The Chronicles of Amber

by Roger Zelazny

  I moved forward and knelt, feeling the area on which she’d stood. It was a little warm, that’s all. Nice spell. Nobody’d ever taught me that one. Thinking back on it then, I realized that Mom had always had a flair when it came to entrances and exits.

  “Ghost?”

  He danced away from my wrist to hover in the air before me.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you still barred from transporting yourself through Shadow?”

  “No,” he replied. “That was lifted when the Sign of the Logrus departed. I can travel—in or out of Shadow. I can provide transportation for you. Would you like me to?”

  “Yes. Take me into the gallery upstairs.”

  “Gallery? I plunged directly from the place of the Logrus into the dark sea, Dad. I’m not quite sure as to the lay of the land here.”

  “Never mind,” I said. “I’ll manage it myself.”

  I activated the spikard. Energies spiraled from six of its tines, encaging Ghost and myself, swirling us upward to the place of my desire in the Maze of Art. I tried for a flash of fire as we went, but had no way of knowing whether I’d achieved it. Makes you wonder how the really good ones get their practice.

  Chapter 7

  I delivered us into that eerie hall that had always been old Sawall’s chief delight in the maze. It was a sculpture garden, with no outside light sources and small base lighting only about the huge pieces, making it several times darker than my favorite lounge. The floor was uneven—concave, convex, stepped, ridged—with concavity being the dominant curve. It was difficult to guess at its dimensions, for it seemed of different size and contour depending upon where one stood. Gramble, Lord Sawall, had caused it to be constructed without any plane surfaces—and I believe the job involved some unique shadowmastery.

  I stood beside what appeared to be a complicated rigging in the absence of its ship—that, or an elaborate musical instrument fit to be strummed by Titans—and the light turned the lines to silver, running like life from darkness to darkness within some half seen frame. Other pieces jutted from walls and hung like stalactites. As I strolled, what had seemed walls became floor to me. The pieces that had seemed floored now jutted or depended.

  The room changed shape as I went, and a breeze blew through it, causing sighs, hums, buzzes, chimes. Gramble, my stepfather, had taken a certain delight in this hall, whereas for me it had long represented an exercise in intrepidity to venture beyond its threshold. As I grew older, however, I, too, came to enjoy it, partly for the occasional frisson it provided my adolescence. Now, though—Now I just wanted to wander it a few moments, for old times’ sake, as I sorted through my thoughts. There were so damned many of them. Things that had tantalized me for much of my adult life seemed near to explanation now. I was not happy with all of the possibilities that tumbled through my mind. Still, no matter which ones came out on top, it would beat ignorance.

  “Dad?”

  “Yes?”

  “What is this place, anyway?” Ghost asked.

  “It’s a part of the big art collection here at the Ways of Sawall,” I explained. “People come from all over the Courts and nearby Shadow to see it. It was a passion with my stepfather. I spent a lot of time wandering these halls when I was a kid. There are many hidden ways in this place.”

  “And this particular room? There’s something wrong with it.”

  “Yes and no,” I said. “I guess it depends on what you mean by `wrong’.”

  “My perceptions are strangely affected just now.”

  “That is because the space itself is folded in here, like some odd origami figure. The hall is much larger than it seems. You can wander through many times and witness a different array of displays on each occasion. There may even be some internal movement involved. I was never sure. Only Sawall knew for certain.”

  “I was right. Something’s wrong with it.”

  “I rather like it this way.”

  I seated myself on a silver stump beside a sprawled silver tree.

  “I want to see how it folds,” he said at last.

  “Go ahead.”

  As he drifted off, I thought of my recent interview with my mother. I was reminded of everything Mandor had said or implied, of the conflict between the Pattern and the Logrus, of my father as the champion of the Pattern and intended king in Amber. Had she known this, known it as fact rather than speculation? I imagined she could have, for she seemed to enjoy a special relationship with the Logrus, and it would surely have been aware of its adversary’s more prominent decisions. She’d admitted that she did not love the man. It seemed as if she had sought him for whatever genetic material had so impressed the Pattern. Had she really been trying to breed a champion for the Logrus?

  I chuckled as I considered the result. She had seen me trained well in arms, but I was nowhere near Dad’s league. I’d preferred sorcery, but sorcerers were a dime a dozen in the Courts. Finally, she’d shipped me off to college on that Shadow Earth the Amberites favor. But a degree in Computer Science from Berkeley didn’t much qualify me to uphold the banner of Chaos against the forces of Order either. I must have been a disappointment to her.

  I thought back to my childhood, to some of the strange adventures for which this place had served as a point of departure. Gryll and I would come here, Glait slithering at our feet, coiled about a limb or riding somewhere amid my garments. I would give that odd ululant cry I had learned in a dream, and sometimes Kergma would join us, come skittering down the folds of darkness, out some frayed area of twisted space. I was never sure exactly what Kergma was, or even of what gender, for Kergma was a shapeshifter and flew, crawled, hopped, or ran in a succession of interesting forms.

  On an impulse, I voiced that ancient call. Nothing, of course, happened, and I saw it moments later for what it was: a cry after a vanished childhood, when I had at least felt wanted. Now, now I was nothing—neither Amberite nor Chaosite, and certainly a disappointment to my relatives on both sides. I was a failed experiment. I’d never been wanted for myself, but as something that might come to pass. Suddenly my eyes were moist, and I held back a sob. And I’ll never know what sort of mood I might have worked myself into because I was distracted then.

  There came a flare of red light from a point high on the wall to my left. It was in the form of a small circle about the feet of a human figure.

  “Merlin!” called a voice from that direction, and the flames leapt higher. By their light, I saw that familiar face, reminding me a bit of my own, and I was pleased with the meaning it had just given to my life, even if that meaning was death.

  I raised my left hand above my head and willed a flash of blue light from the spikard.

  “Over here, Jurt!” I called, rising to my feet. I began forming the ball of light that was to be his distraction while I readied the strike that would electrocute him. On reflection, it had seemed the surest way of taking him out. I’d lost count of the number of attempts he’d made on my life, and I’d resolved to take the initiative the next time he came calling. Frying his nervous system seemed the surest way to ice him, despite what the Fountain had done for him. “Over here, Jurt!”

  “Merlin! I want to talk!”

  “I don’t. I’ve tried it too often, and I’ve nothing left to say. Come on over and let’s get this done—weapons, hands, magic. I don’t care.”

  He raised both hands, palms outward.

  “Truce!” he cried. “It wouldn’t be right to do it here in Sawall.”

  “Don’t give me that scruples shit, brother!” I cried, but even as I said it I realized there might be something to it. I could remember how much the old man’s approval had meant to him, and I realized that he’d hate to do anything to antagonize Dara here on the premises. “What do you want, anyway?”

  “To talk. I mean it,” he said. “What do I have to do?”

  “Meet me over there,” I said, casting my ball of light to shine above a familiar object that looked like a giant house of cards made of glass and
aluminum, bouncing light from hundreds of planes.

  “All right,” came the reply.

  I began walking in that direction. I saw him approaching from his, and I angled my course so that our paths would not intersect. Also, I increased my pace so as to arrive ahead of him.

  “No tricks,” he called out. “And if we do decide we can only take it to the end, let’s go outside.”

  “Okay.”

  I entered the structure at a point around the corner from his approach. Immediately, I encountered six images of myself.

  “Why here?” came his voice from somewhere near at hand.

  “I don’t suppose you ever saw a movie called Lady from Shanghai?”

  “No.”

  “It occurred to me that we could wander around in here and talk, and the place would do a lot to keep us from hurting each other.”

  I turned a corner. There were more of me in different places. A few moments later, I heard a sharp intake of breath from somewhere near at hand. It was followed almost immediately by a chuckle.

  “I begin to understand,” I heard him say.

  Three steps and another turn. I halted. There were two of him and two of me. He was not looking at me, though. I reached out slowly toward one of the images. He turned, he saw me. His mouth opened as he stepped back and vanished.

  “What did you want to talk about?” I asked, halting.

  “It’s hard to know where to begin.”

  “That’s life.”

  “You upset Dara quite a bit. . . . ”

  “That was quick. I only left her ten, fifteen minutes ago. You’re staying here at Sawall?”

  “Yes. And I knew she was having lunch with you. I just saw her briefly a little while ago.”

  “Well, she didn’t make me feel too good either.”

  I turned another corner and passed through a doorway in time to see him smile faintly.

  “She’s that way sometimes. I know,” he said. “She tells me the Logrus came by for dessert.”

  “Yes.”

  “She said it seems to have chosen you for the throne.”

  I hoped he saw my shrug.

  “It seemed that way. I don’t want it, though.”

  “But you said you’d do it.”

  “Only if there’s no other way to restore a certain balance of forces. It’s a last resort sort of thing. It won’t come to that, I’m sure.”

  “But it chose you.”

  Another shrug.

  “Tmer and Tubble precede me.”

  “That doesn’t matter. I’d wanted it, you know.”

  “I know. Seems a pretty dumb career choice.”

  Suddenly, he surrounded me.

  “It does now,” he admitted. “It was getting that way some time, though, before you got designated. I thought I had the edge each time we met, and each time you came a little closer to killing me.”

  “It did keep getting messier.”

  “That last time—in the church-in Kashfa, I was certain I could finally take you out. Instead, you damn near did me in.”

  “Say that Dara or Mandor removed Tmer and Tubble. You knew you’d have to take care of me yourself, but what about Despil?”

  “He’d step aside for me.”

  “You asked him?”

  “No. But I’m sure.”

  I moved on.

  “You always assumed too much, Jurt.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” he said, appearing and vanishing again. “Either way, it doesn’t matter.”

  “Why not?”

  “I quit. I’m out of the running. The hell with it.”

  “How come?”

  “Even if the Logrus hadn’t made its intentions clear, I was beginning to feel nervous. It was not just that I was afraid you’d kill me either. I got to thinking about myself, and the succession. What if I made it to the throne? I’m not so sure as I once was that I’m competent to hold it.” I turned again, caught a glimpse of him licking his lips, brows knotted. “I could mess up the realm severely,” he went on, “unless I had good advice. And you know that, ultimately, it would come from Mandor or Dara. I’d wind up a puppet, wouldn’t I?”

  “Probably. But you’ve gotten me very curious. When did you start thinking this way? Might it coincide with your treatment in the Fountain? What if my interruption made yours closer to the correct course there?”

  “It’s possible there’s something to that,” he said. “I’m glad now I didn’t go the full route. I suspect it might have driven me mad, as it did Brand. But it may not have been that at all. Or—I don’t know.”

  There was silence as I sidled along a passageway, my puzzled images keeping pace in the mirrors at either hand.

  “She didn’t want me to kill you,” he finally blurted from somewhere off to my right.

  “Julia?”

  “Yes.”

  “How is she?”

  “Recovering. Pretty rapidly, actually.”

  “Is she here at Sawall?”

  “Yes.”

  “Look, I’d like to see her. But if she doesn’t want to, I understand. I didn’t know it was her when I stabbed Mask, and I’m sorry.”

  “She never really wanted to hurt you. Her quarrel was with Jasra. With you, it was an elaborate game. She wanted to prove she was as good as—maybe better than—you. She wanted to show you what you’d thrown away.”

  “Sorry,” I muttered.

  “Tell me one thing, please,” he said. “Did you love her? Did you ever really love her?”

  I didn’t answer him immediately. After all, I’d asked myself that question many times, and I’d had to wait for the answer, too.

  “Yes,” I finally said. “I didn’t realize it till it was too late, though. Bad timing on my part.”

  A little later I asked, “What about you?”

  “I’m not going to make the same mistake you did,” he replied. “She’s what got me to thinking about all these things. . . . ”

  “I understand. If she won’t see me, tell her that I said I’m sorry—about everything.”

  There was no reply. I stood still for a time, hoping he’d catch up with me, but he didn’t.

  Then, “Okay,” I called out. “Our duel’s ended, so far as I’m concerned.”

  I began moving again. After a time, I came to an exit and I stepped through it.

  He was standing outside, looking up at a massive porcelain face.

  “Good,” he said.

  I drew near.

  “There’s more,” he said, still not looking at me.

  “Oh?”

  “I think they’re stacking the deck,” he stated.

  “Who? How? What for?”

  “Mom and the Logrus,” he told me. “To put you on the throne. Who’s the bride of the Jewel?”

  “I guess that would be Coral. It seems I did hear Dara use that term at some point. Why?”

  “I overheard her giving orders last cycle, to some of her Hendrake kin. She’s sending a special team to kidnap this woman and bring her here. I got the impression she’s intended as your queen.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I said. “She’s married to my friend Luke. She’s Queen of Kashfa—”

  He shrugged.

  “Just telling you what I heard,” he said. “It had to do with this balancing of forces thing.”

  Indeed. I hadn’t thought of that possibility, but it made perfect sense. With Coral, the Courts would automatically obtain the Jewel of Judgment, or the Eye of the Serpent as it was known hereabout, and that balance would certainly be affected. A loss for Amber, a gain for the Courts. It could be sufficient to achieve what I wanted, the harmony that might postpone catastrophe indefinitely.

  Too bad I couldn’t let it occur. The poor girl had been jerked around too much, because she happened to be in Amber at the wrong time, because she happened to take a liking to me. I can recall once feeling philosophical in the abstract and deciding, yes, it would be okay to sacrifice one innocent for the good of the many.
That was back in college, and had something to do with principles. But Coral was my friend, my cousin, and technically my lover—though under a set of circumstances that should hardly count; and a quick check of my feelings, so as not to be caught up short again, indicated that I could fall in love with her. All of which meant that philosophy had lost yet another round in the real world.

  “How long ago did she send these people off, Jurt?”

  “I don’t know when they left—or even if they’ve left yet,” he replied. “And with the time differential, they could be gone and back already for that matter.”

  “True,” I said, and, “Shit!”

  He turned and looked at me.

  “It’s important in all sorts of other ways, too, I suppose?” he said.

  “It is to her, and she is to me,” I answered.

  His expression changed to one of puzzlement.

  “In that case,” he said, “why don’t you just let them bring her to you? If you have to take the throne, it will sweeten things. If you don’t, you’ll have her with you, anyhow.”

  “Feelings are hard enough to keep secret, even around non-sorcerers,” I said. “She could be used as a hostage against my behavior.”

  “Oh. I hate to say this pleases me. What I mean is . . . I’m pleased you care about someone else.”

  I lowered my head. I wanted to reach out and touch him, but I didn’t.

  Jurt made a little humming noise, as he sometimes had when pondering things as a kid. Then, “We’ve got to get her before they do, and move her to someplace safe,” he said. “Or take her away from them if they’ve already got her.”

  “`We’?”

  He smiled, a rare event.

  “You know what I’ve become. I’m tough.”

  “I hope so,” I said. “But you know what’ll happen if there are any witnesses to say it was a couple of the Sawall brothers behind this? Most likely a vendetta with Hendrake.”

  “Even if Dara talked them into it?”

  “It’ll look like she set them up.”

  “Okay,” he said. “No witnesses.”