Prince of chaos tcoa-10

by Roger Joseph Zelazny

  With that, he began walking toward me. A moment later, Eric joined him. Then Gerard fell into step behind them. I didn’t want to harm them, even if they were only ghosts, so I gestured and a line was drawn in the sand before them. Immediately, it caught fire.

  They halted.

  Suddenly, a huge figure appeared at my left. It was Dalt, a naked blade in his hand. A moment later, Luke was there. Then Nayda. The four of us faced the four of them, across the fire.

  “She’s ours now,” Dalt said, and he took a single step forward.

  “You are mistaken,” came the reply, and Eric crossed the line, drawing his weapon.

  Dalt was a couple of inches taller than Eric, and he had a longer reach. He moved forward immediately. I expected some kind of cut from that big blade he carried, but he went in for a point-attack. Eric, using a lighter weapon, sidestepped and came in under his arm. Dalt dropped the point of his blade, moved to his left, and parried it. The two weapons were suited for very different styles — Eric’s being at the heaviest end of the rapier class, Dalt’s at the lighter end of broadsword. Dalt’s could be a single-handed weapon for a big-enough, strong-enough guy. I’d have had to use it two-handed myself. Dalt tried an upward cut just then, of the sort a Japanese swordsman would refer to as kiriage. Eric simply stepped back and tried for a wrist cut as it passed him. Dalt suddenly moved his left hand to the haft and executed a blinding two-handed cut of the sort known as naname giri. Eric continued to circle, trying for the wrist yet again.

  Suddenly, Dalt opened his right hand and let it drift back, as his right foot performed a huge semicircular step to his rear and his left arm moved forward, leaving him in a left-handed European en garde position, from which that massive arm and matching blade immediately extended, performing an inside beat upon Eric’s blade followed by a lunge. Eric parried as his right foot crossed behind his left and he sprang backward. Even so, I saw a spark as his guard was creased. He feinted in sixte, however, dropped his point beneath the parry that followed, extended his arm in quatre; raised himself and his blade into something resembling a stop-thrust targeting the left shoulder as the parry crossed, turned his wrist, and slashed Dalt across the left forearm.

  Caine applauded, but Dalt simply brought his hands together and separated them again, executing a little hopstep as he did so, leaving him in a right en garde position. Eric drew circles in the air with the point of his weapon and smiled.

  “Cute little dance routine you have there,” he said.

  Then Eric lunged, was parried, retreated, sidestepped, threw a front kick at Dalt’s kneecap, missed, then moved with perfect timing as Dalt attempted a head cut. Switching to the Japanese himself, he spun in to the larger man’s right, a maneuver I’d seen in a kumatchi exercise, his own blade rising and falling as Dalt’s cut swept past. Dalt’s right forearm went suddenly wet, a thing I did not really notice until after Eric had rotated his weapon, blade pointing outward and upward, and, the guard covering his knuckles, had driven his fist against the right side of Dalt’s jaw. He kicked him then behind the knee and struck him with his left shoulder. Dalt stumbled and fell. Eric immediately kicked him, kidney, elbow, thigh — the latter only because he missed the knee — set his boot upon Dalt’s weapon and swung his own about to bring its point in line with the man’s heart.

  I had been hoping all along, I suddenly realized, that Dalt would kick Eric’s ass — not just because he was on my side and Eric wasn’t, but because of the rough time Eric had given my dad. On the other hand, I doubted there were too many people of such ass-kicking prowess about. Unfortunately, two of them stood on the other side of the line I had drawn. Gerard could have outwrestled him. Benedict, Master of Arms at Amber, could have beaten him with any weapon. I just didn’t see us as having much of a chance against them all, with Caine thrown in for good measure — not even with a ty’iga on our side. And if I were suddenly to tell Eric that Dalt was his half brother, it wouldn’t slow his thrust by an instant, even if he believed me.

  So I made the only decision I could make. They were, after all, only Pattern ghosts. The real Benedict and Gerard were somewhere else at this moment and would in no way be harmed by anything I did to their doubles here. Eric and Caine were, of course, long dead, Caine being the fratricidal hero of the Patternfall war and subject of a recent statue on the Grand Concourse, on the occasion of Luke’s assassinating him for killing his father. And Eric, of course, had found a hero’s death on the slopes of Kolvir, saving him, I suppose, from dying at the hands of my father. The bloody history of my family swam through my head as I raised the spikard to add a footnote to it, calling again for the wave of incineration that had taken out two of my Hendrake kin.

  My arm felt as if someone had struck it with a baseball bat. A wisp of smoke rose from the spikard. For a moment, my four upright uncles stood unmoving. And my fifth remained supine.

  Then, slowly, Eric raised his weapon. And he continued to raise it, as Benedict, Caine, and Gerard drew theirs. He straightened as he held it before his face. The others did the same. It looked strangely like a salute; and Eric’s eyes met mine.

  “I know you,” he said.

  Then they all completed the gesture, and faded, faded, turned to smoke, and blew away.

  Dalt bled, my arm ached, and I figured out what was going on just moments before Luke gasped and said, “Over there.”

  My line of fire had gone out some time ago, but beyond the mark it had left, where my faded kinsmen had just been standing, the air began to shimmer.

  “That will be the Pattern,” I said to Luke, “come calling.”

  A moment later the Sign of the Pattern hovered before us.

  “Merlin,” it said, “you certainly move around a lot.”

  “My life has become very busy of late,” I said.

  “You took my advice and left the Courts.”

  “Yes, that seemed prudent.”

  “But I do not understand your purposes here.”

  “What’s to understand?”

  “You took the lady Coral away from the agents of the Logrus.”

  “That’s right.”

  “But then you attempted to keep her from my agents as well.”

  “That, too, is correct.”

  “You must realize by now that she bears something that contributes to our balance of power.”

  “Yes.”

  “So one of us must have her. Yet you would deny us both.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s her whom I care about. She has rights and feelings. You’re treating her like a game piece.”

  “True. I recognize her personhood, but unfortunately she is become both.”

  “Then I would deny her to both of you. Nothing would be changed, in that neither of you has her now, anyway. But I would take her out of the game.”

  “Merlin, you are a more important piece than she is, but you are still only a piece and you may not dictate to me. Do you understand?”

  “I understand my value to you,” I said.

  “I think not,” it responded.

  I was wondering just then how strong it really was in this place. It seemed obvious that in terms of energy expenditure, it had been necessary for it to release its four ghosts to be able to manifest itself here. Dared I oppose it with every channel on the spikard opened? I had never tried accessing every Shadow source it controlled simultaneously. If I did this, and if I were to move very quickly, could I get us all out of here before the Pattern reacted? If I couldn’t, could I punch through whatever it raised up to stop us? And if I succeeded either way — to what place should we flee?

  Finally, how might this affect the Pattern’s attitude toward me?

  (… if you are not eaten by something bigger, come tell me your story one night.)

  What the hell, I decided. It is a good day to be listed a la carte.

  I opened all the channels.

  It felt as if I had been jogging along at a good clip and a b
rick wall had suddenly appeared six inches before me.

  I felt the smash and I went away.

  I lay upon a smooth, cool stone surface. There was a terrible rushing of energies in my mind and body. I reached into their source and took control of them, dampening them to something that didn’t threaten to take the top of my head off. Then I opened one eye, slightly.

  The sky was very blue. I saw a pair of boots, standing a few feet off, faced away from me. I recognized them as Nayda’s, and turning my head slightly, I saw that she wore them. I also saw then that Dalt lay sprawled several yards off to my left.

  Nayda was breathing heavily, and my Logrus vision showed a pale red light about her vibrating hands, menacing.

  Propping myself upon my left elbow and peering about her, I saw that she stood between me and the Sign of the Pattern that hovered in the air perhaps ten feet away.

  When it spoke again it was the first time I’d heard it express anything like amusement: “You would protect him, against me?”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “Why?”

  “I did it for so long that it would be a shame to fail him when he really needs it.”

  “Creature of the Pit, do you know where you stand?” it asked.

  “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 sta
te 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?”