The Great Book of Amber - Chronicles 1-10

by Roger Zelazny

  I hiked back to my camp and spent a while talking to Smoke, calming him. I donned my boots and cloak then, kicked dirt over the embers in my pit, and led the horse back to the road.

  I mounted there and we moved on up the road toward Amber for the better part of an hour, before I settled upon a new campsite under a bone-white piece of moon.

  The rest of my night was untroubled. I was awakened by increased light and morning bird calls through the pines. I took care of Smoke, breakfasted quickly on the remains of my rations, put myself in the best order I could and was on my way within half an hour.

  It was a cool morning, with banks of cumulus far off to my left, clear skies overhead. I did not hurry. My main reason for riding back rather than trumping home was to learn a little more of what this area near Amber was like, and the other was to gain a bit of solitude for thinking. With Jasra a prisoner, Luke in sick bay and Ghostwheel occupied it seemed that any major threats to Amber or myself were in abeyance, and a small breathing spell could be justified. I felt that I was actually near to a point where I could handle everything personally with regard to Luke and Jasra, as soon as I’d worked out a few more details. And I was certain I could deal with Ghost after that, as I’d found our most recent conversation somewhat encouraging.

  That was the big stuff. I could worry about loose ends later. A two-bit wizard like Sharu Garrul was only a pain when considered in conjunction with everything else that was troubling me. Dueling with him would be no problem when I had a bit of leisure—though I had to admit I was puzzled as to why he should be interested in me at all.

  Then there was the matter of the entity which had for a time been Vinta. While I saw no real threat in it, there was certainly a mystery which affected my peace of mind, and which seemed ultimately to have something to do with my security. This, too, was a matter to be dealt with when that bit of leisure finally came along.

  And Luke’s offer to reveal a piece of information vital to Amber’s security, once Jasra was rescued, troubled me. Because I believed him, and I believed he’d keep his word. I had a hunch, though, that he wouldn’t be giving it away unless it was too late to do much about it. Guesswork was, of course, futile; there was no way of knowing what preparations would be appropriate. Was the offer itself, no matter how authentic, also a bit of psychological warfare? Luke had always been more subtle than his bluff exterior seemed to indicate. It had taken me a long time to learn that, and I wasn’t about to forget it now.

  I felt I could discount the business of the blue stones for the moment, and I planned soon to be rid of all traces of their vibes. No problem there, other than a mental string around the finger for extra wariness, just in case—and I was already in that frame of mind, had been for some time.

  That left the business of last night’s wolf to be fitted into the bigger picture.

  Obviously, it had been no normal beast, and its intent had been apparent enough. Other matters concerning its visit were less than clear, however. Who or what was it? Was it a principal or an agent? And, if the latter, who had sent it? And finally, finally, why?

  Its clumsiness indicated to me—since I had tried that sort of business myself in the past—that it was a shapeshifted human rather than a true wolf magically gifted with speech. Most people who daydream of transforming themselves into some vicious beast and going about tearing people’s throats out, dismembering them, disfiguring them and perhaps devouring them tend mainly to dwell upon how much fun it would be and generally neglect the practicalities of the situation. When you find yourself a quadruped, with a completely different center of gravity and a novel array of sensory input, it is not all that easy to get around for a time with any measure of grace. One is generally far more vulnerable than one’s appearance would lead others to believe. And certainly one is nowhere near as lethal and efficient as the real thing with a lifetime of practice behind it. No. I’ve always tended to think of it more as a terrorist tactic than anything else.

  Be that how it may, the manner of the beast’s coming and going was actually the main cause of my trepidation concerning the entire affair. It had employed a Trump Gate, which is not a thing one does lightly—or at all, for that matter, if it can be avoided. It is a flashy and spectacular thing, to make Trump contact with some distant place and then pour tons of power into the objectification of such a gateway as a form possessed for a time of an independent existence. It is exceedingly profligate of energy and effort—even a hellrun is much easier—to create one which will stand for even fifteen minutes. It can drain most of your resources for a long while. Yet this was what had occurred. The reason behind it did not trouble me, as much as the fact that it had happened at all. For the only people capable of the feat were genuine initiates of the Trumps. It couldn’t be done by someone who just happened to come into possession of a card.

  Which narrowed the field considerably.

  I tried to picture the werebeast about its errand. First, it would have to locate me and—

  Of course. I suddenly recalled the dead dogs in the grove near Arbor House and the large doglike tracks in the vicinity. The thing had spotted me sometime before, then, and had been watching, waiting. It had followed me when I set out yesterday evening, and when I made my camp it made its move. It set up—or was set up with—the Trump Gate, for a retreat that would brook no pursuit. Then it came to kill me. And I had no way of telling whether it involved Sharu Garrul, Luke’s secret, the blue stones or the body-switching entity’s mission. For now it would simply have to dangle as yet another loose end, while I concentrated on basics.

  I overtook and passed a line of wagons headed for Amber. A few horsed men went by me headed in the other direction. No one I knew, though everyone waved. The clouds continued to mount to my left, but nothing resembling a storm took shape. The day remained cool and sunny. The road dipped and rose again, several times, though overall it rose more than it dipped. I stopped at a large, busy inn for lunch, had a quick, filling meal and did not linger. The road improved steadily after that, and it was not long before I caught distant glimpses of Amber atop Kolvir, sparkling in the noonday light.

  Traffic grew heavier as the sun advanced through the heavens. I continued to make plans and indulge in whatever speculations came to mind as I rode on into afternoon. My uphill way took several turnings as the route passed through the heights, but Amber remained in sight most of the time.

  I recognized no one along the way, and I reached the Eastern Gate—part of an ancient fortification—late in the afternoon. I made my way up East Vine and stopped at the Bayle town house, where I had once attended a party. I left Smoke with a groom at the stable in the rear, and they both seemed happy to see each other. I walked around to the front door then and knocked. A servant informed me that the Baron was out, so I identified myself and gave him Vinta’s message, which he promised to deliver when his employer returned.

  That duty out of the way, I proceeded up East Vine on foot. Near the top, but before the slope grew roughly level, I smelled food and discarded my plan of waiting to eat until I was back at the palace. I halted and cast about me for the source of the aromas. I located it up a side street to my right where the way widened into a large circle, a fountain at its center in which a rearing copper dragon with a wonderful green patina pissed into a pink stone basin. The dragon faced a basement restaurant called the Pit, with ten outside tables enclosed by a low fence of copper pickets, potted plants along its inside perimeter. I crossed the circle. As I passed the fountain I saw a great number of exotic coins within its clear water, including a U.S. Bicentennial quarter. Crossing to the fenced area, I entered, made my way through and was about to descend the stair when I heard my name called.

  “Merle! Over here!”

  I looked about but did not see anyone I recognized at any of the four occupied tables. Then, as my eyes retraced their route, I realized that the older man at the corner table to my right was smiling.

  “Bill!” I exclaimed.

  Bil
l Roth rose to his feet—more a touch of display than any formality, I realized immediately. I hadn’t recognized him at first because he now sported the beginnings of a grizzled beard and a mustache. Also, he had on brown trousers with a silver stripe running down their outside seams, vanishing into a pair of high brown boots. His shirt was silver with brown piping, and a black cloak lay folded upon the chair to his right. A wide black sword belt lay atop it and a sheathed blade of short-to-medium length was hung upon it.

  “You’ve gone native. Also, you’ve lost some weight.”

  “True,” he said, “and I’m thinking of retiring here. It agrees with me.”

  We seated ourselves.

  “Did you order yet?” I asked him.

  “Yes, but I see a waiter on the stair now,” he said. “Let me catch him for you.”

  Which he did, and ordered for me too.

  “Your Thari’s much better,” I said afterward.

  “Lots of practice,” he replied.

  “What’ve you been doing?”

  “I’ve sailed with Gerard. I’ve been to Deiga, and to one of Julian’s camps in Arden. Visited Rebma, too. Fascinating place. I’ve been taking fencing lessons. And Droppa’s been showing me around town.”

  “All the bars, most likely.”

  “Well, that’s not all. In fact, that’s why I’m here. He owns a half interest in the Pit, and I had to promise him I’d eat here a lot. A good place, though. When did you get back?”

  “Just now,” I said, “and I’ve another long story for you.”

  “Good. Your stories tend to be bizarre and convoluted,” he said. “Just the thing for a cool autumn’s eve. Let’s hear it.”

  I talked throughout dinner and for a long while afterward. The day’s-end chill began making it uncomfortable then, so we headed for the palace. I finally wound up my narrative over hot cider in front of the fireplace in one of the smaller rooms in the eastern wing.

  Bill shook his head. “You do manage to stay busy,” he finally said. “I have just one question.”

  “What?”

  “Why didn’t you bring Luke in?”

  “I already told you.”

  “It wasn’t much of a reason. For some nebulous piece of information he says is important to Amber? And you’ve got to catch him to get it?”

  “It’s not like that at all.”

  “He’s a salesman, Merle, and he sold you a line of shit. That’s what I think.”

  “You’re wrong, Bill. I know him.”

  “For a long time,” he agreed. “But how well? We’ve been all through this before. What you don’t know about Luke far outweighs what you do know.”

  “He could have gone elsewhere, but he came to me.”

  “You’re part of his plan, Merle. He intends to get at Amber through you.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “It’s not his style.”

  “I think he’ll use anything that comes to hand—or anyone.”

  I shrugged. “I believe him. You don’t. That’s all.”

  “I guess so,” he said. “What are you going to do now, wait and see what happens?”

  “I’ve a plan,” I said. “Just because I believe him doesn’t mean I won’t take out insurance. But I’ve a question for you.”

  “Yes?”

  “If I brought him back here and Random decided the facts weren’t clear enough and he wanted a hearing, would you represent Luke?”

  His eyes widened, and then he smiled. “What kind of hearing?” he asked. “I don’t know how such things are conducted here.”

  “As a grandson of Oberon,” I explained, “he’d come under House Law. Random is head of the House now. It would be up to him whether to forget about a thing, render a summary judgment or call a hearing. As I understand it, such a hearing could be as formal or informal as Random wanted. There are books on the subject in the library. But a person has always had the right to be represented at one if he wanted.”

  “Of course I’d take the case,” Bill said. “It doesn’t sound like a legal experience that comes along too often.

  “But it might look like a conflict of interest,” he added, “since I have done work for the Crown.”

  I finished my cider and put the glass on the mantelpiece. I yawned. “I have to go now, Bill.”

  He nodded, then, “This is all just hypothetical, isn’t it?” he asked.

  “Of course,” I said. “It might turn out to be my hearing. G’night.”

  He studied me. “Uh—this insurance you were talking about,” he said. “It probably involves something risky, doesn’t it?”

  I smiled.

  “Nothing anyone could help you with, I suppose?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  “See you tomorrow?”

  “Later in the day, maybe. . . . ”

  I went to my room and sacked out. I had to get some rest before I went about the business I had in mind. I don’t recall any dreams, pro or con, on the matter.

  It was still dark when I woke. Good to know that my mental alarm was working.

  It would have been very pleasant to turn over and go back to sleep, but I couldn’t allow myself the luxury. The day that lay ahead was to be an exercise in timing. Accordingly, I got up, cleaned up and dressed myself in fresh clothes.

  I headed for the kitchen then, where I made myself some tea and toast and scrambled a few eggs with chilis and onions and a bit of pepper. I turned up some melka fruit from the Snelters, too—something I hadn’t had in a long while.

  Afterward, I went out through the rear and made my way into the garden. Dark it was, moonless and damp, with a few wisps of mist exploring invisible paths. I followed a path to the northwest. The world was a very quiet place. I let my thoughts get that way, too. It was to be a one-thing-at-a-time day, and I wanted to start it off with that habit of mind in place.

  I walked until I ran out of garden, passing through a break in a hedge and continuing along the rough trail my path had become. It mounted slowly for the first few minutes, took an abrupt turn and grew immediately steeper. I paused at one jutting point and looked back, from where I was afforded a view of the dark outline of the palace, a few lighted windows within it. Some scatters of cirrus high above looked like raked starlight in the celestial garden over which Amber brooded. I turned away moments later. There was still a good distance to travel.

  When I reached the crest I was able to discern a faint line of lightening to the east, beyond the forest I had traversed so recently. I hurried past the three massive steps of song and story and began my descent to the north. Slow at first, the way I followed steepened abruptly after a time and led off to the northeast, then into a gentler decline. When it swung back to the northwest there was another steep area followed by another easy one, and I knew the going would be fine after that. The high shoulder of Kolvir at my back blocked all traces of the pre-dawn light I had witnessed earlier, and star-hung night lay before me and above, rubbing outlines to ambiguity on all but the nearest boulders. Still, I knew approximately where I was going, having been this way once before, though I’d only halted briefly at that time.

  It was about two miles past the crest, and I slowed as I neared the area, searching. It was a large, somewhat horseshoe-shaped declivity, and when I finally located it I entered slowly, a peculiar feeling rising within me. I had not consciously anticipated all my reactions in this matter; but at some level I must have, I was certain.

  As I moved into it, canyonlike walls of stone rising at either hand, I came upon the trail and followed it. It led me slightly downhill, toward a shadowy pair of trees, and then between them to where a low stone building stood, various shrubs and grasses grown wild about it. I understand that the soil was actually transported there to support the foliage, but afterward it was forgotten and neglected.

  I seated myself on one of the stone benches in front of the building and waited for the sky to lighten. This was m
y father’s tomb—well, cenotaph—built long ago when he had been presumed dead. It had amused him considerably to be able to visit the place later on. Now, of course, its status might well have changed. It could be the real thing now. Would this cancel the irony or increase it? I couldn’t quite decide. It bothered me, though, more than I’d thought it would. I had not come here on a pilgrimage. I had come here for the peace and quiet a sorcerer of my sort needs in order to hang some spells. I had come here—

  Perhaps I was rationalizing. I had chosen this spot because, real tomb or fake, it had Corwin’s name on it, so it raised a sense of his presence, for me. I had wanted to get to know him better, and this might be as close as I could ever come. I realized, suddenly, why I had trusted Luke. He had been right, back at the Arbor House. If I learned of Corwin’s death and saw that blame could be fixed for it, I knew that I would drop everything else, that I would go off to present the bill and collect it, that I would have to close the account, to write the receipt in blood. Even had I not known Luke as I did, it was easy to see myself in his actions and too uncomfortable a thing to judge him.

  Damn. Why must we caricature each other, beyond laughter or insight, into the places of pain, frustration, conflicting loyalties?

  I rose. There was enough light now to show me what I was doing.

  I went inside and approached the niche where the empty stone sarcophagus stood. It seemed an ideal safe deposit box, but I hesitated when I stood before it because my hands were shaking. It was ridiculous. I knew that he wasn’t in there, that it was just an empty box with a bit of carving on it. Yet it was several minutes before I could bring myself to take hold of the lid and raise it. . . .

  Empty, of course, like so many dreams and fears. I tossed in the blue button and lowered the lid again. What the hell. If Sharu wanted it back and could find it here, let him have the message that he was walking close to the grave when he played his games.