He made no mention of the meeting between himself and their leader, Lintra.
“Who slew their leader?” I asked him.
“I managed it,” he said, making a sudden movement with his stump, “though I hesitated a moment too long on my first blow.”
I glanced away and so did Ganelon. When I looked back, his face had returned to normal and he had lowered his arm.
“We looked for you. Did you know that, Corwin?” he asked. “Brand searched for you in many shadows, as did Gerard. You guessed correctly as to what Eric said after your disappearance that day. We were inclined to look farther than his word, however. We tried your Trump repeatedly, but there was no response. It must be that brain damage can block it. That is interesting. Your failure to respond to the Trump led us to believe you had died. Then Julian, Caine, and Random joined the search.”
“All that? Really? I am astonished.”
He smiled.
“Oh,” I said then, and smiled myself.
Their joining the hunt at that point meant that it was not my welfare that concerned them, but the possibility of obtaining evidence of fratricide against Eric, so as to displace him or blackmail him.
“I sought for you in the vicinity of Avalon,” he continued, “and I found this place and was taken by it. It was in a pitiful condition in those days, and for generations I worked to restore it to its former glory. While I began this in memory of you, I developed a fondness for this land and its people. They came to consider me their protector, and so did I.”
I was troubled as well as touched by this. Was he implying that I had fouled things up terribly and that he had tarried here to put them in order—so as to clean up after his kid brother this one last time? Or did he mean that he realized I had loved this place—or a place very much like it—and that he had worked to set it in good order as something I might have wished done? Perhaps I was becoming oversensitive.
“It is good to know that I was sought,” I said, “and it is very good to know that you are the defender of this land. I would like to see this place, for it does remind me of the Avalon that I knew. Would you have any objections to my visiting here?”
“That is all that you wish to do? Visit?”
“That is all that I had in mind.”
“Know then that what is remembered of the shadow of yourself that once reigned here is not good. Children are not named Corwin in this place, nor am I brother to any Corwin here.”
“I understand,” I said. “My name is Corey. Can we be old friends?” He nodded.
“Old friends of mine are always welcome to visit here,” he said.
I smiled and nodded. I felt insulted that he would entertain the notion that I had designs upon this shadow of a shadow: I, who had—albeit but for an instant—felt the cold fire of Amber‘s crown upon my brow.
I wondered what his attitude would have been had he known of my responsibility, when it came down to basics, for the raids. For that matter, I suppose, I was also responsible for the loss of his arm. I preferred to push things one step farther back, however, and hold Eric responsible. After all, it was his action that had prompted my curse.
Still, I hoped that Benedict would never find out I wanted very badly to know where he stood with respect to Eric. Would he support him, throw his weight behind me, or just stay out of the way when I made my move? Conversely, I was certain that he wondered whether my ambitions were dead or still smoldering—and if the latter, what my plans were for stoking them. So. . .
Who was going to raise the matter?
I took several good puffs on my pipe, finished my wine, poured some more, puffed again. I listened to the sounds of the camp, the wind, my stomach . . . Benedict took a sip of wine.
Then, “What are your long-range plans?” he asked me, almost casually.
I could say that I had not made up my mind yet, that I was simply happy to be free, alive, seeing. . . . I could tell him that that was enough for me, for now, that I had no special plans. . . .
. . . And he would know that I lied in my teeth. For he knew me better than that.
So, “You know what my plans are,” I said.
“If you were to ask for my support,” he said, “I would deny it. Amber is in bad enough shape without another power grab.”
“Eric is a usurper.”
“I choose to look upon him as regent only. At this time, any of us who claims the throne is guilty of usurpation.”
“Then you believe Dad still lives?”
“Yes. Alive and distressed. He has made several attempts to communicate.”
I succeeded in keeping my face from showing anything. So I was not the only one, then. To reveal my experiences at this point would sound hypocritical, opportunistic, or a flat lie—since in our seeming contact of five years ago he had given me the go—ahead to take the throne. Of course, he could have been referring to a regency then. . . .
“You did not lend support to Eric when he took the throne,” I said. “Would you give it to him now that he holds it, if an attempt were made to unseat him?”
“It is as I said,” he told me. “I look upon him as regent. I do not say that I approve of this, but I desire no further strife in Amber.”
“Then you would support him?”
“I have said all that I have to say on the matter. You are welcome to visit my Avalon, but not to use it as a staging area for an invasion of Amber. Does that clarify matters with respect to anything you may have in mind?”
“It clarifies matters,” I said.
“This being the case, do you still wish to visit here?”
“I do not know,” I said. “Does your desire to avoid strife in Amber work both ways?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that if I were returned to Amber against my will, I would damn well create as much strife as I could to prevent a recurrence of my previous situation.”
The lines went out of his face and he slowly lowered his eyes.
“I did not mean to imply that I would betray you. Do you think that I am without feelings, Corwin? I would not see you imprisoned again, blinded—or worse. You are always welcome to visit here, and you may leave your fears along with your ambitions at the border.”
“Then I would still like to visit,” I said. “I have no army, nor did I come here to recruit one.”
“Then you know that you are most welcome.”
“Thank you, Benedict. While I did not expect to find you here, I am glad that I did.” He reddened faintly and nodded.
“It pleases me, also,” he said. “Am I the first of us you have seen—since your escape?” I nodded.
“Yes, and I am curious as to how everyone is faring. Any major reports?”
“No new deaths,” he said.
We both chuckled, and I knew that I would have to turn up the family gossip on my own. It had been worth the attempt, though.
“I am planning on remaining in the field for a time,” he said, “and continuing my patrols until I am satisfied that none of the invaders remain. It could be another week before we withdraw.”
“Oh? Then it was not a total victory?”
“I believe that it was, but I never take unnecessary chances. It is worth a little more time to be certain.”
“Prudent,” I said, nodding.
“. . . So unless you have a strong desire to remain here in camp, I see no reason why you should not proceed on toward town and get near the center of things. I maintain several residences about Avalon. I have in mind for your use a small manor house that I have found pleasant. It is not far from town.”
“I look forward to seeing it.”
“I will provide you with a map and a letter to my steward in the morning.”
“Thank you, Benedict.”
“I will join you there as soon as I have finished here,” he said, “and in the meantime, I have messengers passing that way daily. I will keep in touch with you through them.”
“Very good.”
&
nbsp; “Then find yourselves a comfortable piece of ground,” he said. “You‘ll not miss the breakfast call, I‘m sure.”
“I seldom do,” I said. “Is it all right if we sleep at that spot where we left our gear?”
“Certainly,” he said, and we finished the wine.
As we left his tent, I seized the flap up high when I opened it and was able to squeeze it several inches to the side when I cast it before me. Benedict bade us good night and turned away as he let it fall, not noticing the gap of several inches that I had created along its one side.
I made my bed up a good distance to the right of our equipment, facing in the direction of Benedict‘s tent, and I moved the gear itself as I rummaged through it. Ganelon shot me a quizzical look, but I simply nodded and made a movement with my eyes toward the tent. He glanced that way, returned the nod, and proceeded to spread his own blankets farther to the right
I measured it with my eyes, walked over, and said, “You know, I‘d much rather sleep here. Would you mind switching with me?” I added a wink for emphasis.
“Makes no difference to me,” be said, shrugging.
The campfires had died or were dying, and most of the company had turned in. The guard only paid us heed a couple of times around. The camp was very quiet and there were no clouds to obscure the brilliance of the stars. I was tired, and the smells of the smoke and the damp earth came pleasantly to my nostrils, reminding me of other times and places such as this and the rest at the day‘s end.
Instead of closing my eyes, however, I fetched my pack and propped my back against it, filled my pipe again, and struck it to life.
I adjusted my position twice as he paced within the tent. Once, he vanished from my field of vision and remained hidden for several moments. But the far light moved then, and I knew that he had opened the chest. Then he came into sight once more and cleared the table, dropped back for an instant, returned and reseated himself in his earlier position. I moved so that I could keep sight of his left arm.
He was paging through a book, or sorting something of about that size. Cards, maybe? Naturally.
I would have given a lot for one glimpse of the Trump that he finally settled upon and held before him. I would have given a lot to have Grayswandir beneath my hand, in case another person suddenly came into the tent by means other than the entrance through which I spied. My palms and the soles of my feet tingled, in anticipation of flight or combat.
But he remained alone.
He sat there unmoving for perhaps a quarter of an hour, and when he finally stirred it was only to replace the cards somewhere in his chest and to extinguish the lamps.
The guard continued on his monotonous rounds and Ganelon began to snore.
I emptied my pipe and rolled over onto my side.
Tomorrow, I told myself. If I wake up here tomorrow, everything will be all right . . .
Chapter 5
I sucked on a blade of grass and watched the mill wheel turn. I was lying on my stomach on the stream‘s opposite bank, my head propped in my hands. There was a tiny rainbow in the mist above the froth and boil at the foot of the waterfall, and an occasional droplet found its way to me. The steady splashing and the sound of the wheel drowned out all other noises in the wood. The mill was deserted today, and I contemplated it because I had not seen its like in ages. Watching the wheel and listening to the water were more than just relaxing. It was somewhat hypnotic.
It was our third day at Benedict‘s place, and Ganelon was off in town seeking amusement. I had accompanied him on the previous day and learned what I wanted to know at that time. Now I had no time for sight-seeing. I had to think and act quickly. There had been no difficulty at the camp. Benedict had seen us fed and had furnished us with the map and the letter he had promised. We had departed at sunrise and arrived at the manor around midday. We were well received, and after settling into the quarters we were shown, we had made our way into town, where we had spent the balance of the day.
Benedict was planning to remain in the field for several more days. I would have to be done with the task I had set myself before he came home. So a hellride was in order. There was no time for leisurely journeying, I had to remember the proper shadows and be under way soon.
It would have been refreshing, being in this place that was so like my Avalon, except that my thwarted purposes were reaching the point of obsession. Realizing this was not tantamount to controlling it, however. Familiar sights and sounds had diverted me only briefly, then I had turned once more to my planning.
It should work out neatly, as I saw it. This one journey should solve two of my problems, if I could manage it without arousing suspicion. It meant that I would definitely be gone overnight, but I had anticipated this and had already instructed Ganelon to cover for me.
My head nodding with each creak of the wheel, I forced everything else from my mind and set about remembering the necessary texture of the sand, its coloration, the temperature, the winds, the touch of salt in the air, the clouds . . .
I slept then and I dreamed, but not of the place that I sought.
I regarded a big roulette wheel, and we were all of us on it—my brothers, my sisters, myself, and others whom I knew or had known—rising and falling, each with his allotted section. We were all shouting for it to stop for us and wailing as we passed the top and headed down once more. The wheel had begun to slow and I was on the rise. A fair-haired youth hung upside down before me, shouting pleas and warnings that were drowned in the cacophony of voices. His face darkened, writhed, became a horrible thing to behold, and I slashed at the cord that bound his ankle and he fell from sight. The wheel slowed even more as I neared the top, and I saw Lorraine then. She was gesturing, beckoning frantically, and calling my name. I leaned toward her, seeing her clearly, wanting her, wanting to help her. But as the wheel continued its turning she passed from my sight. “Corwin!”
I tried to ignore her cry, for I was almost to the top. It came again, but I tensed myself and prepared to spring upward. If it did not stop for me, I was going to try gimmicking the damned thing, even though falling off would mean my total ruin. I readied myself for the leap. Another click . . . “Corwin!”
It receded, returned, faded, and I was looking toward the water wheel again with my name echoing in my ears and mingling, merging, fading into the sound of the stream.
I blinked my eyes and ran my fingers through my hair. A number of dandelions fell about my shoulders as I did so, and I heard a giggle from somewhere behind me.
I turned quickly and stared.
She stood about a dozen paces from me, a tail, slender girl with dark eyes and close-cropped brown hair. She wore a fencing jacket and held a rapier in her right hand, a mask in her left. She was looking at me and laughing. Her teeth were white, even and a trifle long; a band of freckles crossed her small nose and the upper portions of her well-tanned cheeks. There was that air of vitality about her which is attractive in ways different from mere comeliness. Especially, perhaps, when viewed from the vantage of many years. She saluted me with her blade. “En garde, Corwin!” she said.
“Who the Devil are you?” I asked, just then noticing a jacket, mask, and rapier beside me in the grass.
“No questions, no answers,” she said. “Not till we‘ve fenced.”
She fitted her mask over her head then and waited.
I rose and picked up the jacket. I could see that it would be easier to fence than argue with her. The fact that she knew my name disturbed me, and the more that I thought of it the more she seemed somehow familiar. It was best to humor her, I decided, shrugging into the jacket and buckling it. I picked up the blade, pulled on the mask.
“All right,” I said, sketching a brief salute and advancing. “All right.”
She moved forward then and we met. I let her carry the attack.
She came on very fast with a beat-feint-feint-thrust. My riposte was twice as fast, but she was able to parry it and come back with equal speed. I began a slow re
treat then, drawing her out. She laughed and came on, pressing me hard. She was good and she knew it. She wanted to show off. She almost got through twice, too, in the same way-low-line-which I did not like at all. I caught her with a stop-thrust as soon as I could after that. She cursed softly, good-naturedly, as she acknowledged it and came right back at me. I do not ordinarily like to fence with women, no matter how good they are, but this time I discovered that I was enjoying myself. The skill and grace with which she carried the attacks and bore them gave me pleasure to behold and respond to, and I found myself contemplating the mind that lay behind that style. At first, I had wanted to tire her quickly, to conclude the match and question her. Now I found myself desiring to prolong the encounter.
She did not tire readily. There was small cause for concern on that count. I lost track of time as we stamped back and forth along the bank of the stream, our blades clicking steadily.
A long while must have passed, though, before she stamped her heel and threw up her blade in a final salute. She tore off her mask then and gave me another smile.
“Thank you!” she said, breathing heavily.
I returned the salute and drew off the bird cage. I tamed and fumbled with the jacket buckles, and before I realized it she had approached and kissed me on the cheek. She had not had to stand tiptoe to do it either. I felt momentarily confused, but I smiled. Before I could say anything, she had taken my arm and turned me back in the direction from which we had come.
“I‘ve brought us a picnic basket,” she said.
“Very good. I am hungry. I am also curious . . .”
“I will tell you anything that you want to hear,” she said merrily.
“How about telling me your name?” I said.
“Dara,” she replied. “My name is Dara, after my grandmother.”
She glanced at me as she said it, as though hoping for a reaction. I almost hated to disappoint her, but I nodded and repeated it, then, “Why did you call me Corwin?” I asked.
The Chronicles of Amber Page 27
