I drank it all.
“Want another?”
“Yes.”
“Just a minute.”
I felt his weight shift, heard his footsteps recede. I regarded the diffusely illuminated wall six or seven feet before me.
I ran my hand along the floor. It seemed to be of the same material.
Shortly, Luke returned, smiling, and passed me the dipper. I drained it and handed it back.
“Want more?” he asked.
“No. Where are we?”
“In a cave—a big, pretty place.”
“Where’d you get the water?”
“In a side cavern, up that way.” He gestured. “Several barrels of it in there. Also lots of food. Want something to eat?”
“Not yet. Are you okay?”
“Kind of beat,” he replied, “but intact. You don’t seem to have any broken bones, and that cut on your face has stopped bleeding.”
“That’s something, anyway,” I said.
I climbed slowly to my feet; the final strands of dreams withdrawing slowly as I rose. I saw then that Luke had turned and was walking away. I followed him for several paces before I thought to inquire, “Where are you going?”
“In there,” he answered, pointing with the dipper.
I followed him through an opening in the wall and into a cold cavern about the size of my old apartment’s living room. Four large wooden barrels stood along the wall to my left, and Luke proceeded to hang the dipper upon the upper edge of the nearest. Against the far wall were great stacks of cartons and piles of sacks.
“Canned goods,” he announced. “Fruit; vegetables, ham, salmon, biscuits, sweets. Several cases of wine. A Coleman stove. Plenty of Sterno. Even a bottle or two of cognac.”
He turned and brushed quickly past me, headed on up the hall again.
“Now where?” I asked.
But he was moving fast and did not reply. I had to hurry to catch up. We passed several branches and openings before he halted at another, nodding.
“Latrine in there. Just a hole with some boards over it. Good idea to keep it covered, I’d say.”
“What the hell is this?” I asked.
He raised his hand. “It will all become clear in a minute. This way.”
He swung around a sapphire corner and vanished. Almost completely disoriented, I moved in that direction. After several turns and one cutback, I felt totally lost. Luke was nowhere in sight.
I halted and listened. Not a sound except for my own breathing.
“Luke! Where are you?” I called.
“Up here,” he answered.
The voice seemed to be coming from overhead and somewhere off to my right. I ducked beneath a low arch and came into a bright blue chamber of the same crystalline substance as the rest of the place. I saw a sleeping bag and a pillow in one corner. Light streamed in from a small opening about eight feet overhead.
“Luke?” I asked again.
“Here,” came his reply.
I moved to position myself beneath the hole, squinting against the brightness as I stared upward. Finally, I shaded my eyes. Luke’s head and shoulders was limned above me, his hair a crown of coppery flame in what could be the light of early morning or of evening. He was smiling again.
“That, I take it, is the way out,” I said.
“For me,” he answered.
“What do you mean?”
There followed a grating noise and the view was partly occluded by the edge of a large boulder.
“What are you doing?”
“Moving this stone into a position where I can block the opening quickly,” he replied, “and stick in a few wedges afterward.”
“Why?”
“There are sufficient tiny openings for air so that you shan’t suffocate,” he went on.
“Great. Why am I here, anyway?”
“Let’s not get existential just now,” he said. “This isn’t a philosophy seminar.”
“Luke! Damn it! What’s going on?”
“It should be obvious that I’m making you a prisoner,” he said. “The blue crystal, by the way, will block any Trump sendings and negate your magical abilities that rely on things beyond the walls. I need you alive and fangless for now, in a place where I can get to you in a hurry.”
I studied the opening and the nearby walls.
“Don’t try it,” he said. “I have the advantage of position.”
“Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?”
He stared at me for a moment, then nodded.
“I have to go back,” he said finally, “and try to get control of the Ghostwheel. Any suggestions?”
I laughed. “It’s not on the best of terms with me at the moment. I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
He nodded again. “I’ll just have to see what I can do. God, what a weapon! If I can’t swing it myself I’ll have to come back and pick your brains for some ideas. You be thinking about it, okay?”
“I’ll be thinking about a lot of things, Luke. You’re not going to like some of them.”
“You’re not in a position to do much.”
“Not yet,” I said.
He caught hold of the boulder, began to move it.
“Luke!” I cried.
He paused, studied me, his expression changing to one I had never seen before.
“That’s not really my name,” he stated, after a moment.
“What, then?”
“I am your cousin Rinaldo,” he said slowly. “I killed Caine, and I came close with Bleys. I missed with the bomb at the funeral, though. Someone spotted me. I will destroy the House of Amber with or without your Ghostwheel—but it would make things a lot easier if I had that kind of power.”
“What’s your bitch, Luke? . . . Rinaldo? Why the vendetta?”
“I went after Caine first,” he continued, “because he’s the one who actually killed my father.”
“I—didn’t know.” I stared at the flash of the Phoenix clasp upon his breast. “I didn’t know that Brand had a son,” I finally said.
“You do now, old buddy. That’s another reason why I can’t let you go, and why I have to keep you in a place like this. Don’t want you warning the others.”
“You’re not going to be able to pull this off.”
He was silent for several seconds, then he shrugged.
“Win or lose, I have to try.”
“Why April 30?” I said suddenly. “Tell me that.”
“It was the day I got the news of my dad’s death.”
He drew upon the boulder and it slid into the hole, blocking it fully. There followed some brief hammerings.
“Luke!”
He did not answer. I could see his shadow through the translucent stone. After a while it straightened, then dropped from sight. I heard his boots strike the ground outside. “Rinaldo!”
He did not answer and I heard his retreating footsteps.
I count the days by the lightening and darkening of the blue crystal walls. It has been over a month since my imprisonment, though I do not know how slowly or rapidly time flows here in relation to other shadows. I have paced every hall and chamber of this great cave, but I have found no way out. My Trumps do not work here, not even the Trumps of Doom. My magic is useless to me, limited as it is by walls the color of Luke’s ring. I begin to feel that I might enjoy even the escape of temporary insanity, but my reason refuses to surrender to it, there being too many puzzles to trouble me. Dan Martinez, Meg Devlin, my Lady of the Lake . . . Why? And why did he spend all of that time in my company, Luke, Rinaldo, my enemy? I have to find a way to warn the others. If he succeeds in turning Ghostwheel upon them then Brand’s dream—my nightmare of vengeance—will be realized. I see now that I have made many mistakes . . . Forgive me, Julia . . . I will pace the measure of my confinement yet again. Somewhere there must be a gap in the icy blue logic that surrounds me, against which I hurl my mind, my cries, my bitter laughter. Up this hall, down the tunnel. The blue is e
verywhere. The shadows will not bear me away, for there are no shadows here. I am Merlin the pent, son of Corwin the lost, and my dream of light has been turned against me. I stalk my prison like my own ghost. I cannot let it end this way. Perhaps the next tunnel, or the next . . .
Blood of Amber
The Second Amber Pentology - Merlin’s Story: Book 2
Prologue
Reflections in a Crystal Cave —
My life had been relatively peaceful for eight years—not counting April thirtieths, when someone invariably tried to kill me. Outside of that, my academic career with its concentration on computer science went well enough and my four years employment at Grand Design proved a rewarding experience, letting me use what I’d learned in a situation I liked while I labored on a project of my own on the side. I had a good friend in Luke Raynard, who worked for the same company, in sales. I sailed my little boat, I jogged regularly.
It all fell apart this past April 30, just when I thought things were about to come together. My pet project, Ghostwheel, was built, I’d quit my job, packed my gear and was ready to move on to greener shadows. I’d stayed in town this long only because that morbidly fascinating day was near, and this time I intended to discover who was behind the attempts on my life and why.
At breakfast that morning Luke appeared with a message from my former girlfriend, Julia. Her note said that she wanted to see me again. So I stopped by her place, where I found her dead, apparently killed by the same doglike beast which then attacked me. I succeeded in destroying the creature. A quick search of the apartment before I fled the scene turned up a slim packet of strange playing cards, which I took along with me.
They were too much like the magical Tarots of Amber and Chaos for a sorcerer such as myself not to be interested in them.
Yes. I am a sorcerer. I am Merlin, son of Corwin of Amber and Dara of the Courts of Chaos, known to local friends and acquaintances as Merle Corey: bright, charming, witty, athletic. . . . Go read Castiglione and Lord Byron for particulars, as I’m modest, aloof and reticent, as well.
The cards proved to be genuine magical objects, which seemed appropriate once I learned that Julia had been keeping company with an occultist named Victor Melman after we had broken up. A visit to this gentleman’s studio resulted in his attempting to kill me in a ritual fashion. I was able to free myself from the constraints of the ceremony and question him somewhat, before local conditions and my enthusiasm resulted in his death. So much for rituals.
I’d learned enough from him to realize that he’d been but a cat’s-paw. Someone else had apparently put him up to the sacrifice bit—and it seemed quite possible that the other person was the one responsible for Julia’s death and my collection of memorable April thirtieths.
I had small time to reflect upon these matters, though, because I was bitten (yes, bitten) shortly thereafter by an attractive red-haired woman who materialized in Melman’s apartment, following my brief telephone conversation with her in which I’d tried to pose as Melman. Her bite paralyzed me, but I was able to depart before it took full effect by employing one of the magical cards I’d found at Julia’s place. It bore me into the presence of a sphinx, which permitted me to recover so that it could play that silly riddle game sphinxes love so well because they get to eat you when you lose. All I can say about it is that this particular sphinx was a bad sport.
Anyhow, I returned to the shadow Earth where I’d been making my home to discover that Melman’s place had burned down during my absence. I tried phoning Luke, because I wanted to have dinner with him, and learned that he had checked out of his motel, leaving me a message indicating that he had gone to New Mexico on business and telling me where he’d be staying. The desk clerk also gave me a blue-stone ring Luke had left behind, and I took it with me to return when I saw him.
I flew to New Mexico, finally catching up with Luke in Santa Fe. While I waited in the bar for him to get ready for dinner, a man named Dan Martinez questioned me, giving the impression that Luke had proposed some business deal and that he wanted to be assured Luke was reliable and could deliver. After dinner, Luke and I went for a drive in the mountains.
Martinez followed us and started shooting as we stood admiring the night. Perhaps he’d decided Luke was not reliable or couldn’t deliver. Luke surprised me by drawing a weapon of his own and shooting Martinez. Then an even stranger thing happened. Luke called me by name—my real name, which I’d never told him—and cited my parentage and told me to get into the car and get the hell out. He emphasized his point by placing a shot in the ground near my feet. The matter did not seem open to discussion so I departed. He also told me to destroy those strange Trumps that had saved my life once already. And I’d learned on the way up that he’d known Victor Melman. . . .
I didn’t go far. I parked downhill and returned on foot. Luke was gone. So was Martinez’s body. Luke did not return to the hotel, that night or the next day, so I checked out and departed. The only person I was sure I could trust, and who actually might have some good advice for me, was Bill Roth. Bill was an attorney who lived in upstate New York, and he had been my father’s best friend. I went to visit him, and I told him my story.
Bill got me to wondering even more about Luke. Luke, by the way, is a big, smart, red-haired natural athlete of uncanny prowess—and though we’d been friends for many years I knew next to nothing (as Bill pointed out) concerning his background.
A neighboring lad named George Hansen began hanging out near Bill’s place, asking strange questions. I received an odd phone call, asking similar questions. Both interrogators seemed curious as to my mother’s name. Naturally, I lied. The fact that my mother is a member of the dark aristocracy of the Courts of Chaos was none of their business. But the caller spoke my language, Thari, which made me curious enough to propose a meeting and a trade-off of information that evening in the bar of the local country club.
But my Uncle Random, King of Amber, called me home before that, while Bill and I were out hiking. George Hansen, it turned out, was following us and wanted to come along as we shifted away across the shadows of reality. Tough; he wasn’t invited. I took Bill along because I didn’t want to leave him with anyone acting that peculiar.
I learned from Random that my Uncle Caine was dead, of an assassin’s bullet, and that someone had also tried to kill my Uncle Bleys but only succeeded in wounding him. The funeral service for Caine would be the following day.
I kept my date at the country club that evening, but my mysterious interrogator was nowhere in sight. All was not lost, however, as I made the acquaintance of a pretty lady named Meg Devlin—and, one thing leading to another, I saw her home and we got to know each other a lot better. Then, at a moment when I would have judged her thoughts to be anywhere but there, she asked me my mother’s name. So, what the hell, I told her. It did not come to me until later that she might really have been the person I’d gone to the bar to meet.
Our liaison was terminated prematurely by a call from the lobby—from a man purportedly Meg’s husband. I did what any gentleman would do. I got the hell out fast.
My Aunt Fiona, who is a sorceress (of a different style from my own), had not approved of my date. And apparently she approved even less of Luke, because she asked me whether I had a picture of him after I’d told her somewhat concerning him. I showed her a photo I had in my wallet, which included Luke in the group. I’d have sworn she recognized him from somewhere, though she wouldn’t admit it. But the fact that she and her brother Bleys both disappeared from Amber that night would seem more than coincidental.
The pace of events was accelerated even more after that. A crude attempt at knocking off most of the family with a thrown bomb was made the next day, following Caine’s funeral. The would-be assassin escaped. Later, Random was upset at a brief demonstration on my part of the power of the Ghostwheel, my pet project, my hobby, my avocation during those years at Grand Design. Ghostwheel is a—well, it started out as a computer that required a diff
erent set of physical laws to operate than those I’d learned in school. It involved what might be called magic. But I found a place where it could be built and operated, and I’d constructed it there. It was still programming itself when I’d left it. It seemed to have gone sentient, and I think it scared Random. He ordered me to go and turn it off. I didn’t much like the idea, but I departed.
I was followed in my passage through Shadow; I was harassed, threatened and even attacked. I was rescued from a fire by a strange lady who later died in a lake. I was protected from vicious beasts by a mysterious individual and saved from a bizarre earthquake by the same person—who turned out to be Luke. He accompanied me to the final barrier, for a confrontation with Ghostwheel. My creation was a bit irritated with me and banished us by means of a shadow-storm—a thing it is not fun to be caught in, with or without an umbrella. I delivered us from the vicissitudes by means of one of the Trumps of Doom, as I’d dubbed the odd pasteboards from Julia’s apartment.
We wound up outside a blue crystal cave, and Luke took me in. Good old Luke. After seeing to my needs he proceeded to imprison me. When he told me who he was, I realized that it was a resemblance to his father which had upset Fiona when she’d seen his photo. For Luke was the son of Brand, assassin and arch traitor, who had damn near destroyed the kingdom and the rest of the universe along with it some years back. Fortunately, Caine had killed him before he’d accomplished his designs. Luke, I learned then, was the one who’d killed Caine, to avenge his father. (And it turned out he’d gotten the news of his father’s death on an April thirtieth and had had a peculiar way of observing its anniversary over the years.) Like Random, he too had been impressed by my Ghostwheel, and he told me that I was to remain his prisoner, as I might become necessary in his efforts to gain control of the machine, which he felt would be the perfect weapon for destroying the rest of the family.
He departed to pursue the matter, and I quickly discovered that my powers were canceled by some peculiar property of the cave, leaving me with no one to talk to but you, Frakir, and no one here for you to strangle. . . .
The Chronicles of Amber Page 105
