“Why did you do all these things?” Random asked.
“Someone had to. It was me that he came to, so it was mine to do,” Benedict replied. “It was not as if I were not very fond of the boy, though,” he added. Random nodded.
“You say that he was with you for almost a year. What became of him after that?”
“That wanderlust you know as well as I. Once he had obtained some confidence in his abilities, he wanted to exercise them. In the course of instructing him, I had taken him on journeys in Shadow myself, had introduced him to people of my acquaintance at various places. But there came a time when he wanted to make his own way. One day then, he bade me good-by and fared forth.”
“Have you seen him since?” Random asked.
“Yes. He returned periodically, staying with me for a time, to tell me of his adventures, his discoveries. It was always clear that it was just a visit. After a time, he would get restless and depart again.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“Several years ago, Avalon time, under the usual circumstances. He showed up one morning, stayed for perhaps two weeks, told me of the things he had seen and done, talked of the many things he wanted to do. Later, he set off once more.”
“And you never heard from him again?”
“On the contrary. There were messages left with mutual friends when he would pass their way. Occasionally, he would even contact me via my Trump—”
“He had a set of the Trumps?” I broke in.
“Yes, I made him a gift of one of my extra decks.”
“Did you have a Trump for him?” He shook his head.
“I was not even aware that such a Trump existed, until I saw this one,” he said, raising the card, glancing at it, and passing it back to Random. “I haven’t the art to prepare one. Random, have you tried reaching him with this Trump?”
“Yes, any number of times since we came across it. Just a few minutes ago, as a matter of fact. Nothing.”
“Of course that proves nothing. If everything occurred as you guessed and he did survive it, he may have resolved to block any future attempts at contact. He does know how to do that.”
“Did it occur as I guessed? Do you know more about it?”
“I have an idea,” Benedict said. “You see, he did show up injured at a friend’s place—off in Shadow some years ago. It was a body wound, caused by the thrust of a blade. They said he came to them in very bad shape and did not go into details as to what had occurred. He remained for a few days—until he was able to get around again—and departed before he was really fully recovered. That was the last they heard of him. The last that I did, also.”
“Weren’t you curious?” Random asked. “Didn’t you go looking for him?”
“Of course I was curious. I still am. But a man should have the right to lead his own life without the meddling of relatives, no matter how well-intentioned. He had pulled through the crisis and he did not attempt to contact me. He apparently knew what he wanted to do. He did leave a message for me with the Tecys, saying that when I learned of what had happened I was not to worry, that he knew what he was about.”
“The Tecys?” I said.
“That’s right. Friends of mine off in Shadow.”
I refrained from saying the things that I might. I had thought them just another part of Dara’s story, for she had so twisted the truth in other areas. She had mentioned the Tecys to me as if she knew them, as if she had stayed with them—all with Benedict’s knowledge. The moment did not seem appropriate, however, to tell him of my previous night’s vision in Tir-na Nog’th and the things it had indicated concerning his relationship to the girl. I had not yet had sufficient time to ponder the matter and all that it implied.
Random stood, paced, paused near the ledge, his back to us, fingers knotted behind him. After a moment, he turned and stalked back.
“How can we get in touch with the Tecys?” he asked Benedict.
“No way,” said Benedict, “except to go and see them.”
Random turned to me.
“Corwin, I need a horse. You say that Star’s been through a number of hellrides . . .”
“He’s had a busy morning.”
“It wasn’t that strenuous. It was mostly fright, and he seems okay now. May I borrow him?”
Before I could answer, he turned toward Benedict.
“You’ll take me, won’t you?” he said.
Benedict hesitated.
“I do not know what more there is to learn—” he began.
“Anything! Anything at all they might remember—possibly something that did not really seem important at the time but is now, knowing what we know.”
Benedict looked to me. I nodded.
“He can ride Star, if you are willing to take him.”
“All right,” Benedict said, getting to his feet. “I’ll fetch my mount.”
He turned and headed off toward the place where the great striped beast was tethered.
“Thanks, Corwin,” Random said.
“I’ll let you do me a favor in return.”
“What?”
“Let me borrow Martin’s Trump.”
“What for?”
“An idea just hit me. It is too complicated to get into if you want to get moving. No harm should come of it, though.”
He chewed his lip.
“Okay. I want it back when you are done with it.”
“Of course.”
“Will it help find him?”
“Maybe.”
He passed me the card.
“You heading back to the palace now?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Would you tell Vialle what has happened and where I have gone? She worries.”
“Sure. I’ll do that.”
“I’ll take good care of Star.”
“I know that. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
I rode Firedrake. Ganelon walked. He had insisted. We followed the route I had taken in pursuing Dara on the day of the battle. Along with recent developments, that is probably what made me think of her again. I dusted off my feelings and examined them carefully. I realized then that despite the games she had played with me, the killings she had doubtless been privy or party to, and her stated designs upon the realm, I was still attracted to her by something more than curiosity. I was not really surprised to discover this. Things had looked pretty much the same the last time I had pulled a surprise inspection in the emotional barracks. I wondered then how much of truth there might have been to my final vision of the previous night, wherein her possible line of descent from Benedict had been stated. There was indeed a physical resemblance, and I was more than half-convinced. In the ghost city, of course, the shade of Benedict had conceded as much, raising his new, strange arm in her defense. . .
“What’s funny?” Ganelon asked, from where he strode to my left.
“The arm,” I said, “that came to me from Tir-na Nog’th—I had worried over some hidden import, some unforeseen force of destiny to the thing, coming as it had into our world from that place of mystery and dream. Yet it did not even last the day. Nothing remained when the Pattern destroyed Iago. The entire evening’s visions come to nothing.”
Ganelon cleared his throat.
“Well, it wasn’t exactly the way you seem to think,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“That arm device was not in Iago’s saddlebag. Random stowed it in your bag. That’s where the food was, and after we had eaten he returned the utensils to where they had been in his own bag, but not the arm. There was no space.”
“Oh,” I said. “Then—”
Ganelon nodded. “—So he has it with him now,” he finished.
“The arm and Benedict both. Damn! I’ve small liking for that thing. It tried to kill me. No one has ever been attacked in Tir-na Nog’th before.”
“But Benedict, Benedict’s okay. He’s on our side, even if you have some differences at the mom
ent. Right?”
I did not answer him.
He reached up and took Firedrake’s reins, drawing him to a halt. He stared up then, studying my face.
“Corwin, what happened up there, anyway? What did you learn?”
I hesitated. In truth, what had I learned in the city in the sky? No one was certain as to the mechanism behind the visions of Tir-na Nog’th. It could well be, as we have sometimes suspected, that the place simply served to objectify one’s unspoken fears and desires, mixing them perhaps with unconscious guesswork. Sharing conclusions and reasonably based conjectures was one thing. Suspicions engendered by something unknown were likely better retained than given currency. Still, that arm was solid enough. . .
“I told you,” I said, “that I had knocked that arm off the ghost of Benedict. Obviously, we were fighting.”
“You see it then as an omen that you and Benedict will eventually be in conflict?”
“Perhaps.”
“You were shown a reason for it, weren’t you?”
“Okay,” I said, finding a sigh without trying.
“Yes. It was indicated that Dara was indeed related to Benedict—a thing which may well be correct. It is also quite possible, if it is true, that he is unaware of it. Therefore, we keep quiet about it until we can verify it or discount it. Understood?”
“Of course. But how could this thing be?”
“Just as she said.”
“Great-granddaughter?”
I nodded.
“By whom?”
“The hellmaid we knew only by reputation—Lintra, the lady who cost him his arm.”
“But that battle was only a recent thing.”
“Time flows differently in different realms of Shadow, Ganelon. In the farther reaches—It would not be impossible.”
He shook his head and relaxed his grip on the reins.
“Corwin, I really think Benedict should know about this,” he said. “If it is true, you ought to give him a chance to prepare himself rather than let him discover it of a sudden. You people are such an infertile lot that paternity seems to hit you harder than it does others. Look at Random. For years, he had disowned his son, and now—I’ve a feeling he’d risk his life for him.”
“So do I,” I said. “Now forget the first part but carry the second one a step farther in the case of Benedict.”
“You think he would take Dara’s side against Amber?”
“I would rather avoid presenting him with the choice by not letting him know that it exists—if it exists.”
“I think you do him a disservice. He is hardly an emotional infant. Get hold of him on the Trump and tell him your suspicions. That way, at least, he can be thinking about it, rather than have him risk some sudden confrontation unprepared.”
“He would not believe me. You have seen how he gets whenever I mention Dara.”
“That in itself may say something. Possibly he suspects what might have happened and rejects it so vehemently because he would have it otherwise.”
“Right now it would just widen a rift I am trying to heal.”
“Your holding back on him now may serve to rupture it completely when he finds out.”
“No. I believe I know my brother better than you do.”
He released the reins.
“Very well,” he said. “I hope you are right.”
I did not answer, but started Firedrake to moving once more. There was an unspoken understanding between us that Ganelon could ask me anything he wanted, and it also went without saying that I would listen to any advice he had to offer me. This was partly because his position was unique. We were not related. He was no Amberite. The struggles and problems of Amber were his only by choice. We had been friends and then enemies long ago, and finally, more recently, friends again and allies in a battle in his adopted land. That matter concluded, he had asked to come with me, to help me deal with my own affairs and those of Amber. As I saw it, he owed me nothing now, nor I him—if one keeps a scoreboard tally on such matters. Therefore, it was friendship alone that bound us, a stronger thing than bygone debts and points of honor: in other words, a thing which gave him the right to bug me on matters such as this, where I might have told even Random to go to hell once I had made up my mind. I realized I should not be irritated when everything that he said was tendered in good faith. Most likely it was an old military feeling, going back to our earliest relationship as well as being tied in with the present state of affairs: I do not like having my decisions and orders questioned. Probably, I decided, I was irritated even more by the fact that he had made some shrewd guesses of late, and some fairly sound suggestions based upon them—things I felt I ought to have caught myself. No one likes to admit to a resentment based on something like that. Still . . . was that all? A simple projection of dissatisfaction over a few instances of personal inadequacy? An old army reflex as to the sanctity of my decisions? Or was it something deeper that had been bothering me and was just now coming to the surface?
“Corwin,” Ganelon said, “I’ve been doing some thinking . . .”
I sighed.
“Yes?”
“. . . about Random’s son. The way your crowd heals, I suppose it is possible that he might have survived and still be about.”
“I would like to think so.”
“Do not be too hasty.”
“What do you mean?”
“I gather he had very little contact with Amber and the rest of the family, growing up in Rebma the way that he did.”
“That is the way I understand it, too.”
“In fact, outside of Benedict—and Llewella, back in Rebma—the only other one he apparently had contact with would have been the one who stabbed him—Bleys, Brand, or Fiona. It has occurred to me that he probably has a pretty distorted view of the family.”
“Distorted,” I said, “but maybe not unwarranted, if I see what you are getting at.”
“I think you do. It seems conceivable that he is not only afraid of the family, but may have it in for the lot of you.”
“It is possible,” I said.
“Do you think he could have thrown in with the enemy?”
I shook my head.
“Not if he knows they are the tools of the crowd that tried to kill him.”
“But are they? I wonder . . . ? You say Brand got scared and tried to back out of whatever arrangement they had with the black road gang. If they are that strong, I wonder whether Fiona and Bleys might not have become their tools? If this were the case, I could see Martin angling for something which gave him power over them.”
“Too elaborate a structure of guesses,” I said.
“The enemy seems to know a lot about you.”
“True, but they had a couple traitors to give them lessons.”
“Could they have given them everything you say Dara knew?”
“That is a good point,” I said, “but it is hard to say.”
Except for the business about the Tecys, which occurred to me immediately. I decided to keep that to myself for the moment though, to find out what he was leading up to, rather than going off on a tangent. So, “Martin was hardly in a position to tell them much about Amber,” I said.
Ganelon was silent for a moment. Then, “Have you had a chance to check on the business I asked you about that night at your tomb?” he said.
“What business?”
“Whether the Trumps could be bugged,” he said. “Now that we know Martin had a deck . . .”
It was my turn to be silent while a small family of moments crossed my path, single file, from the left, sticking their tongues out at me.
“No,” I said then. “I haven’t had a chance.”
We proceeded on for quite a distance before he said, “Corwin, the night you brought Brand back.. . ?”
“Yes?”
“You say you accounted for everyone later, in trying to figure out who it was that stabbed you, and that any of them would have been hard put to pull the stunt in th
e time involved.”
“Oh,” I said, “and oh.”
He nodded.
“Now you have another relative to think about. He may lack the family finesse only because he is young and unpracticed.”
Sitting there in my mind, I gestured back at the silent parade of moments that crossed between Amber and then.
Chapter 4
She asked who it was when I knocked and I told her.
“Just a moment”
I heard her footsteps and then the door swung in. Vialle is only a little over five feet tall and quite slim. Brunette, fine-featured, very soft-spoken. She was wearing red. Her sightless eyes looked through me, reminding me of darkness past, of pain.
“Random,” I said, “asked me to tell you that he would be delayed a little longer, but that there was nothing to worry about.”
“Please come in,” she said, stepping aside and drawing the door the rest of the way open.
I did. I did not want to, but I did. I had not intended to take Random’s request literally—that I tell her what had happened and where he had gone. I had meant simply to tell her what I had already said, nothing more. It was not until we had ridden our separate ways that I realized exactly what Random’s request had amounted to: He had just asked me to go tell his wife, to whom I had never spoken more than half a dozen words, that he had taken off to go looking for his illegitimate son—the lad whose mother, Morganthe, had committed suicide, a thing for which Random had been punished by being forced to marry Vialle. The fact that the marriage had somehow worked beautifully was something which still amazed me. I had no desire to dispense a load of awkward tidings, and as I moved into the room I sought alternatives.
I passed a bust of Random set on a high shelf on the wall to my left. I had actually gone by before it registered that my brother was indeed the subject. Across the room, I saw her workbench. Turning back, I studied the bust.
“I did not realize that you sculpted,” I said.
The Chronicles of Amber Page 59