The Great Book of Amber - Chronicles 1-10

by Roger Zelazny

  During the recessional Coral managed to pass me a note, saying that she had to see me, giving a time and a place, even including a small map. It proved an apartment to the rear of the palace. We met there that evening and wound up spending the night. She and Luke had been married as kids, by proxy, I learned then, part of the diplomatic arrangement between Jasra and the Begmans. It didn’t work out, though—the diplomatic part, that is—and the rest kind of fell by the wayside. The principals had sort of forgotten about the marriage, too, till recent events served as a reminder. Neither had seen the other in years. Still, the record showed that the prince had been married. While it was an annullable thing, she could also be crowned with him. If there were anything in it for Kashfa.

  And there was: Eregnor. A Begman queen on the Kashfan throne might help smooth over that particular real estate gab. At least, that had been Jasra’s thinking, Coral told me. And Luke had been swayed by this, particularly in the absence of the guarantees from Amber and the now-defunct Golden Circle Treaty.

  I held her. She was not well, despite what seemed an amazing post-operative recovery. She wore a black patch over her right eye and was more than a little reactive should my hand stray near it—or even if I looked at it for too long. What might have led Dworkin to replace the damaged eye with the Jewel of Judgment, I could not even guess. Unless he somehow considered her proof against the forces of the Pattern and the Logrus in their attempts to recover it. My expertise in this area, though, was nonexistent. Having finally met the diminutive mage, I had become convinced of his sanity—though this feeling in no way served to penetrate those enigmatic qualities that ancient wise men tend to possess.

  “How does it feel?” I asked her.

  “Very strange,” she replied. “Not pain—exactly. More like the way a Trump contact feels. Only it’s with me all the time, and I’m not going anywhere or talking to anyone. It’s as if I’m standing in some sort of gateway. Forces are moving about me, through me.”

  In an instant I was at the center that was the gay ring with its wheel of many-spoked reddish metal. From the inside, here, it was like a great web. A bright strand pulsed for my attention. Yes, it was a line to a very potent force in distant Shadow, one that might be used for probing. Carefully, I extended it toward the covered jewel she wore in her eye socket.

  There was no immediate resistance. In fact, I felt nothing as I extended the line of power. An image came to me of a curtain of flame, however. Pushing through the fiery veil, I felt my extension of inquiry slowing, slowing, halted. And there I hovered, as it were, at the edge of a void. This was not the way of attunement, as I understood it, and I was loath to invoke the Pattern, which I understood to be a part of it, when employing other forces. I pushed forward and felt a terrible coldness, draining the energies I had called upon.

  Still, it was not draining the energy directly from me, only from one of the forces I commanded. I pushed it farther, and I beheld a faint patch of light like some distant nebula. It hung against a background the deep red of port wine. Closer still, and it resolved itself into a form—a complex, three dimensional construct, half familiar—which must be the pathway one takes in attuning oneself to the Jewel, from my father’s description. All right, I was inside the Jewel. Should I essay the initiation?

  “Go no further,” came an unfamiliar voice, though I realized it to be Coral who was making the sounds. She seemed to have slipped into a trance state. “You are denied the higher initiation.”

  I drew back on my probe, not eager for any demonstrations that might come my way along it. My Logrus sight, which had remained with me constantly since recent events in Amber, gave me a vision of Coral now fully enfolded and penetrated by the higher version of the Pattern.

  “Why?” I asked it.

  But I was not vouchsafed a reply. Coral gave a little jerk, shook herself, and stared at me.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “You dozed off,” I replied. “No wonder. Whatever Dworkin did, plus the day’s stress . . . ”

  She yawned and collapsed back on the bed.

  “Yes,” she breathed, and then she was really asleep. I pulled off my boots and discarded my heavier garments. I stretched out beside her and drew a quilt over us. I was tired, too, and I just wanted someone to hold.

  How long I slept I do not know. I was troubled by dark, swirling dreams. Faces—human, animal, demonic, moved about me, none of them bearing particularly cheerful expressions. Forests fell and burst into flame, the ground shook and split, the waters of the sea rose in gigantic waves and assailed the land, the moon dripped blood and there came up a great wailing. Something called my name. . . .

  A great wind rattled the shutters till they burst inward, clapping and banging. In my dream, a creature entered then and came to crouch at the foot of the bed, calling softly to me, over and over. The room seemed to be shaking, and my mind went back to California. It seemed that an earthquake was in progress. The wind rose from a shriek to a roar, and I heard crashing sounds from without, as of trees falling, towers toppling. . . .

  “Merlin, Prince of the House of Sawall, Prince of Chaos, rise up,” it seemed to say. Then it gnashed its fangs and began again.

  At the fourth or fifth repetition it struck me that I might not be dreaming. There were screams from somewhere outside, and steady pulses of lightning came and went against almost musical rolls of thunder.

  I raised a protective shell before I moved, before I opened my eyes. The sounds were real, as was the broken shutter. So was the creature at the foot of the bed.

  “Merlin, Merlin. Rise up, Merlin,” it said to me—it being a long-snouted, pointed-eared individual, well-fanged and clawed, of a greenish-silver cast of complexion, eyes large and shining, damp leathery wings folded against its lean sides. From its expression, I couldn’t tell whether it was smiling or in pain. “Awaken, Lord of Chaos.”

  “Gryll,” I said, naming an old family servant from the Courts.

  “Aye, Lord,” it replied. “The same as taught you the bonedance game.”

  “I’ll be damned.”

  “Business before pleasure, Lord. I’ve followed the black thread a long and horrid way to come calling.”

  “The threads didn’t reach this far,” I said, “without an awful lot of push. Maybe even not then. Do they now?”

  “It’s easier now,” he replied.

  “How so?”

  “His Majesty Swayvill, King of Chaos, sleeps this night with the ancestors of darkness. I was sent to fetch you back for the ceremonies.”

  “Now?”

  “Now.”

  “Yeah. Well, okay. Sure. Just let me get my stuff together. How’d it happen, anyhow?”

  I pulled on my boots, donned the rest of my garments, buckled on my blade.

  “I am not privy to any details. Of course, it is common knowledge that his health was poor.”

  “I want to leave a note,” I said.

  He nodded.

  “A brief one, I trust.”

  “Yes.”

  I scrawled on a piece of parchment from the writing table, Coral, Called away on family business. I’ll be in touch, and I laid it beside her hand.

  “All right,” I said. “How do we do this?”

  “I will bear you upon my back, Prince Merlin, as I did long ago.”

  I nodded as a flood of childhood memories returned to me. Gryll was immensely strong, as are most demons. But I recalled our games, at Pit’s-edge and out over the darkness, in burial chambers, caves, still-smoking battlefields, ruined temples, chambers of dead sorcerers, private hells. I always seemed to have more fun playing with demons than with my mother’s relatives by blood or marriage. I even based my main Chaos form upon one of their kind.

  He absorbed a chair from the room’s corner for extra mass, changing shape to accommodate my adult size. As I climbed upon his elongated torso, catching a firm hold, he exclaimed, “Ah, Merlin! What magics do you bear these days?”

  “I�
�ve their control, but not full knowledge of their essence,” I answered. “They’re a very recent acquisition. What is it that you feel?”

  “Heat, cold, strange music,” he replied. “From all directions. You have changed.”

  “Everyone changes,” I said as he moved toward the window. “That’s life.”

  A dark thread lay upon the wide sill. He reached out and touched it as he launched himself.

  There came a great rushing of wind as we fell downward, moved forward, rose. Towers flashed past, wavering. The stars were bright, a quarter moon just risen, illuminating the bellies of a low line of clouds. We soared, the castle and the town dwindling in an eyeblink. The stars danced, became streaks of light. A band of sheer, rippling blackness spread about us, widening. The Black Road, I suddenly thought. It is like a temporary version of the Black Road, in the sky. I glanced back. It was not there. It was as if it were somehow reeling in as we rode. Or was it reeling us in?

  The countryside passed beneath us like a film played at triple speed. Forest, hill, and mountain peak fled by. Our black way was a great ribbon heaving before us, patches of light and dark like daytime cloud shadows sliding past. And then the tempo increased, staccato. I noted of a sudden that there was no longer any wind. Abruptly, the moon was high overhead, and a crooked mountain range snaked beneath us. The stillness had a dream-like quality to it, and in an instant the moon had fallen lower. A line of light cracked the world to my right and stars began to go out. There was no feeling of exertion in Gryll’s body as we plunged along that black way; and the moon vanished and light grew buttery yellow along a line of clouds, acquiring a pink cast even as I watched.

  “The power of Chaos rises,” I remarked.

  “The energy of disorder,” he replied.

  “There is more to this than you’ve told me,” I said.

  “I am but a servant,” Gryll responded, “and not privy to the councils of the mighty.”

  The world continued to brighten, and for as far ahead as I could see our black ribbon rippled. We were passing high over mountainous terrain. And clouds blew apart and new ones formed at a rapid rate. We had obviously begun our passage through Shadow. After a time, the mountains wore down and rolling plains slid by. Suddenly the sun was in the middle of the sky. We seemed to be passing just above our black way, Gryll’s toes barely grazing it as we moved. At times his wings hardly fluttered before me, at other times they thrummed like those of a hummingbird, into invisibility.

  The sun grew cherry-red far to my left. A pink desert spread beneath us. . . .

  Then it was dark again and the stars turned like a great wheel.

  Then we were low, barely passing above the tops of the trees. . . .

  We burst into the air over a busy downtown street, lights on poles and the fronts of vehicles, neon in windows. The warm, stuffy, dusty, gassy smell of city rose up about us. A few pedestrians glanced upward, barely seeming to note our passage.

  Even as we flashed across a river, cresting the house tops of suburbia, the prospect wavered and we passed over a primordial landscape of rock, lava, avalanche, and shuddering ground, two active volcanoes—one near, one far—spewing smoke against a blue-green sky.

  “This, I take it, is a shortcut?” I said.

  “It is the shortest cut,” Gryll replied.

  We entered a long night, and at some point it seemed that our way took us beneath deep waters, bright sea creatures hovering and darting both near at hand and in the middle distance. Dry and uncrushed, the black way protected us.

  “It is as major an upheaval as the death of Oberon,” Gryll volunteered. “Its effects are rippling across Shadow.”

  “But Oberon’s death coincided with the re-creation of the Pattern,” I said. “There was more to it than the death of a monarch of one of the extremes.”

  “True,” Gryll replied, “but now is a time of imbalance among the forces. This adds to it. It will be even more severe.”

  We plunged into an opening in a dark mass of stone. Lines of light streaked past us. Irregularities were limned in a pale blue. Later—how long, I do not know—we were in a purple sky, with no transition that I can recall from the dark sea bottom. A single star gleamed far ahead. We sped toward it.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because the Pattern has grown stronger than the Logrus,” he replied.

  “How did that happen?”

  “Prince Corwin drew a second Pattern at the time of the confrontation between the Courts and Amber.”

  “Yes, he told me about it. I’ve even seen it. He feared Oberon might not be able to repair the original.”

  “But he did, and so now there are two.”

  “Yes?”

  “Your father’s Pattern is also an artifact of order. It served to tip the ancient balance in the favor of Amber.”

  “How is it you are aware of this, Gryll, when no one back in Amber seems to know it or saw fit to tell me?”

  “Your brother Prince Mandor and the Princess Fiona suspected this and sought evidence. They presented their findings to your uncle, Lord Suhuy. He made several journeys into Shadow and became persuaded that this is the case. He was preparing his findings for presentation to the king when Swayvill suffered his final illness. I know these things because it was Suhuy who sent me for you, and he charged me to tell them to you.”

  “I just assumed it was my mother who’d sent for me.”

  “Suhuy was certain she would—which is why he wanted to reach you first. What I have told you concerning your father’s Pattern is not yet common knowledge.”

  “What am I supposed to do about it?”

  “He did not entrust me with that information.”

  The star grew brighter. The sky was filled with splashes of orange and pink. Shortly, lines of green light joined them, and they swirled like streamers about us.

  We raced on, and the configurations came to dominate the sky fully, like a psychedelic parasol rotating slowly. The landscape became a total blur. I felt as if a part of me dozed, though I am certain I did not lose consciousness. Time seemed to be playing games with my metabolism. I grew enormously hungry and my eyes ached.

  The star brightened. Gryll’s wings took on a prismatic shimmer. We seemed to be moving at an incredible pace now.

  Our strand curved upward at its outer edges. The process continued as we advanced until it seemed we were moving in a trough. Then they met overhead, and it was as if we sped down a gun barrel, aimed at the blue-white star.

  “Anything else you’re supposed to tell me?”

  “Not so far as I know.”

  I rubbed my left wrist, feeling as if something should have been pulsing there. Oh, yes. Frakir. Where was Frakir, anyway? Then I recalled leaving her behind in Brand’s apartment. Why had I done that? I—my mind felt cloudy, the memory dream-like.

  This was the first time since the event that I had examined that memory. Had I looked earlier I would have known sooner what it meant. It was the clouding effect of glamour. I had walked into a spell back in Brand’s apartment. I’d no way of knowing whether it had been specific to me or merely something I’d activated in poking about. It could, I supposed, even have been something more general, enlivened by the disaster—possibly even an unintentional side effect of something that had been disturbed. Somehow I doubted the latter, however.

  For that matter, I doubted any generality about the business. It was just too right to have been a booby-trap Brand had left lying about. It had confounded a trained sorcerer, me. Perhaps it was only my present distancing from the vicinity of its occurrence that had helped to clear my mind. As I reviewed my actions from the time of exposure I could see that I had been moving in something of a haze since then. And the more I reviewed the more I felt the spell to have been specifically tailored to enfold me. Not understanding it, I could not consider myself free of it with this knowledge either.

  Whatever it was, it had caused me to abandon Frakir without thinking twice about it, and it h
ad caused me to feel—well—strange. I could not tell exactly how it might have influenced, might still be influencing, my thoughts and my feelings, the usual problem when one is caught up inside a spell. But I didn’t see how it could possibly have been the late Brand himself who had set the thing up against such an unpredictable occurrence as my having rooms next to his old ones years after his death, from which I would be prompted to enter his quarters in the disastrous aftermath of an improbable confrontation between the Logrus and the Pattern in an upper hall of Amber Castle. No, it seemed that someone else had to be behind it. Jurt? Julia? It didn’t seem too likely that they’d be able to operate undetected in the heart of Amber Castle. Who then? And could it have had anything to do with that episode in the Hall of Mirrors? I drew blanks. Were I back there now I might be able to come up with a spell of my own to ferret out the one responsible. But I wasn’t, and any investigation at that end of things would have to wait.

  The light ahead flashed more brightly now, winking from heavenly blue to baleful red.

  “Gryll,” I said. “Do you detect a spell upon me?”

  “Aye, m’lord,” he replied.

  “Why didn’t you mention it?”