Luke had told me that his attempted invasion of the Keep of the Four Words, by means of a glider-borne commando team, had been smashed. Since I had seen the broken gliders at various points within the walls during my own visit to that place, it was logical to assume that Luke had been captured. Therefore, it seemed a fairly strong assumption that the sorcerer Mask had done whatever had been done to him to bring him to this state. It would seem that this simply involved introducing a dose of a hallucinogen to his prison fare and turning him loose to wander and look at the pretty lights. Fortunately, unlike myself, his mental travelings had involved nothing more threatening than the brighter aspects of Lewis Carroll. Maybe his heart was purer than mine. But the deal was weird any way you looked at it. Mask might have killed him or kept him in prison or added him to the coat-rack collection. Instead, while what had been done was not without risk, it was something which would wear off eventually and leave him chastened but at liberty. It was more a slap on the wrist than a real piece of vengeance. This, for a member of the House which had previously held sway in the Keep and would doubtless like to do so again. Was Mask supremely confident? Or did he not really see Luke as much of a threat?
And then there is the fact that our shadow-shifting abilities and our sorcerous abilities come from similar roots—the Pattern or the Logrus. It had to be that messing with one also messed with the other. That would explain Luke’s strange ability to summon me to him as by a massive Trump sending, when in actuality there was no Trump. His drug-enhanced abilities of visualization must have been so intense that the card’s physical representation of me was unnecessary. And his skewed magical abilities would account for all of the preliminary byplay, all of the odd, reality-distorting experiences I’d had before he actually achieved contact. This meant that either of us could become very dangerous in certain drugged states. I’d have to remember that. I hoped he wouldn’t wake up mad at me for hitting him, before I could talk to him a bit. On the other hand; the tranquilizer would hopefully keep him happy while the other stuff worked at detoxing him.
I massaged a sore muscle in my left leg and rose to my feet. I caught hold of Luke beneath the armpits and dragged him about twenty paces farther along into the clearing. Then I sighed and returned to the spot where I had rested. There was not sufficient time to flee farther. And as the wailing increased in volume and the giant flowers swayed in a line heading directly toward me—glimpses of a darker form becoming visible amid the stalks—I knew that with the Jabberwock fled the Fire Angel was back on the job, and since this confrontation seemed inevitable, this clearing was as good a place to meet it as any, and better than most.
2
I unfastened the bright thing at my belt and began to unfold it. It made a series of clicking noises as I did so. I was hoping that I was making the best choice available to me rather than, say, a bad mistake.
The creature took longer than I’d thought to pass among the flowers. This could mean it was having trouble following my trail amid its exotic surroundings. I was hoping, though, that it meant it had been sufficiently injured in its encounter with the Jabberwock that it had lost something of its strength and speed.
Whatever, the final stalks eventually swayed and were crushed. The angular creature lurched forward and halted to stare at me with unblinking eyes. Frakir panicked, and I calmed her. This was a little out of her league. I had a Fire Fountain spell left, but I didn’t even bother with it. I knew it wouldn’t stop the thing, and it might make it behave unpredictably.
“I can show you the way back to Chaos,” I shouted, “if you’re getting homesick!”
It wailed softly and advanced. So much for sentimentality.
It came on slowly, oozing fluids from a dozen wounds. I wondered if it were still capable of rushing me or if its present pace were the best it could manage. Prudence dictated I assume the worst, so I tried to stay loose and ready to match anything it attempted.
It didn’t rush, though. It just kept coming, like a small tank with appendages. I didn’t know where its vital spots were located. Fire Angel anatomy had not been high on my list of interests back home. I gave myself a crash course, however, in the way of gross observation as it approached. Unfortunately, this gave me to believe that it kept everything important well protected. Too bad.
I did not want to attack in case it was trying to sucker me into something. I was not aware of its combat tricks, and I did not care to expose myself unduly in order to learn them. Better to stay on the defense and let it make the first move, I told myself. But it just kept moving nearer and nearer. I knew that I’d be forced to do something soon, even if it were only to retreat. . . .
One of those long, folded front appendages flashed out toward me, and I spun to the side and cut. Snicker-snack! The limb lay on the ground, still moving. So I kept moving, also. One-two, one-two! Snicker-snack!
The beast toppled slowly to its left, for I had removed all of the limbs on that side of its body.
Then, overconfident, I passed too near in racing to round its head to reach the other side and repeat the performance while it was still traumatized and collapsing. Its other extensor flashed out. But I was too near and it was still toppling: Instead of catching me with its clawed extremity, it hit me with the equivalent of shin or forearm. The blow struck me across the chest and I was knocked backward.
As I scrambled away and drew my feet beneath me to rise, I heard Luke say, groggily, “Now what’s going on?”
“Later,” I called, without looking back.
Then, “Hey! You hit me!” he added.
“All in good fun,” I answered. “Part of the cure,” and I was up and moving again.
“Oh,” I heard him say.
The thing was on its side now and that big limb struck wildly at me, several times. I avoided it and was able to gauge its range and striking angle.
Snicker-snack. The limb fell to the ground and I moved in.
I swung three blows which passed all the way through its head from different angles before I was able to sever it. It kept making clicking noises, though, and the torso kept pitching and scrabbling about on the remaining limbs.
I don’t know how many times I struck after that. I just kept at it until the creature was literally diced. Luke had begun shouting “Olè!” each time that I struck. I was perspiring somewhat by then, and I noticed that heat waves or something seemed to be causing my view of the distant flowers to ripple in a disturbing fashion. I felt foresighted as all hell, though—the Vorpal Sword I’d appropriated back in the bar had proved a fine weapon. I swung it through a high arc, which I’d noted seemed to cleanse it entirely, and then I began folding it back into its original compact form. It was as soft as flower petals, and it still gave off a faint dusty glow. . . .
“Bravo!” said a familiar voice, and I turned until I saw the smile followed by the Cat, who was tapping his paws lightly together. “Callooh! Callay!” he added. “Well done, beamish boy!”
The background wavering grew stronger, and the sky darkened. I heard Luke say “Hey!” and when I glanced back I saw him getting to his feet, moving forward. When I looked again I could see the bar forming at the Cat’s back, and I caught a glimpse of the brass rail. My head began to swim.
“There’s normally a deposit on the Vorpal Sword,” the Cat was saying. “But since you’re returning it intact—”
Luke was beside me. I could hear music again, and he was humming along with it. Now it was the clearing, with its butchered Fire Angel, that seemed the superimposition, as the bar increased in solidity, taking on nuances of color and shading.
But the place seemed somehow smaller—the tables closer together, the music softer, the mural more compressed and its artist out of sight. Even the Caterpillar and his mushroom had retreated to a shadowy nook, and both seemed shrunken, the blue smoke less dense. I took this as a vaguely good sign, for if our presence there were a result of Luke’s state of mind then perhaps the fixation was losing its hold on him.
He moved up to the bar beside me.
“Yeah?” he answered.
“You know you’re on a trip, don’t you?”
“I don’t. . . . I’m not sure what you mean,” he said.
“When Mask had you prisoner I think he slipped you some acid,” I said. “Is that possible?”
“Who’s Mask?” he asked me.
“The new head honcho at the Keep.”
“Oh, you mean Sharu Garrul,” he said. “I do remember that he had on a blue mask.”
I saw no reason to go into an explanation as to why Mask wasn’t Sharu. He’d probably forget, anyway. I just nodded and said, “The boss.”
“Well . . . yes, I guess he could have given me something,” he replied. “You mean that all this . . . ?” He gestured toward the room at large.
I nodded.
“Sure, it’s real,” I said. “But we can transport ourselves into hallucinations. They’re all real somewhere. Acid’ll do it.”
“I’ll be damned,” he said.
“I gave you some stuff to bring you down,” I told him. “But it may take a while.”
He licked his lips and glanced about.
“Well, there’s no hurry,” he said. Then he smiled as a distant screaming began and the demons started in doing nasty things to the burning woman off in the mural. “I kind of like it here.”
I placed the folded weapon back upon the bartop. Luke rapped on the surface beside it and called for another round of brews. I backed away, shaking my head.
“I’ve got to go now,” I told him. “Someone’s still after me, and he just came close.”
“Animals don’t count,” Luke said.
“The one I just chopped up does,” I answered. “It was sent.”
I looked at the broken doors, wondering what might come through them next. Fire Angels have been known to hunt in pairs.
“But I’ve got to talk to you. . . . ” I continued.
“Not now,” he said, turning away.
“You know it’s important.”
“I can’t think right,” he answered.
I supposed that had to be true, and there was no sense trying to drag him back to Amber or anywhere else. He’d just fade away and show up here again. His head would have to clear and his fixation dissipate before we could discuss mutual problems.
“You remember that your mother is a prisoner in Amber?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Call me when you’ve got your head together. We have to talk.”
“I will.”
I turned away and walked out the doors and into a bank of fog. In the distance I heard Luke begin singing again, some mournful ballad. Fog is almost as bad as complete darkness when it comes to shadow-shifting. If you can’t see any referents while you’re moving, there is no way to use the ability that allows you to slip away. On the other hand, I just wanted to be alone for a time to think, now my head was clear. If I couldn’t see anybody in this stuff, nobody could see me either. And there were no sounds other than my own footfalls on a cobbled surface.
So what had I achieved? When I was awakened from a brief nap to attend Luke’s unusual sending to Amber, I’d been dead tired following extraordinary exertions. I was transported into his presence, learned that he was tripping, fed him something I hoped would bring him off it sooner, hacked up a Fire Angel, and left Luke back where he had started.
I’d gotten two things out of it, I mused, as I strolled through the cottony mist: I’d stalemated Luke in any designs he might still have upon Amber. He was now aware that his mother was our prisoner, and I couldn’t see him bringing any direct action against us under the circumstances. Aside from the technical problems involved in transporting Luke and keeping him in one place, this was the reason I was willing to leave him as I just had. I’m sure Random would have preferred him unconscious in a cell in the basement, but I was certain he would settle for a defanged Luke at large; especially so, when it was likely that Luke would be getting in touch with us sooner or later regarding Jasra. I was willing to let him come down and come around in his own good time. I had problems of my own in the waiting room, like Ghostwheel, Mask, Vinta . . . and the new specter which had just taken a number and a seat.
Maybe it had been Jasra who had been using the homing power of the blue stones to send assassins after me. She had the ability as well as a motive. It could also have been Mask, though, who I’d judge had the ability—and who seemed to have a motive, though I didn’t understand it. Jasra was out of the way now, however; and while I intended to have things out with Mask eventually, I believed that I had succeeded in detuning myself from the blue stones. I also believed that I might have scared Mask somewhat in our recent encounter at the Keep. Whatever, it was extremely unlikely that Mask or Jasra, whatever their powers, would have had access to a trained Fire Angel. No, there’s only one place Fire Angels come from, and shadow-sorcerers aren’t on the customer fist.
A puff of wind parted the fog for a moment and I caught sight of dark buildings. Good. I shifted. The fog moved again almost immediately, and they were not buildings but dark rock formations. Another parting and a piece of dawn or evening sky came into view, a foam of bright stars spilled across it. Before too long a wind whipped the fog away and I saw that I walked in a high rocky place, the heavens a blaze of starry light bright enough to read by. I followed a dark trail leading off to the edge of the world. . . .
The whole business with Luke, Jasra, Dalt, and Mask was somehow of a piece—completely understandable in some places and clouded in others. Given some time and legwork it would all hang together. Luke and Jasra seemed to be nullified now. Mask, an enigma of sorts; seemed to have it in for me personally but did not appear to represent any particular threat to Amber. Dalt, on the other hand, did, with his fancy new weaponry—but Random was aware of this situation and Benedict was back in town. So I was confident that everything possible was being done to deal with this.
I stood at the edge of the world and looked down into a bottomless rift full of stars. My mountain did not seem to grace the surface of a planet. However, there was a bridge to my left, leading outward to a dark, star-occluding shape—another floating mountain, perhaps. I strolled over and stepped out onto the span. Problems involving atmosphere, gravitation, temperature, meant nothing here, where I could, in a sense, make up reality as I went along. I walked out onto the bridge, and for a moment the angle was right and I caught a glimpse of another bridge on the far side of the dark mass, leading off to some other darkness.
I halted in the middle, able to see along it for a great distance in either direction. It seemed a safe and appropriate spot. I withdrew my packet of Trumps and riffled through them until I located one I hadn’t used in a long, long time.
I held it before me and put the others away, studying the blue eyes and the young, hard, slightly sharp features beneath a mass of pure white hair. He was dressed all in black, save for a bit of white collar and sleeve showing beneath the glossy tight-fitting jacket. He held three dark steel balls in his gloved hand.
Sometimes it’s hard to reach all the way to Chaos, so I focused and extended, carefully, strongly. The contact came almost immediately. He was seated on a balcony beneath a crazily stippled sky, the Shifting Mountains sliding to his left. His feet were propped on a small floating table and he was reading a book. He lowered it and smiled faintly.
“Merlin,” he said softly. “You look tired.”
I nodded.
“You look rested,” I said.
“True,” he answered, as he closed the book and set it on the table. Then, “There is trouble?” he asked.
“There is trouble, Mandor.”
He rose to his feet.
“You wish to come through?”
I shook my head. “If you have any Trumps handy for getting back, I’d rather you came to me.”
He extended his hand.
“All right,” he said.
&nbs
p; I reached forward, our hands clasped; he took a single step and stood beside me on the bridge. We embraced for a moment and then he turned and looked out and down into the rift.
“There is some danger here?” he asked.
“No. I chose this place because it seems very safe.”
“Scenic, too,” he replied. “What’s been happening to you?”
“For years I was merely a student, and then a designer of certain sorts of specialized machinery,” I told him. “Things were pretty uneventful until fairly recently. Then all hell broke loose—but most of it I understand, and much of it seems under control. That part’s complicated and not really worth your concern.”
The Great Book of Amber - Chronicles 1-10 Page 129