The Chronicles of Amber

by Roger Zelazny

  “No,” she said.

  I looked beyond them both at a perfectly clear blue sky. The surface upon which I lay was a level area of rock, perhaps oval in shape, opening onto nothing. A quick turning of my head showed that it seemed bitten out of a mountainside, however, several dark recesses to the rear indicating the possibility of caves. I saw, too, that Coral lay behind me. Our stony shelf was several hundred meters wide. And there was movement beyond Nayda and the Sign of the Pattern. Luke had just hauled himself up into a kneeling position.

  I could have answered the question put to Nayda, but there was no percentage in my doing so. Not when she was doing such a fine job of holding our captor’s attention and providing a crucial respite.

  To my left, I saw gold-pink swirls within the stone, and though I had never been here I recalled the description from my father’s story and knew this to be the place of the primal Pattern, the deeper level of reality that underlay Amber itself.

  I rolled onto all fours then, and crawled a few steps, seaward, Patternward.

  “You are at the other end of the universe, ty’iga, in the place of my greatest power.”

  Dalt groaned and rolled over, sat up, massaged his eyes with the palms of his hands.

  I could feel something like a vibration just at the edge of hearing coming from Nayda now, and her entire form had taken on that reddish glow. I knew that she would die if she attacked the Sign, and I realized that I would attack it myself if it killed her.

  I heard a moan from Coral.

  “You will not hurt my friends,” Nayda said.

  I wondered then at its slapping me down before I could use the spikard, and transporting us immediately to its stronghold. Did this mean I might actually have had a chance against it, out there in Logrus territory where it was weakened?

  “Creature of the Pit,” it told her, “such a doomed, pathetic gesture as yours verges on the heroic. I feel a certain fondness for you. Would that I had such a friend. No, I will not harm your companions. But I must detain Coral and Merlin here as power counters, and the rest of you for political reasons, until this dispute with my adversary is settled.”

  “Detain?” she said. “Here?”

  “There are comfortable quarters within the rock,” it said.

  I rose carefully to my feet, fumbling at my belt for my dagger.

  Luke got up and walked over to Coral, knelt beside her.

  “Are you awake?” he asked.

  “Sort of,” she answered.

  “Can you stand?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Let me help you.”

  Dalt rose while Luke was assisting her. I continued to sidle toward the design. Where was Dworkin when I really needed him?

  “You may enter the caves behind you and inspect your quarters,” the Sign said. “But first you must remove that ring, Merlin.”

  “No, now’s hardly a time to be unpacking and getting comfortable,” I answered, slashing my left palm with the dagger and taking a final step. “We won’t be staying long.”

  A sound like a small thunderclap emerged from the Sign of the Pattern, but there was no lightning, nor did I think there would be. Not when it realized what I was holding in my hand, and where I was holding it.

  “A thing I learned from Luke’s father,” I explained. “Let’s talk.”

  “Yes,” said the Sign of the Pattern, “like the reasonable beings that we are. Would you care for some cushions?”

  Immediately, three such objects appeared nearby.

  “Thanks,” I said, drawing up a green one. “I could sure use an iced tea.”

  “Do you take sugar?”

  Chapter 11

  Seated upon a cushion, dagger at my side, I held my left hand out over the Pattern, cupped palm filled with my blood. The Sign of the Pattern hovered in the air before me, seeming, of a sudden, to have forgotten Coral, Nayda, Dalt, and Luke. I sipped from the frosted glass in my right hand, a sprig of fresh mint visible amid the ice.

  “Prince Merlin,” inquired the Sign, “tell me what it is that you desire, and let us resolve this matter quickly. Are you sure I mightn’t fetch you a napkin to place at the danger point? It would not minimize your bargaining ability, if you stop to think of it. But it would serve to prevent accidents.”

  “No, that’s okay,” I said, half-gesturing with the blood-filled hand, so that its contents were stirred, a small line of red trickling up my wrist. “Thanks, anyhow.”

  The Sign of the Pattern vibrated, grew still.

  “Prince Merlin, you have made your point,” it said. “But I do not think you realize the full implications of your threat. A few drops of your blood upon my physical design could disturb the functioning of the universe.”

  I nodded.

  “I know,” I said.

  “Very well,” it answered. “State your demands.”

  “Our freedom,” I said. “Let us go, and you remain intact.”

  “You give me small choice, but the same applies to your friends.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You may send Dalt whenever you wish,” it said. “As for the demon lady, I relinquish her with regret, as I feel she would have provided good company—”

  Luke regarded Nayda.

  “What is this ‘creature of the Pit,’ ‘demon lady’ business, anyway?” he asked.

  “Well, there are a few things you don’t know about me . . . ” she responded.

  “Is it a long story?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Am I an assignment? Or do you really like me?”

  “You’re not an assignment, and I really like you.”

  “Then we’ll hear the story later,” he said.

  “As I said, send her,” it went on. “And Dalt. And Luke. I will be happy to send the three of them wherever you wish. But does it occur to you that you and Coral are probably safer here than anywhere else?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” I answered. “Coral, how do you feel about it?”

  “Get me out of here,” she said.

  “So much for that notion,” I told it. “Now—”

  “Wait. You want to be fair to your friends, don’t you?”

  “Sure I do.”

  “Then let me point some things out to them which they may not have considered.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Lady,” it said, “they want your eye in the Courts of Chaos. Your feelings on the matter are immaterial. If this can only be achieved by making you a prisoner, then it will be done.”

  Coral laughed softly.

  “The alternative being to remain your prisoner?” she asked.

  “Think of yourself as a guest. I will provide for your every comfort. Of course, there is a positive gain for me in this state of affairs—apart from denying the adversary your presence. I acknowledge this. But you must choose one of us, else the other will grab you off.”

  I looked at Coral, who shook her head slightly.

  “So what’ll it be?” I asked.

  Coral came over and placed her hand upon my shoulder.

  “Get me out of here,” she said.

  “You heard ’em,” I told it. “Everybody goes.”

  “I crave your indulgence a moment more,” it said.

  “For what?” I asked.

  “Consider. Choosing between the Logrus and myself is not a mere matter of politics—of selecting this person or that to do a particular job. My adversary and I represent two fundamental principles by means of which the universe is organized. You may tag us with nouns and adjectives from most languages and dozens of disciplines, but we represent, basically, Order and Chaos—Apollonian and Dionysiac, if you like; reason and feeling, if you prefer; madness and sanity; light and dark; signal and noise. As much as this may seem to indicate it, however, neither of us seeks the other’s extinction. Heat death or fireball, classicism or anarchy, each of us proceeds along a single track, and without the other it would lead to a dead end. Both of us know this, and the game we
have played since the beginning is a far more subtle thing—ultimately, perhaps, to be judged only esthetically.

  “Now, I have gained a significant edge over my ancient adversary, for the first time in ages. I am in a position now to produce a historian’s dream throughout Shadow—an age of high civilization and culture such as shall never be forgotten. If the balance were tipped the other way we would be contemplating a period of upheaval at least on par with that of an ice age. When I spoke of you as game pieces it was not to minimize your roles in this. For this is a time of great fluidity, when the Jewel and the man who would be king will make a difference. Stay with me, and I will guarantee the Golden Age of which I spoke, and you a part in it. Leave, and you will be snatched away by the other. Darkness and disorder will follow. Which would you have?”

  Luke smiled.

  “I know a good sales pitch when I hear it,” he said. “Narrow it down to a simple choice. Make them think it’s their own.”

  Coral squeezed my shoulder. “We’re going,” I said.

  “Very well,” said the Sign. “Tell me where you want to go, and I’ll send you all there.”

  “Not all,” Luke said suddenly. “Just them.”

  “I do not understand. What about you?”

  He drew a dagger and slashed his palm. He advanced and stood beside me, extending his hand out over the Pattern, also.

  “If we go, only three of us may arrive,” he said, “if that. I’ll stay here and keep you company while you deliver my friends.”

  “How will you know I’ve done it in a satisfactory fashion?”

  “Good question,” he said. “Merle, you got a set of Trumps on you?”

  “Yes.”

  I removed them and showed them to him.

  “Still got one of me in there?”

  “Last time I looked I did.”

  “Then get it out and have it ready. Figure your next move before you take off. Stay in touch with me till you make it.”

  “What about yourself, Luke? You can’t sit there forever as a bloody threat to Order. It’s only a temporary stalemate. You have to surrender your position sooner or later, and when you do—”

  “Do you still have some odd cards in that deck?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The ones you once referred to as the Trumps of Doom.”

  I riffled through. They were mostly near the bottom. “Yes,” I said. “Beautifully executed. I wouldn’t have tossed them.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Yeah. Get together a bunch of stuff this good, and I’ll get you an exhibit back in Amber.”

  “You serious? You’re not just saying that because—”

  The Sign of the Pattern emitted a growling sound.

  “Everybody’s a critic,” Luke observed. “Okay. Pull all the Trumps of Doom.”

  I did this.

  “Mix ’em up a little. Keep ’em face down, please.”

  “All right.”

  “Fan ’em.”

  He leaned forward, took a card.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m in business. Whenever you’re ready, tell it where to take you. Stay in touch. Hey, Pattern, I want an iced tea of my own.”

  A frosty glass appeared near his right foot. He stooped and took it up, sipped from it.

  “Thanks.”

  “Luke,” Nayda said, “I don’t understand what’s going on. What will happen to you?”

  “Nothing much,” he replied. “Don’t cry for me, demon lady. I’ll see you later.”

  He looked at me and quirked an eyebrow.

  “Send us to Jidrash,” I said, “in Kashfa—to the open area between the palace and the church.”

  I held Luke’s Trump in my moist left hand, near to a humming spikard. I felt the card grow cold just as Luke said, “You heard him.”

  And the world swirled and unswirled, and it was a brisk, windy morning in Jidrash. I regarded Luke through his Trump. I opened channel after channel of the ring.

  “Dalt, I might as well leave you here,” I said. “You, too, Nayda.”

  “No,” the big man said, just as Nayda said, “Hold on a minute.”

  “You’re both out of the picture now,” I explained. “Neither side wants you for anything. But I’ve got to get Coral someplace safe. Me, too.”

  “You’re a focus of the action,” Nayda said, “and I can help Luke by helping you. Take me along.”

  “I feel the same way about it,” Dalt said. “I still owe Luke a big one.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Hey, Luke! You hear all that?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Better be about your business then. Shit! I spilled it—”

  His Trump went black.

  I didn’t wait for avenging angels, tongues of fire, lightning bolts, or an opening of the earth. I got us out of jurisdiction real quick.

  I sprawled on the green grass beneath the big tree. Wisps of fog drifted by. Dad’s Pattern sparkled below me. Jurt was seated cross-legged on the hood of the car, blade across his knees. He hit the ground when we made our appearance. Corwin was nowhere in sight.

  “What’s going on?” Jurt asked me.

  “I am beat, bushed, and whacked-out. I am going to lie here and stare at the fog till my mind goes away,” I said. “Meet Coral, Nayda, and Dalt. Hear their story and tell them yours, Jurt. Don’t wake me for the end of the world unless it has very good special effects.”

  I proceeded to do as I had promised, to the tune of a fading guitar and the distant voice of Sara K. The grass was wondrous soft. The fog swirled through my brain. Fade to black.

  And then, and then. . . . And then, sir. . . .

  Walking. I was walking, almost drifting, through a California shopping mall I used to frequent. Knots of kids, couples with infants, women with parcels, passed, words smothered by sounds from a music store speaker. Potted oases sheltered, deli smells drifted, sale signs promised.

  Walking. Past the drugstore. Past the shoe store. Past the candy store. . . .

  Narrow corridor to the left. I’d never noticed it. Must turn. . . .

  Odd there should be a carpet—and candles in high holders, and sconces, and candelabra atop narrow chests. The walls glittered with their re—

  I turned back.

  There was no back. The mall was gone. The corridor ended in that direction at a wall. A small tapestry hung upon it, depicting nine figures who looked back at me. I shrugged and turned again.

  “Still something left to your spell, Uncle,” I remarked. “Let’s be about it then.”

  Walking. In silence now. Ahead. To the place where the mirrors glittered. I had seen this place long ago, I recalled, though its disposition—I suddenly realized—was not peculiar to Amber Castle. It was right there, on the tip of memory—my younger self passing this way, not unaccompanied—but the price of that recollection would be loss of control here, I knew. Reluctantly, I released the image and turned my attention to the small oval mirror to my left.

  I smiled. So did my image. I stuck out my tongue and was so saluted in return.

  I moved on. Only after several paces did I realize that the image had been my demonformed self, while my person had not.

  A soft throat-clearing sound occurred to my right. Turning in that direction, I beheld my brother Mandor within a black-framed lozenge.

  “Dear boy,” he stated, “the king is dead. Long live your august personage as soon as you have assumed the throne. You had best make haste to return for a crowning at the End of the World, with or without the bride of the Jewel.”

  “We ran into a few small problems,” I said.

  “Nothing worth resolving just now. Your presence in the Courts is far more important.”

  “No, my friends are,” I said.

  A momentary smile touched his lips.

  “You will be in an ideal position to protect your friends,” he said, “and to do as you would with your enemies.”

  “I will be back,” I said, “soon. But not to be crowned.”


  “As you would, Merlin. It is your presence that is desired.”

  “I promise nothing,” I said.

  He chuckled, and the mirror was emptied.

  I turned away. I walked on.

  More laughter. From the left. My mother’s.

  From within a red frame of carved flowers, she stared at me, a look of vast amusement upon her features. “Seek him in the Pit!” she said. “Seek him in the Pit!”

  I passed, and her laughter continued at my back for a time.

  “Hsst!” To my right, a long, narrow mirror bordered in green. “Masster Merlin,” she said. “I have ssought, but the ghosst-light hass not passsed my way.”

  “Thanks, Glait. Keep looking, please.”

  “Yess. We musst ssit together in a warm place by night once again and drink milk and talk of the old dayss.”

  “That would be nice. Yes, we must. If we are not eaten by something bigger.”

  “S-s-s-s-s!”

  Could that be laughter?

  “Good hunting, Glait.”

  “Yess. S-s-s!”

  . . . And on. Walking.

  “Son of Amber. Wearer of the spikard”—this from within a shadowy niche to my left.

  I halted and stared. The frame was white, the glass was gray. Within was a man I had never met. His shirt was black and opened at the neck. He wore a brown leather vest, his hair dark blond, eyes perhaps green. “Yes?”

  “A spikard was hidden in Amber,” he stated, “for you to find. It conveys great powers. It also bears a series of spells that will cause its wearer to act in certain ways under certain circumstances.”

  “I suspected this,” I said. “What is it set to do?”

  “Formerly worn by Swayvill, King of Chaos, it will force the chosen successor to take the throne, behave in a certain fashion, and be amenable to the suggestions of certain persons.”

  “These being?”

  “The woman who laughed and cried, ‘Seek him in the Pit.’ The man in black, who desires your return.”

  “Dara and Mandor. They laid these spells upon it?”

  “Just so. And the man left it for you to find.”

  “I hate to surrender the thing just now,” I said, “when it’s proving so useful. Is there a way to lift these spells?”