Where is he, if he intends to help? The day of conflict draws nearer and nearer.”

  “Forget him,” I said. “It was probably a joke.”

  “I can‘t, damn it!” he said. “There is something passing strange about the whole business!”

  “What is it?” asked Lance, and for the first time I realized that Ganelon had not told him.

  “My old liege, Lord Corwin, sends an odd message by carrier bird, saying he is coming. I had thought him dead, but he sent this message,” Ganelon told him. "I still do not know what to make of it.”

  “Corwin?” said Lance, and I held my breath. “Corwin of Amber?”

  “Yes, Amber and Avalon.”

  “Forget his message.”

  “Why?”

  “He is a man without honor, and his promise means nothing.”

  “You know him?”

  “I know of him. Long ago, he ruled in this land. Do you not recall the stories of the demon lordling? They are the same. That was Corwin, in days before my days. The best thing he did was abdicate and flee when the resistance grew too strong against him.”

  That was not true! Or was it?

  Amber casts an infinity of shadows, and my Avalon had cast many of its own, because of my presence there. I might be known on many earths that I had never trod, for shadows of myself had walked them, mimicking imperfectly my deeds and my thoughts.