The Chronicles of Amber

by Roger Zelazny

  I advanced to the notch in which he had taken his position, and I looked past him at the swirling thing on the cracked plain far below. Through the image of the Logrus, I felt the dark, awful rush of power that Suhuy had revealed to me in his final lesson. Mandor was calling upon it now and pouring it into the shadow-storm. Did he not realize that the force of Chaos he was unleashing must spread until it had run a terrible course? Could he not see that if the storm were indeed a manifestation of Chaos then he was turning it into a truly monstrous thing?

  It grew larger. Its roaring increased in volume. It became frightening to watch it.

  From behind me, I heard Fiona gasp.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” I called to him.

  “We’ll know in about a minute,” he replied, lowering his arms.

  The Sign of the Logrus winked out before me.

  We watched the damned thing spin for some time, bigger and noisier.

  Finally, “What have you proved?” I asked him.

  “That you have no patience,” he answered.

  There was nothing particularly instructive to the phenomenon, but I continued to watch it anyway.

  Abruptly, the sound became a stutter. The dark apparition jerked about suddenly, shaking off bits of accumulated debris as it contracted. Soon it was restored to its former size, and it hit its earlier pitch and the sound grew steady once more.

  “How did you do that?” I asked him.

  “I didn’t,” he said. “It adjusted itself.”

  “It shouldn’t have,” Fiona stated.

  “Exactly,” he replied.

  “You’ve lost me,” I said.

  “It should have gone roaring right on, stronger than ever, after he’d augmented it that way,” Fiona said. “But whatever is controlling it had other plans. So it was readjusted.”

  “ . . . And it is a Chaos phenomenon,” Mandor continued. “You could see that in the way it drew upon Chaos when I provided the means. But that pushed it past some limit, and there was a correction. Someone is playing with the primal forces themselves out there. Who or what or why, I cannot say. But I think it’s strong testimony that the Pattern isn’t involved. Not with Chaos games. So Merlin is probably correct. I think that this business has its origin elsewhere.”

  “All right,” Fiona conceded. “All right. What does that leave us with?”

  “A mystery,” he said. “But hardly, I think, an imminent threat.”

  A faint firefly of an idea flitted through my mind. It could easily be dead wrong, though that was not the reason I decided against sharing it. It led into an area of thought I could not explore in an instant, and I don’t like giving away pieces of things like that.

  Fiona was glaring at me now, but I maintained a bland expression. Abruptly then, seeing that her cause was fruitless, she decided to change the subject:

  “You said that you left Luke under somewhat unusual circumstances. Just where is he now?”

  The last thing I wanted to do was to get her really mad at me. But I couldn’t see turning her loose on Luke in his present condition. For all I knew, she might actually be up to killing him, just as a form of life insurance. And I did not want Luke dead. I’d a feeling he might be undergoing something of a change of attitude, and I wanted to give him every break I could. We still owed each other a few, even though it was hard keeping score; and there is something to be said for old times’ sake. Considering what I’d judged his condition to be when I’d left him, it was going to be a while before he was in decent shape again. And then I had a number of things I wanted to talk to him about.

  “Sorry,” I said. “He’s my province at the moment.”

  “I believe I have some interest in the matter,” she replied levelly.

  “Of course,” I said, “but I feel that mine is greater and that we may get in each other’s ways.”

  “I can judge these things for myself,” she said.

  “Okay,” I told her. “He’s on an acid trip. Any information you’d get out of him might be colorful, but it would also be highly disappointing.”

  “How did this happen?” she asked.

  “A wizard named Mask apparently slipped him some chemicals when he had him prisoner.”

  “Where was this? I’ve never heard of Mask.”

  “A place called the Keep of the Four Worlds,” I told her.

  “It’s been a long time since I heard the Keep mentioned,” she said. “A sorcerer named Sharu Garrul used to hold it.”

  “He’s a coat-rack now,” I stated.

  “What?”

  “Long story; but Mask has the place these days.”

  She stared at me, and I could tell she was just realizing that there was a lot she didn’t know in the way of recent developments. I’d judge she was deciding which of several obvious questions to ask next when I decided to beat her to the punch while she was still off balance.

  “So how’s Bleys?” I asked.

  “He’s much improved. I treated him myself and he’s recovering quickly.”

  I was about to ask her where he was, which I knew she would refuse to answer, and hopefully we would both smile when she saw what I was driving at: no address for Bleys, no address for Luke; we keep our secrets and stay friends.

  “Hello!” I heard Mandor say, and we both turned in the direction he was facing—back out through the notch.

  The dark tornado-form had collapsed to half its former size, and even as we watched, it continued to diminish. It fell steadily in upon itself, shrinking and shrinking, and in about a half minute it was gone, completely.

  I could not suppress a smile, but Fiona did not even notice. She was looking at Mandor.

  “Do you think it was because of what you did?” she asked him.

  “I have no way of knowing,” he replied, “but it may well be.”

  “But does it tell you anything?” she said.

  “Perhaps whoever was responsible did not like having me tinker with his experiment.”

  “You really believe there’s an intelligence behind it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Someone from the Courts?”

  “It seems more likely than someone from your end of the world.”

  “I suppose so. . . . ” she agreed. “Have you any guesses as to the person’s identity?”

  He smiled.

  “I understand,” she said quickly. “Your business is your business. But a general threat is everybody’s business. That’s what I was really getting at.”

  “True,” he acknowledged. “This is why I propose investigating it. I’m at loose ends at the moment. It might be amusing.”

  “It is awkward asking you to communicate your findings to me,” she said, “when I do not know what interests might be involved.”

  “I appreciate your position,” he replied, “but to the best of my knowledge the treaty provisions still hold and no one in the Courts is promoting any special designs against Amber. In fact. . . . If you like, we might pursue the matter together, at least part of the way.”

  “I’ve got the time,” she said.

  “I don’t,” I injected quickly. “I’ve some pressing business to attend to.”

  Mandor shifted his attention to me.

  “About my offer. . . . ” he said.

  “I can’t,” I told him.

  “Very well. Our conversation is not concluded, however. I’ll be in touch later.”

  “Okay.”

  Fiona looked my way then, also.

  “You will keep me posted on Luke’s recovery, and his intentions,” she stated.

  “Of course.”

  “Good day, then.”

  Mandor gave me a small half-salute and I returned it.

  I began walking then, and as soon as I was out of sight I began shifting.

  I found my way to a rocky slope, where I halted and withdrew my Trump for Amber. I raised it, focused my awareness, and transported myself as soon as I felt my way through. I was hoping the main
hall would be empty, but at this point I didn’t really care that much.

  I came through near Jasra, who was holding an extra cloak over her outstretched left arm. I ducked out the doorway to my left into an empty corridor and made my way to the back stair. Several times I heard voices and I detoured to avoid the speakers. I was able to make it to my rooms without being discovered.

  The only rest I had had in what seemed an age and a half had been a fifteen-minute nap before Luke’s spaced-out sorcerous faculty had caused him to summon me to the Looking Glass Bar via a hallucinatory Trump. When? For all I knew, it could have been yesterday—which had been a very full day before that incident.

  I barred the door and staggered to the bed, flinging myself down upon it without even removing my boots. Sure, there were all sorts of things I should be doing, but I was in no condition for any of them. I’d returned home because I still felt safest in Amber; despite the fact that Luke had reached me here once.

  Someone with a high-powered subconscious might have had a brilliantly revelatory dream following as much crap as I’d been through recently, and then have awakened with a wonderful series of insights and answers detailing appropriate courses of action. I didn’t. I woke once, in a small panic, not knowing where I was. But I opened my eyes and satisfied myself on that count, then went back to sleep. Later—much later, it seemed—I returned by degrees, like some piece of flotsam being pushed higher and higher onto a beach by wave following wave, until finally I was there. I saw no reason for going any further until I realized that my feet hurt. Then I sat up and pulled my boots off, which might have been one of the six greatest pleasures in my life. I removed my socks in a hurry then and threw them into the corner of the room. Why doesn’t anyone else in my line of work seem to get sore feet? I filled the basin and soaked them for a time, then resolved to go barefoot for the next few hours.

  Finally I rose, stripped, cleaned up, and put on a pair of Levi’s and a purple flannel shirt of which I am fond. The hell with swords, daggers, and cloaks for a time. I opened the shutters and looked outside. It was dark. Because of clouds, I couldn’t even guess from the stars whether it might be early evening, late night, or almost morning.

  It was very quiet in the hall, and there were no sounds as I made my way down the back stair. The kitchen was deserted also, the big fires banked and smoldering low. I didn’t want to stir things up beyond hanging a pot of water to warm for tea while I located some bread and fruit preserves. I turned up a jug of something like grapefruit juice, too, in one of the walk-in ice boxes.

  As I sat warming my feet and working my way through the loaf, I began to feel uneasy. I was sipping my tea before I realized what it was. There seemed a great necessity that I be doing something, yet I had no idea what. Now I had something of a breather, and it felt strange. So I decided to start thinking again.

  By the time I’d finished eating, I had a few small plans. The first thing I did was to make my way to the main hall, where I removed all of the hats and cloaks form Jasra and swept her off her feet. Later, as I was bearing her stiff form along the upstairs hallway in the direction of my room, a door opened partway and a bleary-eyed Droppa watched me go by.

  “Hey, I’ll take two!” he called after me.

  “Reminds me of any first wife,” he added then, and closed the door.

  Once I had her installed in my quarters, I drew up a chair and seated myself before her. Garishly clad as part of a savage joke, her hard sort of beauty was not really diminished. She had placed me in extreme peril on one occasion, and I had no desire to free her at a time like this for a possible repeat performance. But the spell that held her claimed my attention for more than one reason and I wanted to understand it fully.

  Carefully then, I began exploring the construct which held her. It was not overcomplicated, but I could see that tracing all of its byways was going to take a while. All right. I wasn’t about to stop now. I pushed on ahead into the spell, taking mental notes as I went.

  I was busy for hours. After I had solved the spell, I decided to hang some more of my own, times being what they were. The castle came awake about me as I worked. I labored steadily as the day progressed, until everything was in place and I was satisfied with my work. I was also famished.

  I moved Jasra off into a corner, pulled on my boots, departed my quarters, and headed for the stair. In that it seemed about lunchtime I checked out the several dining rooms in which the family generally ate. But all of them were deserted and none of them were set up for a meal yet to come. Nor did any of them show signs of a meal having recently been dispatched.

  I suppose it was possible my time sense was still skewed and I was much too late or too early; but it did seem that it had been daylight long enough to bring me into the vicinity of the proper hour. Nobody, however, seemed to be eating, so something had to be wrong with this assumption. . . .

  Then I heard it—the faint click of cutlery upon plate. I headed in the apparent direction of the sound. Obviously, the meal was taking place in a less frequented setting than usual. I turned right, then left. Yes, they had decided to set up in a drawing room. No matter.

  I entered the room, where Llewella was seated with Random’s wife, Vialle, on the red divan, dinner laid on a low table before them. Michael, who worked in the kitchen, stood nearby behind a cart loaded with dishes. I cleared my throat.

  “Merlin,” Vialle announced with a sensitivity that always gives me a small chill—she being completely blind. “How pleasant!”

  “Hello,” Llewella said. “Come and join us. We’re anxious to hear what you’ve been doing.”

  I drew a chair up to the far side of the table and seated myself. Michael came over and laid a fresh setting before me. I thought about it quickly. Anything Vialle heard would doubtless get back to Random. So I gave them a somewhat edited version of recent events—leaving out all references to Mandor, Fiona, and anything having to do with the Courts. It made for a considerably shorter story and let me get to my food sooner.

  “Everybody’s been so busy lately,” Llewella remarked when I’d finished talking. “It almost makes me feel guilty.”

  I studied the delicate green of her more-than-olive complexion; her full lips, her large catlike eyes.

  “But not quite,” she added.

  “Where are they all, anyway?” I asked.

  “Gerard,” she said, “is down seeing to harbor fortifications, and Julian is in command of the army, which has now been equipped with some firearms and is set to defend the approaches to Kolvir.”

  “You mean Dalt has something in the field already? Coming this way?”

  She shook her head. “No, it was a precautionary measure,” she replied, “because of that message from Luke. Dalt’s force had not actually been sighted.”

  “Does anyone even know where he is?” I asked.

  “Not yet,” she answered, “but we’re expecting some intelligence on that soon.” She shrugged. Then, “Perhaps Julian already has it,” she added.

  “Why is Julian in command?” I asked between nibbles. “I’d have thought Benedict would take charge of something like this.”

  Llewella looked away, glancing at Vialle, who seemed to feel the shifting of focus.

  “Benedict and a small force of his men have escorted Random to Kashfa,” Vialle said, softly.

  “Kashfa?” I said. “Why would he want to do that? In fact, Dalt usually hangs out around Kashfa. The area could be dangerous right now.”

  She smiled faintly.

  “That is why he wanted Benedict and his guard for escort,” she said. “They may even be the intelligence-gathering expedition themselves, though that’s not their reason for going right now.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said, “why the trip should be necessary at all.”

  She took a sip of water.

  “A sudden political upheaval,” she replied. “Some general had taken over in the absence of the queen and the crown prince. The general was just assassina
ted recently, and Random has succeeded in obtaining agreement for placing his own candidate—an older nobleman—on the throne.”

  “How’d he do that?”

  “Everyone with an interest in the matter was even more interested in seeing Kashfa admitted to the Golden Circle of privileged trade status.”

  “So Random bought them off to see his own man in charge,” I observed. “Don’t these Golden Circle treaties usually give us the right to move troops through a client kingdom’s territory with very little in the way of preliminaries?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  I suddenly recalled that tough-looking emissary of the Crown I’d met at Bloody Bill’s, who had paid his tab in Kashfan currency. I decided I did not really want to know how close in point of time that was to the assassination that had made this recent arrangement possible. What struck me with more immediate force was the picture that now emerged. It looked as if Random had just blocked Jasra and Luke from recovering their usurped throne—which, to be fair, I guess Jasra had usurped herself, years ago. With all that usurping going on, the equities of the thing were more than a little hazy to me. But if Random’s ethics were no better than those which had gone before, they were certainly no worse. It looked now, though, as if any attempt on the part of Luke to regain his mother’s throne would be met by a monarch who possessed a defense alliance with Amber. I suddenly felt willing to bet that the terms of the defense provisions of the alliance included Amber’s assistance in internal troubles as well as help against outside aggressors.

  Fascinating. It sounded as if Random were going to an awful lot of trouble to isolate Luke from his power base and any semblance of legitimacy as a head of state. I supposed the next step could be to get him outlawed as a pretender and a dangerous revolutionary, and to put a price on his head. Was Random overreacting? Luke didn’t seem all that dangerous now, especially with his mother in our custody. On the other hand, I didn’t really know how far Random intended to go. Was he just foreclosing all of the threatening options, or was he actually out to get Luke? The latter possibility bothered me in that Luke seemed on halfway good behavior at the moment and possibly in the throes of reconsidering his position. I did not want to see him needlessly thrown to the wolves as a result of overkill on Random’s part.