The Great Book of Amber

by Roger Zelazny

  “Prudent,” I said, nodding.

  “...So unless you have a strong desire to remain here in camp, I see no reason why you should not proceed on toward town and get near the center of things. I maintain several residences about Avalon. I have in mind for your use a small manor house that I have found pleasant. It is not far from town.”

  “I look forward to seeing it.”

  “I will provide you with a map and a letter to my steward in the morning.”

  “Thank you, Benedict.”

  “I will join you there as soon as I have finished here,” he said, “and in the meantime, I have messengers passing that way daily. I will keep in touch with you through them.”

  “Very good.”

  “Then find yourselves a comfortable piece of ground,” he said. “You'll not miss the breakfast call, I'm sure.”

  “I seldom do,” I said. “Is it all right if we sleep at that spot where we left our gear?”

  “Certainly,” he said, and we finished the wine.

  As we left his tent, I seized the flap up high when I opened it and was able to squeeze it several inches to the side when I cast it before me. Benedict bade us good night and turned away as he let it fall, not noticing the gap of several inches that I had created along its one side.

  I made my bed up a good distance to the right of our equipment, facing in the direction of Benedict's tent, and I moved the gear itself as I rummaged through it. Ganelon shot me a quizzical look, but I simply nodded and made a movement with my eyes toward the tent. He glanced that way, returned the nod, and proceeded to spread his own blankets farther to the right

  I measured it with my eyes, walked over, and said, “You know, I'd much rather sleep here. Would you mind switching with me?” I added a wink for emphasis.

  “Makes no difference to me,” be said, shrugging.

  The campfires had died or were dying, and most of the company had turned in. The guard only paid us heed a couple of times around. The camp was very quiet and there were no clouds to obscure the brilliance of the stars. I was tired, and the smells of the smoke and the damp earth came pleasantly to my nostrils, reminding me of other times and places such as this and the rest at the day's end.

  Instead of closing my eyes, however, I fetched my pack and propped my back against it, filled my pipe again, and struck it to life.

  I adjusted my position twice as he paced within the tent. Once, he vanished from my field of vision and remained hidden for several moments. But the far light moved then, and I knew that he had opened the chest. Then he came into sight once more and cleared the table, dropped back for an instant, returned and reseated himself in his earlier position. I moved so that I could keep sight of his left arm.

  He was paging through a book, or sorting something of about that size. Cards, maybe? Naturally.

  I would have given a lot for one glimpse of the Trump that he finally settled upon and held before him. I would have given a lot to have Grayswandir beneath my hand, in case another person suddenly came into the tent by means other than the entrance through which I spied. My palms and the soles of my feet tingled, in anticipation of flight or combat.

  But he remained alone.

  He sat there unmoving for perhaps a quarter of an hour, and when he finally stirred it was only to replace the cards somewhere in his chest and to extinguish the lamps.

  The guard continued on his monotonous rounds and Ganelon began to snore.

  I emptied my pipe and rolled over onto my side.

  Tomorrow, I told myself. If I wake up here tomorrow, everything will be all right...

  CHAPTER 5

  I sucked on a blade of grass and watched the mill wheel turn. I was lying on my stomach on the stream's opposite bank, my head propped in my hands. There was a tiny rainbow in the mist above the froth and boil at the foot of the waterfall, and an occasional droplet found its way to me. The steady splashing and the sound of the wheel drowned out all other noises in the wood. The mill was deserted today, and I contemplated it because I had not seen its like in ages. Watching the wheel and listening to the water were more than just relaxing. It was somewhat hypnotic.

  It was our third day at Benedict's place, and Ganelon was off in town seeking amusement. I had accompanied him on the previous day and learned what I wanted to know at that time. Now I had no time for sight-seeing. I had to think and act quickly. There had been no difficulty at the camp. Benedict had seen us fed and had furnished us with the map and the letter he had promised. We had departed at sunrise and arrived at the manor around midday. We were well received, and after settling into the quarters we were shown, we had made our way into town, where we had spent the balance of the day.

  Benedict was planning to remain in the field for several more days. I would have to be done with the task I had set myself before he came home. So a hellride was in order. There was no time for leisurely journeying, I had to remember the proper shadows and be under way soon.

  It would have been refreshing, being in this place that was so like my Avalon, except that my thwarted purposes were reaching the point of obsession. Realizing this was not tantamount to controlling it, however. Familiar sights and sounds had diverted me only briefly, then I had turned once more to my planning.

  It should work out neatly, as I saw it. This one journey should solve two of my problems, if I could manage it without arousing suspicion. It meant that I would definitely be gone overnight, but I had anticipated this and had already instructed Ganelon to cover for me.

  My head nodding with each creak of the wheel, I forced everything else from my mind and set about remembering the necessary texture of the sand, its coloration, the temperature, the winds, the touch of salt in the air, the clouds...

  I slept then and I dreamed, but not of the place that I sought.

  I regarded a big roulette wheel, and we were all of us on it-my brothers, my sisters, myself, and others whom I knew or had known-rising and falling, each with his allotted section. We were all shouting for it to stop for us and wailing as we passed the top and headed down once more. The wheel had begun to slow and I was on the rise. A fair-haired youth hung upside down before me, shouting pleas and warnings that were drowned in the cacophony of voices. His face darkened, writhed, became a horrible thing to behold, and I slashed at the cord that bound his ankle and he fell from sight. The wheel slowed even more as I neared the top, and I saw Lorraine then. She was gesturing, beckoning frantically, and calling my name. I leaned toward her, seeing her clearly, wanting her, wanting to help her. But as the wheel continued its turning she passed from my sight. “Corwin!”

  I tried to ignore her cry, for I was almost to the top. It came again, but I tensed myself and prepared to spring upward. If it did not stop for me, I was going to try gimmicking the damned thing, even though falling off would mean my total ruin. I readied myself for the leap. Another click... “Corwin!”

  It receded, returned, faded, and I was looking toward the water wheel again with my name echoing in my ears and mingling, merging, fading into the sound of the stream.

  I blinked my eyes and ran my fingers through my hair. A number of dandelions fell about my shoulders as I did so, and I heard a giggle from somewhere behind me.

  I turned quickly and stared.

  She stood about a dozen paces from me, a tail, slender girl with dark eyes and close-cropped brown hair. She wore a fencing jacket and held a rapier in her right hand, a mask in her left. She was looking at me and laughing. Her teeth were white, even and a trifle long; a band of freckles crossed her small nose and the upper portions of her well-tanned cheeks. There was that air of vitality about her which is attractive in ways different from mere comeliness. Especially, perhaps, when viewed from the vantage of many years. She saluted me with her blade. “En garde, Corwin!” she said.

  “Who the Devil are you?” I asked, just then noticing a jacket, mask, and rapier beside me in the grass.

  “No questions, no answers,” she said. “Not till we've fenced
.”

  She fitted her mask over her head then and waited.

  I rose and picked up the jacket. I could see that it would be easier to fence than argue with her. The fact that she knew my name disturbed me, and the more that I thought of it the more she seemed somehow familiar. It was best to humor her, I decided, shrugging into the jacket and buckling it. I picked up the blade, pulled on the mask.

  “All right,” I said, sketching a brief salute and advancing. “All right.”

  She moved forward then and we met. I let her carry the attack.

  She came on very fast with a beat-feint-feint-thrust. My riposte was twice as fast, but she was able to parry it and come back with equal speed. I began a slow retreat then, drawing her out. She laughed and came on, pressing me hard. She was good and she knew it. She wanted to show off. She almost got through twice, too, in the same way-low-line-which I did not like at all. I caught her with a stop-thrust as soon as I could after that. She cursed softly, goodnaturedly, as she acknowledged it and came right back at me. I do not ordinarily like to fence with women, no matter how good they are, but this time I discovered that I was enjoying myself. The skill and grace with which she carried the attacks and bore them gave me pleasure to behold and respond to, and I found myself contemplating the mind that lay behind that style. At first, I had wanted to tire her quickly, to conclude the match and question her. Now I found myself desiring to prolong the encounter.

  She did not tire readily. There was small cause for concern on that count. I lost track of time as we stamped back and forth along the bank of the stream, our blades clicking steadily.

  A long while must have passed, though, before she stamped her heel and threw up her blade in a final salute. She tore off her mask then and gave me another smile.

  “Thank you!” she said, breathing heavily.

  I returned the salute and drew off the bird cage. I tamed and fumbled with the jacket buckles, and before I realized it she had approached and kissed me on the cheek. She had not had to stand tiptoe to do it either. I felt momentarily confused, but I smiled. Before I could say anything, she had taken my arm and turned me back in the direction from which we had come.

  “I've brought us a picnic basket,” she said.

  “Very good. I am hungry. I am also curious...”

  “I will tell you anything that you want to hear,” she said merrily.

  “How about telling me your name?” I said.

  “Dara,” she replied. “My name is Dara, after my grandmother.”

  She glanced at me as she said it, as though hoping for a reaction. I almost hated to disappoint her, but I nodded and repeated it, then, “Why did you call me Corwin?” I asked.

  “Because that is your name,” she said. “I recognized you.”

  “From where?” She released my arm.

  “Here it is,” she said, reaching behind a tree and raising a basket that had been resting upon the ridges of exposed roots.

  “I hope the ants didn't get to it,” she said, moving to a shaded area beside the stream and spreading a cloth upon the ground.

  I hung the fencing gear on a nearby shrub.

  “You seem to carry quite a few things around with you,” I observed.

  “My horse is back that way,” she said, gesturing downstream with her head.

  She returned her attention to weighing down the cloth and unpacking the basket.

  “Why way back there?” I asked.

  “So that I could sneak up on you, of course. If you'd heard a horse clomping around you'd have been awake sure as hell.”

  “You're probably right,” I said.

  She paused as though pondering deeply, then spoiled it with a giggle. “But you didn't the first time, though. Still...”

  “The first time?” I said, seeing she wanted me to ask it.

  “Yes, I almost rode over you awhile back,” she said. “You were sound asleep. When I saw who it was, I went back for a picnic basket and the fencing gear.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  “Come and sit down now,” she said. “And open the bottle, will you?”

  She put a bottle beside my place and carefully unwrapped two crystal goblets, which she then set in the center of the cloth. I moved to my place and sat down.

  “That is Benedict's best crystal,” I noted, as I opened the bottle.

  “Yes,” she said. “Do be careful not to upset them when you pour-and I don't think we should clink them together.”

  “No, I don't think we should,” I said, and I poured. She raised her glass.

  “To the reunion,” she said.

  “What reunion?”

  “Ours.” “I have never met you before.”

  “Don't be so prosaic,” she said, and took a drink.

  I shrugged. “To the reunion.”

  She began to eat then, so I did too. She was so enjoying the air of mystery she had created that I wanted to cooperate, just to keep her happy.

  “Now where could I have met you?” I ventured. “Was it some great court? A harem, perhaps... ?”

  “Perhaps it was in Amber,” she said. “There you were...” ,

  “Amber?” I said, remembering that I was holding Benedict's crystal and confining my emotions to my voice. “Just who are you, anyway?”

  “...There you were-handsome, conceited, admired by all the ladies,” she continued, “and there I was– a mousy little thing, admiring you from afar. Gray, or pastel-not vivid-little Dara-a late bloomer, I hasten to add-eating her heart out for you—” I muttered a mild obscenity and she laughed again. “That wasn't it?” she asked.

  “No,” I said, taking another bite of beef and bread. “More likely it was that brothel where I sprained my back. I was drunk that night—”

  “You remember!” she cried. “It was a part-time job. I used to break horses during the day.”

  “I give up,” I said, and I poured more wine.

  The really irritating thing was that there was something damnably familiar about her. But from her appearance and her behavior, I guessed her age at about seventeen. This pretty much precluded our paths ever having crossed.

  “Did Benedict teach you your fencing?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What is he to you?”

  “My lover, of course,” she replied. “He keeps me in jewels and furs-and he fences with me.” She laughed again.

  I continued to study her face. Yes, it was possible... “I am hurt,” I said, finally.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Benedict didn't give me a cigar.”

  “Cigar?”

  “You are his daughter, aren't you?”

  She reddened, but she shook her head. “No,” she said. “But you are getting close.”

  “Granddaughter?” I said. “Well... sort of.”

  “I am afraid that I do not understand.”

  “Grandfather is what he likes me to call him. Actually, though, he was my grandmother's father.”

  “I see. Are there any others at home like you?”

  “No, I am the only one.”

  “What of your mother-and your grandmother?”

  “Dead, both of them.”

  “How did they die?”

  “Violently. Both times it happened while he was back in Amber. I believe that is why he has not returned there for a long while now. He does not like to leave me unprotected-even though he knows that I can take care of myself. You know that I can, too, don't you?”

  I nodded. It explained several things, one of them being why he was Protector here. He had to keep her somewhere, and he certainly would not want to take her back to Amber. He would not even want her existence known to the rest of us. She could be made into an easy armlock. And it would be out of keeping to make me aware of her so readily.

  So, “I do not believe that you are supposed to be here,” I said, “and I feel that Benedict would be quite angry if he knew that you were.”

  “You are just the same as he isl I am an adult, dam
n it!”

  “Have you heard me deny it? You are supposed to be someplace else, though, aren't you?”

  She filled her mouth instead of answering. So I did, too. After several uncomfortable minutes of chewing, I decided to start on a fresh subject. “How did you recognize me?” I asked. She swallowed, took a drink of wine, grinned. “From your picture, of course,” she said.

  “What picture?”

  “On the card,” she said. “We used to play with them when I was very small. I learned all my relatives that way. You and Eric are the other good swordsmen, I knew that. That is why I—”

  “You have a set of the Trumps?” I interrupted.

  “No,” she said, pouting. “He wouldn't give me a set -and I know he has several, too.”

  “Really? Where does he keep them?”

  She narrowed her eyes, focusing them on my own. Damn! I hadn't meant to sound that eager.

  But, “He has a set with him most of the time,” she said, “and I have no idea where he keeps the others. Why? Won't he let you see them?”

  “I haven't asked him,” I told her. “Do you understand their significance?”

  “There were certain things I was not allowed to do when I was near them. I gather that they have a special use, but he never told me what it is. They are quite important, aren't they?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought so. He is always so careful with them. Do you have a set?”

  “Yes, but it's out on loan just now.”

  “I see. And you would like to use them for something complicated and sinister.”

  I shrugged.

  “I would like to use them, but for very dull, uncomplicated purposes.”

  “Such as?” I shook my head.

  “If Benedict does not want you to know their function yet, I am not about to tell you.”

  She made a small growling noise.

  “You're afraid of him,” she said.

  “I have considerable respect for Benedict, not to mention some affection.” She laughed.

  “Is he a better fighter than you, a better swordsman?”

  I looked away. She must have just gotten back from someplace fairly removed from things. The townspeople I'd met had all known about Benedict's arm. It was not the sort of news that traveled slowly. I certainly was not going to be the first to tell her.