The Chronicles of Amber

by Roger Zelazny

  Random, subsequent to my leaving him in Rebma years before, when I had journeyed to Amber to fight my duel with Eric, had been forced by Rebma’s queen, Moire, to marry a woman of her court: Vialle, a lovely blind girl. This was partly intended as a punishment for Random, who years before had left Moire’s late daughter Morganthe pregnant with Martin, the apparent subject of the damaged Trump Random now held in his hands. Strangely, for Random, he appeared to have fallen in love with Vialle, and he now resided legendary unicorn of Amber.

  After I left Random, I fetched the Jewel of Judgment and took it down to the chamber of the Pattern. There, I followed the partial instructions I had received for purposes of attuning it to my use. I underwent some unusual sensations during the process and was successful in obtaining control of its most obvious function: the ability to direct meteorological phenomena. After that, I questioned Flora concerning my exile. Her story seemed reasonable and jibed with those facts I did possess, although I had the feeling she was holding back somewhat on events at the time of my accident. She did promise to identify Caine’s slayer as one of the same sort as those individuals Random and I had fought at her home in Westchester, however, and she assured me of her support in anything I might currently be about.

  At the time I had heard Random’s story, I was still unaware of the two factions and their machinations. I decided then that if Brand were still living, his rescue was of first importance, if for no other reason than the fact that he obviously possessed information that someone did not want circulated. I hit on a scheme for achieving this, the trial of which was only postponed for the time required by Gerard and myself for returning Caine’s body to Amber. Part of this time, however, was appropriated by Gerard for purposes of beating me unconscious, just in case I had forgotten he was capable of the feat, to add weight to his words when he informed me that he would personally kill me should it turn out that I was the author of Amber’s present woes. It was the most exclusive closed circuit fight I knew of, viewed by the family via Gerard’s Trump—an act of insurance should I actually be the culprit and have a mind to erase his name from the list of the living because of his threat. We journeyed on to the Grove of the Unicorn then and exhumed Caine. At that time, we actually caught a brief glimpse of the legendary unicorn of Amber.

  That evening we met in the library of the palace in Amber—we being Random, Gerard, Benedict, Julian, Deirdre, Fiona, Flora, Llewella, and myself. There, we tested my idea for finding Brand. It amounted to all nine of us simultaneously attempting to reach him via his Trump. And we succeeded.

  We contacted him and were successful in transporting him back to Amber. In the midst of the excitement, however, with all of us crowded about as Gerard bore him through, someone planted a dagger in Brand’s side. Gerard immediately elected himself attending physician and cleared the room.

  The rest of us moved to a downstairs sitting room, there to backbite and discuss events. During this time, Fiona advised me that the Jewel of Judgment might represent a hazard in situations of prolonged exposure, suggesting the possibility that it, rather than his wounds, might have been the cause of Eric’s death. One of the first signs, she believed, was a distortion of one’s time-sense—an apparent slowdown of temporal sequence, actually representing a speed-up of physiological events. I resolved to be more cautious with it, in that she was more conversant with these matters than the rest of us, having once been an advanced pupil of Dworkin’s.

  And perhaps she was correct. Perhaps there was such an effect in operation later that evening when I returned to my own quarters. At least, it seemed as if the person who attempted to kill me was moving a trifle more slowly than I would have myself under similar circumstances. At that, the stroke was almost successful. The blade caught me in the side and the world went away.

  Leaking life, I awoke in my old bed in my old home on the shadow Earth where I had dwelled for so long as Carl Corey. How I had been returned, I had no idea. I crawled outside and into a blizzard. Clinging precariously to consciousness, I cached the Jewel of Judgment in my old compost heap, for the world did indeed seem to be slowing down about me. Then I made it to the road, to try flagging down a passing motorist.

  It was a friend and former neighbor. Bill Roth, who found me there and drove me to the nearest clinic. There, I was treated by the same doctor who had attended me years before, at the time of my accident. He suspected I might be a psychiatric case, as the old record did reflect that faked state of affairs.

  Bill showed up later, however, and set a number of things right. An attorney, he had grown curious at the time of my disappearance and done some investigating. He had learned about my fake certification and my successive escapes. He even possessed details on these matters and on the accident itself. He still felt there was something strange about me, but it did not really bother him that much.

  Later, Random contacted me via my Trump and advised me that Brand had come around and was asking for me. With Random’s assistance, I returned to Amber. I went to see Brand. It was then that I learned of the nature of the power struggle which had been going on about me, and the identities of the participants. His story, together with what Bill had told me back on the shadow Earth, finally brought some sense and coherence to occurrences of the past several years. He also told me more concerning the nature of the danger we currently faced.

  I did nothing the following day, ostensibly for purposes of preparing myself for a visit to Tir-na Nog’th, actually to buy additional time in which to recover from my injury. This commitment made, however, it had to be kept. I did journey to the city in the sky that night, encountering a confusing collection of signs and portents, signifying perhaps nothing, and collecting a peculiar mechanical arm from the ghost of my brother Benedict while I was about it.

  Returned from this excursion on high, I breakfasted with Random and Ganelon before setting out across Kolvir to return home. Slowly, bewilderingly, the trail began to change about us. It was as though we were walking in Shadow, a well-nigh impossible feat this near to Amber. When we reached this conclusion, we tried to alter our course, but neither Random nor I was able to affect the changing scene. About that time, the unicorn put in an appearance. It seemed to want us to follow it. We did.

  It had led us through a kaleidoscopic series of changes, until finally we arrived at this pace, where it abandoned us to our present devices.

  Now, with this entire sequence of events tumbling through my head, my mind moved about the peripheries, pushed its way forward, returned to the words Random had just spoken. I felt that I was slightly ahead of him once more. For how long this state of affairs might last, I did not know, but I realized where I had seen work by the same hand which had executed the pierced Trump.

  Brand had often painted when he was entering one of his melancholy periods, and his favorite techniques came to mind as I recalled canvas after canvas he had brightened or darkened. Add to this his campaign of years before to obtain recollections and descriptions from everyone who had known Martin. While Random had not recognized his style, I wondered how long it might be before he began thinking as I just had about the possible ends of Brand’s information gathering. Even if his hand had not actually propelled the blade, Brand was party to the act by providing the means. I knew Random well enough to know that he meant what he had said. He would try to kill Brand as soon as he saw the connection. This was going to be more than awkward.

  It had nothing to do with the fact that Brand had probably saved my life. I figured I had squared accounts with him by getting him out of that damned tower. No. It was neither indebtedness nor sentiment that caused me to cast about for ways to mislead Random or slow him down. It was the naked, frigid fact that I needed Brand. He had seen to that. My reason for saving him was no more altruistic than his had been in dragging me out of the lake. He possessed something I needed now: information. He had realized this immediately and he was rationing it—his life’s union dues.

  “I do see the resemblance,” I said
to Random, “and you may well be right about what happened.”

  “Of course I am right.”

  “It is the card that was pierced,” I said.

  “Obviously. I don’t—”

  “He was not brought through on the Trump, then. The person who did it therefore made contact, but was unable to persuade him to come across.”

  “So? The contact had progressed to a point of sufficient solidity and proximity that he was able to stab him anyway. He was probably even able to achieve a mental lock and hold him where he was while he bled. The kid probably hadn’t had much experience with the Trumps.”

  “Maybe yes, maybe no,” I said. “Llewella or Moire might be able to tell us how much he knew about the Trumps. But what I was getting at was the possibility that contact could have been broken before death. If he inherited your regenerative abilities he might have survived.”

  “Might have? I don’t want guesses! I want answers!”

  I commenced a balancing act within my mind. I believed I knew something that he did not, but then my source was not the best. Also, I wanted to keep quiet about the possibility because I had not had a chance to discuss it with Benedict. On the other hand, Martin was Random’s son, and I did want to direct his attention away from Brand.

  “Random, I may have something,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Right after Brand was stabbed,” I said, “when we were talking together in the sitting room, do you remember when the conversation turned to the subject of Martin?”

  “Yes. Nothing new came up.”

  “I had something I might have added at that time, but I restrained myself because everyone was there. Also, because I wanted to pursue it in private with the party concerned.”

  “Who?”

  “Benedict.”

  “Benedict? What has he to do with Martin?”

  “I do not know. That is why I wanted to keep it quiet until I found out. And my source of information was a touchy one, at that”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Dara. Benedict gets mad as hell whenever I mention her name, but so far a number of things she told me have proved correct—things like the journey of Julian and Gerard along the black road, their injury, their stay in Avalon. Benedict admitted these things had happened.”

  “What did she say about Martin?”

  Indeed. How to phrase it without giving away the show on Brand . . . ? Dara had said that Brand had visited Benedict a number of times in Avalon, over a span of years. The time differential between Amber and Avalon is such that it seemed likely, now that I thought about it, that the visits fell into the period when Brand was so actively seeking information on Martin. I had wondered what kept drawing him back there, since he and Benedict had never been especially chummy.

  “Only that Benedict had had a visitor named Martin, whom she thought was from Amber,” I lied.

  “When?”

  “Some while back. I’m not sure.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “It is not really very much—and besides, you had never seemed especially interested in Martin.”

  Random shifted his gaze to the griffin, crouched and gurgling on my right, then nodded.

  “I am now,” he said. “Things change. If he is still alive, I would like to get to know him. If he is not . . .”

  “Okay,” I said. “The best way to be about either one is to start figuring a way to get home. I believe we have seen what we were supposed to see and I would like to clear out.”

  “I was thinking about that,” he said, “and it occurred to me that we could probably use this Pattern for that purpose. Just head out to the center and transfer back.”

  “Going in along the dark area?” I asked.

  “Why not? Ganelon has already tried it and he’s okay.”

  “A moment,” said Ganelon. “I did not say that it was easy, and I am positive you could not get the horses to go that route.”

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  “Do you remember that place where we crossed the black road—back when we were fleeing Avalon?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, the sensations I experienced in retrieving the card and the dagger were not unlike the upset that came over us at that time. It is one of the reasons I was running so fast. I would favor trying the Trumps again first, under the theory that this point is congruent with Amber.”

  I nodded.

  “All right. We might as well try making it as easy as we can. Let’s collect the horses first.”

  We did this, learning the length of the griffin’s leash while we were about it. He was drawn up short about thirty meters from the cave mouth, and immediately set up a bleating complaint. This did not make the job of pacifying the horses any easier, but it did give rise to a peculiar notion which I decided to keep to myself.

  Once we had things under control. Random located his Trumps and I brought out my own.

  “Let’s try for Benedict,” he said.

  “All right. Any time now.”

  I noticed immediately that the cards felt cold again, a good sign. I shuffled out Benedict’s and began the preliminaries. Beside me, Random did the same. Contact came almost at once.

  “What is the occasion?” Benedict asked, his eyes moving over Random, Ganelon, and the horses, then meeting with my own.

  “Will you bring us through?” I said.

  “Horses, too?”

  “The works.”

  “Come ahead.”

  He extended his hand and I touched it. We all moved toward him. Moments later, we stood with him in a high, rocky place, a chill wind ruffling our garments, the sun of Amber past midday in a sky full of clouds. Benedict wore a stiff leather jacket and buckskin leggings. His shirt was a faded yellow. An orange cloak concealed the stump of his right arm. He tightened his long jaw and peered down at me.

  “Interesting spot you hie from,” he said. “I glimpsed something of the background.”

  I nodded.

  “Interesting view from this height, also,” I said, noting the spyglass at his belt at the same time that I realized we stood on the wide ledge of rock from which Eric had commanded battle on the day of his death and my return. I moved to regard the dark swath through Garnath, far below and stretching off to the horizon.

  “Yes,” he said. “The black road appears to have stabilized its boundaries at most points. At a few others though, it is still widening. It is almost as if it is nearing a final conformity with some—pattern. . . . Now tell me, from what point have you journeyed?”

  “I spent last night in Tir-na Nog’th,” I said, “and this morning we went astray in crossing Kolvir.”

  “Not an easy thing to do,” he said. “Getting lost on your own mountain. You keep heading east, you know. That is the direction from which the sun has been known to take its course.”

  I felt my face flush.

  “There was an accident,” I said, looking away. “We lost a horse.”

  “What sort of accident?”

  “A serious one—for the horse.”

  “Benedict,” said Random, suddenly looking up from what I realized to be the pierced Trump, “what can you tell me concerning my son Martin?”

  Benedict studied him for several moments before he spoke. Then, “Why the sudden interest?” he asked.

  “Because I have reason to believe he may be dead,” he said. “If that is the case, I want to avenge it. If it is not the case—well, the thought that it might be has caused me some upset. If he is still living, I would like to meet him and talk with him.”

  “What makes you think he might be dead?”

  Random glanced at me. I nodded.

  “Start with breakfast,” I said.

  “While he is doing that, I’ll find us lunch,” said Ganelon, rummaging in one of the bags.

  “The unicorn showed us the way . . .” Random began.

  Chapter 3

  We sat in silence. Random had finished s
peaking and Benedict was staring skyward over Gamath. His face betrayed nothing. I had long ago learned to respect his silence.

  At length, he nodded, once, sharply, and turned to regard Random.

  “I have long suspected something of this order,” he stated, “from things that Dad and Dworkin let fall over the years. I had the impression there was a primal Pattern which they had either located or created, situating our Amber but a shadow away to draw upon its forces. I never obtained any notion as to how one might travel to that place, however.” He turned back toward Gamath, gesturing with his chin. “And that, you tell me, corresponds to what was done there?”

  “It seems to,” Random replied.

  “. . . Brought about by the shedding of Martin’s blood?”

  “I think so”

  Benedict raised the Trump Random had passed him during his narration. At that time, Benedict had made no comment.

  “Yes,” he said now, “this is Martin. He came to me after he departed Rebma. He stayed with me a long while”

  “Why did he go to you?” Random asked.

  Benedict smiled faintly.

  “He had to go somewhere, you know,” he said. “He was sick of his position in Rebma, ambivalent toward Amber, young, free, and just come into his power through the Pattern. He wanted to get away, see new things, travel in Shadow—as we all did. I had taken him to Avalon once when he was a small boy, to let him walk on dry land of a summer, to teach him to ride a horse, to have him see a crop harvested. When he was suddenly in a position to go anywhere he would in an instant, his choices were still restricted to the few places of which he had knowledge. True, he might have dreamed up a place in that instant and gone there—creating it, as it were. But he was also aware that he still had many things to learn, to ensure his safety in Shadow. So he elected to come to me, to ask me to teach him. And I did. He spent the better part of a year at my place. I taught him to fight, taught him of the ways of the Trumps and of Shadow, instructed him in those things an Amberite must know if he is to survive.”