The Chronicles of Amber

by Roger Zelazny

  “I never looked at it all that way,” I said.

  “And your father—inadvertently, I believe—provided a bonus. Afraid that the Pattern had not been repaired, he drew another. Only, it had been repaired. Thus, there were two artifacts of order, rather than one. Though, as a separate entity, it probably did not add to the Pattern’s strength, it added to order, as such, diminishing the effects of the Logrus. So your father set the balance right, then proceeded to tip it again—in the other direction.”

  “This is your conclusion from the investigations you and Fiona made of the new Pattern?”

  He nodded slowly, took a sip of juice.

  “Hence, more Shadow storms than usual, as a mundane effect,” he said, “bringing us up to present times.”

  “Yes, present times,” I said, pouring more coffee.

  “We’ve noted they’ve grown interesting.”

  “Indeed. Your story of the girl Coral, asking the Pattern to send her to an appropriate place, is a case in point. What did it immediately do? It sent her to a Shadow Pattern and turned out the lights. Then it sent you to rescue her, repairing that edition of itself in the process. Once it was repaired it was no longer a Shadow Pattern, but another version of itself that it was then able to absorb. It probably absorbed that entire shadow as well, adding considerably to its own energies. Its edge over the Logrus increased even more. The Logrus would need a big gain to restore the balance after that. So it risked an incursion into the Pattern’s domain, in a desperate effort to obtain the Eye of Chaos. That ended in a stalemate, though, because of the intervention of that bizarre entity you call Ghostwheel. So the balance remains tipped in the Pattern’s favor, an unhealthy state of affairs.”

  “For the Logrus.”

  “For everybody, I’d say. The Powers will be at odds, the shadows in turmoil and disorder in both realms till things have been righted.”

  “So something should be done to benefit the Logrus.”

  “You already know that.”

  “I suppose I do.”

  “It communicated with you directly, didn’t it?”

  I recalled my night in the chapel in the place between shadows, where I had been faced with a choice between the Serpent and the Unicorn, the Logrus and the Pattern. Resenting the bullying in such a forced format, I had refused to choose either.

  “Yes, it did,” I answered.

  “It wanted you for its champion, didn’t it?”

  “I suppose it did,” I said.

  “And . . . ?”

  “ . . . And here we are,” I replied.

  “Did it indicate anything that might support my thesis?”

  I thought about that trek through the Under-shadow, mixing menace with ghosts—Pattern, Logrus, or both. “I suppose it did,” I repeated.

  But, ultimately, it had been the Pattern I had served at the end of that journey, albeit unwittingly.

  “You are prepared to execute its design for the good of the Courts?”

  “I’m prepared to seek resolution of this matter. For everybody’s peace of mind.”

  He smiled.

  “Is that a qualification or an agreement?”

  “It’s a statement of intent,” I said.

  “If the Logrus has chosen you, it has its reasons.”

  “I daresay.”

  “It almost goes without saying that having you on the throne would strengthen the House of Sawall immensely.”

  “The thought had occurred to me, now you mention it.”

  “For one with your background, of course, it would become necessary to determine where your ultimate loyalty lies—with Amber or with the Courts.”

  “Do you foresee another war?”

  “No, of course not. But anything you do to strengthen the Logrus will arouse the Pattern and provoke some response from Amber. Hardly to the point of war, but possibly to that of retaliation.”

  “Could you be more specific as to what you have in mind?”

  “I’m only dealing in generalities at the moment, to give you opportunity to assess your reactions.”

  I nodded.

  “Since we’re talking generalities I’ll just repeat my statement: I’m prepared to seek a resolution—”

  “All right,” he said. “We understand each other to this extent. In the event you make it to the throne, you want the same thing we do—”

  “`We’?” I interrupted.

  “The House of Sawall, of course. But you don’t want anyone dictating specifics to you.”

  “That says it nicely,” I replied.

  “But of course we’re speaking hypothetically, there being a couple of others about with stronger claims.”

  “So why argue contingencies?”

  “If the House were able to see you crowned, however, do you acknowledge you would owe consideration for this?”

  “Brother,” I said, “you are the House, for all major purposes. If you’re asking for a commitment before taking out Tmer and Tubble, forget it, I’m not all that eager to sit on a throne.”

  “Your wishes are not paramount in this,” he said. “There is no reason for squeamishness when you consider that we’ve long been at odds with Jesby, and Chanicut’s always been a troublemaker.”

  “Squeamishness has nothing to do with it,” I said. “I never said I wanted the throne. And, frankly, I think either Tmer or Tubble would probably do a better job.”

  “They are not designates of the Logrus.”

  “And if I am, I should make it without any help.”

  “Brother, there is a big gap between its world of principles and ours of flesh, stone, and steel.”

  “And supposing I have my own agenda and it does not include your plan?”

  “What is it, then?”

  “We’re speaking hypothetically, remember?”

  “Merlin, you’re being obstinate. You’ve a duty in this, to the House as well as to the Courts and the Logrus.”

  “I can assess my own duties, Mandor, and I have—so far.”

  “If you’ve a plan to set things right, and it’s a good one, we’ll help you to effectuate it. What have you in mind?”

  “I do not require help at this point,” I said, “but I’ll remember that.”

  “What do you require right now?”

  “Information,” I said.

  “Ask me. I have a lot.”

  “All right. What can you tell me about my mother’s maternal side, the House of Hendrake?”

  He pursed his lips.

  “They’re into soldiering, professionally,” he said. “You know they’re always off fighting in Shadow wars. They love it. Belissa Minobee’s been in charge since General Larsus’s death. Hm.” He paused. Then, “Do you ask because of their rather odd fixation involving Amber?”

  “Amber?” I said. “What do you mean?”

  “I recall a social visit to the Ways of Hendrake one time,” he said, “when I wandered into a small, chapel-like room. In a niche in one wall there hung a portrait of General Benedict, in full battle regalia. There was an altar-like shelf below it bearing several weapons, and upon which a number of candles were burning. Your mother’s picture was there, too.”

  “Really?” I said. “I wonder whether Benedict knows? Dara once told my father she was descended from Benedict. Later, he figured this an out-and-out lie. . . . Do you think people like that would hold a grudge against my father?”

  “For what?”

  “Corwin slew Borel of Hendrake at the time of the Patternfall War.”

  “They tend to take such things philosophically.”

  “Still, I gather it was a somewhat less than kosher engagement from the way he described it—though I don’t believe there were any witnesses.”

  “So let sleeping wyverns lie.”

  “I’ve no intention of rousing them. But what I was wondering was that if they had somehow heard details they might have been out to clear some debt of honor on his behalf. Do you think they could have been behind his disap
pearance?”

  “I just don’t know,” he replied, “how that would fit in with their code. I suppose you could ask them.”

  “Just come out and say, ‘Hey, are you responsible for whatever happened to my dad?’”

  “There are more subtle ways of learning a person’s attitudes,” he responded. “As I recall, you had a few lessons in them in your youth.”

  “But I don’t even know these people. I mean, I might have met one of the sisters at a party, now I think of it—and I recall having seen Larsus and his wife in the distance a few times—but that’s it.”

  “Hendrake will have a representative at the funeral,” he said. “If I were to introduce you, perhaps you could apply a little glamour to obtain an informal audience.”

  “You know, that may be the way to go,” I told him.

  “Probably the only way. Yes, do that, please.”

  “Very well.”

  He cleared the table with a gesture, filled it with another. This time, paper-thin crepes with a variety of fillings and toppings appeared before us; and fresh rolls, variously spiced. We ate for a time in silence, appreciating the balminess and the birds, the breezes.

  “I wish I could have seen something of Amber,” he said at length, “under less restricted circumstances.”

  “I’m sure that can be arranged,” I replied. “I’d like to show you around. I know a great restaurant in Death Alley.”

  “That wouldn’t be Bloody Eddie’s, would it?”

  “It would, though the name gets changed periodically.”

  “I’ve heard of it, and long been curious.”

  “We’ll do that one day.”

  “Excellent.”

  He clapped his hands and bowls of fruit appeared. I freshened my coffee and swirled a Kadota fig in a bowl of whipped cream.

  “I’ll be dining with my mother later,” I remarked.

  “Yes. I overheard.”

  “Have you seen much of her recently? How’s she been?”

  “As she said, rather reclusive,” he replied.

  “Do you think she’s up to something?”

  “Probably,” he said. “I can’t recall a time when she hasn’t been.”

  “Any idea what?”

  “Why should I guess when she’ll probably tell you outright?”

  “You really think she will?”

  “You have an advantage over everyone else, in being her son.”

  “Also a drawback, for the same reason.”

  “Still, she’s more likely to tell you things than she would anyone else.”

  “Except, perhaps, Jurt.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “She always liked him better.”

  “Funny, I’ve heard him say the same thing about you.”

  “You see him often?”

  “Often? No.”

  “When was the last time?”

  “About two cycles ago.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Here, in the Courts.”

  “At Sawall?” I had visions of him joining us for lunch. I wouldn’t put something like that past Dara either.

  “One of its byways, I think. He’s rather reticent concerning his comings and goings—and stayings.”

  There being something like eight byway residences to Sawall that I knew of, it would be difficult to run him down through byways that could lead well into Shadow. Not that I’d any desire to, at the moment.

  “What brings him home?” I asked.

  “The same thing as yourself, the funeral,” he said, “and all that goes with it.”

  All that goes with it, indeed! If there were a genuine plot to put me on the throne, I could never forget that—willing or unwilling, successful or unsuccessful—Jurt would be a step or two behind me all the way.

  “I may have to kill him,” I said. “I don’t want to. But he’s not giving me a whole lot of choice. Sooner or later, he’s going to force us into a position where it has to be one or the other.”

  “Why do you tell me this?”

  “So you’ll know how I feel about it, and so that you might use whatever influence you may still have to persuade him to find a different hobby.”

  He shook his head.

  “Jurt moved beyond my influence a long time ago,” he said. “Dara’s about the only one he’ll listen to—though I suspect he’s still afraid of Suhuy. You might speak to her concerning this matter, soon.”

  “It’s the one thing neither of us can discuss with her—the other.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s just the way it is. She always misunderstands.”

  “I’m certain she’s not going to want her sons killing each other.”

  “Of course not, but I don’t know how to put the matter to her.”

  “I suggest you make an effort to find a way. In the meantime, I would contrive not to be alone with Jurt should your paths cross. And if it were me, in the presence of witnesses, I would make certain that the first blow was not mine.”

  “Well taken, Mandor,” I said.

  We sat for a time in silence. Then, “You will think about my proposal,” he said.

  “As I understand it,” I replied.

  He frowned.

  “If you have any questions. . . . ”

  “No. I’ll be thinking.”

  He rose. I got to my feet, also. With a gesture, he cleared the table. Then he turned away and I followed him out of the gazebo and across its yard to the trail.

  We emerged after a stroll in his external study cum receiving room. He squeezed my shoulder as we headed for the exit.

  “I’ll see you at the funeral then,” he remarked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Thanks for the breakfast.”

  “By the way, how well do you like that lady, Coral?” he asked.

  “Oh, pretty well,” I said. “She’s quite—nice. Why?”

  He shrugged.

  “Just curious. I was concerned about her, having been present at the time of her misadventure, and I wondered how much she meant to you.”

  “Enough that it bothers me a lot,” I said.

  “I see. Well, give her my good wishes if you should talk to her.”

  “Thanks, I will.”

  “We’ll talk again later.”

  “Yes.”

  I strode into the way, making no haste. I still had considerable time before I was due by the Ways of Sawall.

  I paused when I came to a gibbet-shaped tree. A moment’s reflection and I turned left, following an ascending trail among dark rocks. Near its top, I walked directly into a mossy boulder, emerging from a sandbank into a light rain. I ran across the field before me, till I came to the fairy circle beneath the ancient tree. I stepped to its middle, made up a couplet with my name for the rhyme, and sank into the ground. When I was halted and the moment’s darkness went away, I found myself beside a damp stone wall, looking downhill across a prospect of headstones and monuments. The sky was fully overcast and a cool breeze wandered by. It felt to be one of the ends of a day, but whether morning or twilight lay near, I could not tell. The place looked exactly as I remembered it—cracked mausoleums hung with ivy, falling stone fences, wandering paths beneath high, dark trees. I moved down familiar trails.

  As a child, this had been a favored playground of mine, for a time. I met here almost daily, for dozens of cycles, with a little shadow girl named Rhanda. Kicking through boneheaps, brushing by damp shrubbery, I came at length to the damaged mausoleum where we had played house. Pushing aside the sagging gate, I entered.

  Nothing had changed, and I found myself chuckling. The cracked cups and saucers, tarnished utensils, were still stacked in the corner, heavy with dust, stained with seepage. I brushed off the catafalque we’d used as a table, seated myself upon it. One day Rhanda had simply stopped corning, and after a time I had, too. I’d often wondered what sort of woman she had become. I’d left her a note in our hiding place, beneath a loose floor stone, I recalled. I wondered whether she�
��d ever found it.

  I raised the stone. My filthy envelope still lay there, unsealed. I took it out, shook it off, slid out my folded sheet.

  I unfolded it, read my faded childish scrawl: What happened Rhanda? I waited and you didn’t come. Beneath it, in a far neater hand, was written: I can’t come anymore because my folks say you are a demon or a vampire. I’m sorry because you are the nicest demon or vampire I know. I’d never thought of that possibility. Amazing, the ways one can be misunderstood.

  I sat there for a time, remembering growing up. I’d taught Rhanda the bonedance game in here. I snapped my fingers then, and our old ensorcelled heap of them across the way made a sound like stirring leaves. My juvenile spell was still in place; the bones rolled forward, arranged themselves into a pair of manikins, began their small, awkward dance. They circled each other, barely holding their shapes, pieces flaking away, cobwebs trailing; loose ones—spares—began to bounce about them. They made tiny clicking sounds as they touched. I moved them faster.

  A shadow crossed the doorway, and I heard a chuckle. “I’ll be damned! All you need’s a tin roof. So this is how they spend their time in Chaos.”

  “Luke!” I exclaimed as he stepped inside, my manikins collapsing as my attention left them, into little gray, stick-like heaps. “What are you doing here?”

  “Could say I was selling cemetery lots,” he observed. “You interested in one?”

  He had on a red shirt and brown khakis tucked into his brown suede boots. A tan cloak hung about his shoulders. He was grinning.

  “Why aren’t you off ruling?”

  His smile went away, to be replaced by a moment of puzzlement, returned almost instantly.

  “Oh, felt I needed a break. What about you? There’s a funeral soon, isn’t there?”

  I nodded.

  “Later on,” I said. “I’m just taking a break myself. How’d you get here, anyway?”

  “Followed my nose,” he said. “Needed some intelligent conversation.”

  “Be serious. Nobody knew I was coming here. I didn’t even know it till the last minute. I—”

  I groped about in my pockets.

  “You didn’t plant another of those blue stones on me, did you?”