I grunted a noncommittal. Family loyalty always touches me, somewhere. I could not tell whether she believed what I had said about Caine. But things sort of • canal-to equal things sort of being equal to each other. it didn't much seem to matter. I did not tell her anything about Brand and she did not seem to possess any new information concerning him. Her only other comment when everything I'd had to say was said, was, “You wear the jewel well. What about the headpiece?”
“It is too soon to talk of such things,” I told her.
“Whatever my support may be worth...”
“I know,” I said. “I know.”
My tomb is a quiet place. It stands alone in a rocky declivity, shielded on three sides against the elements, surrounded by transported soil wherein a pair of scrubby trees, miscellaneous shrubs, weeds, and great ropes of mountain ivy are rooted, about two miles down, in back of the crest of Kolvir. It is a long, low building with two benches in front, and the ivy has contrived to cover it to a great extent, mercifully masking most of a bombastic statement graven on its face beneath my name. It is, understandably, vacant most of the time.
That evening, however, Ganelon and I repaired thither, accompanied by a good supply of wine and some loaves and cold cuts.
“You weren't joking!” he said, having dismounted, crossed over, and parted the ivy, able to read by the moon's light the words that were rendered there.
“Of course not,” I said, climbing down and taking charge of the horses. “It's mine all right.”
Tethering our mounts to a nearby shrub, I unslung our bags of provisions and carried them to the nearest bench. Ganelon joined me as I opened the first bottle and poured us a dark, deep pair.
“I still don't understand,” he said, accepting his.
“What's there to understand? I'm dead and buried there,” I said. “It's my cenotaph, is what it is-the monument that gets set up when the body has not been recovered. I only just learned about mine recently. It was raised several centuries ago, when it was decided I wasn't coming back.”
“Kind of spooky,” he said. “What's inside then?”
“Nothing. Though they did thoughtfully provide a niche and a casket, just in case my remains put in an appearance. You cover both bets that way.”
Ganelon made himself a sandwich.
“Whose idea was it?” he asked.
“Random thinks it was Brand's or Eric's. No one remembers for sure. They all seemed to feel it was a good idea at the time.”
He chuckled, an evil noise that perfectly suited his creased, scarred, and red-bearded self.
“What's to become of it now?”
I shrugged.
“I suppose some of them think it's a shame to waste it this way and would like to see me fill it. In the meantime, though, it's a good place to come and get drunk. I hadn't really paid my respects yet. “
I put together a pair of sandwiches and ate them both. This was the first real breather I had had since my return, and perhaps the last for some time to come. It was impossible to say. But I had not really had a chance to speak with Ganelon at any length during the past week, and he was one of the few persons I trusted. I wanted to tell him everything. I had to. I had to talk with someone who was not a part of it in the same way as the rest of us. So I did.
The moon moved a considerable distance and the shards of broken glass multiplied within my crypt.
“So how did the others take it?” he asked me.
“Predictably,” I answered. “I could tell that Julian did not believe a word of it even though he said that he did. He knows how I feel about him, and he is in no position to challenge me. I don't think Benedict believes me either, but he is a lot harder to read. He is biding his time, and I hope giving me the benefit of the doubt while he is about it. As for Gerard, I have the feeling that this was the final weight, and whatever trust he had left for me has just collapsed. Still, he will be returning to Amber early tomorrow, to accompany me to the grove to recover Caine's body. No sense in turning it into a safari, but I did want another family member present. Deirdre now-she seemed happy about it. Didn't believe a word. I'm sure. But no matter. She has always been on my side, and she has never liked Caine. I'd say she is glad that I seem to be consolidating my position. I can't really tell whether Llewella believed me or not. She doesn't much give a damn what the rest of us do to one another, so far as I can see. As to Fiona, she simply seemed amused at the whole business. But then, she has always had this detached, superior way of regarding things. You can never be certain what represents her real thinking.”
“Did you tell them the business about Brand yet?”
“No. I told them about Caine and I told them I wanted them all to be in Amber by tomorrow evening. That is when the subject of Brand will be raised. I've an idea I want to try out.”
“You contacted all of them by means of the Trumps?”
“That's right.”
“There is something I have been meaning to ask you about that. Back on the shadow world we visited to obtain the weapons, there are telephones...”
“Yes?”
“I learned about wiretaps and such while we were there. Is it possible, do you think, that the Trumps could be bugged?”
I began to laugh, then caught myself as some of the implications of his suggestion sank in. Finally, “I don't really know,” I said. “So much concerning Dworkin's work remains a mystery-the thought just never occurred to me. I've never tried it myself. I wonder, though...”
“Do you know how many sets there are?”
“Well, everyone in the family has a pack or two and there were a dozen or so spares in the library. I don't really know whether there are any others.”
“It seems to me that a lot could be learned just by listening in.”
“Yes. Dad's deck. Brand's, my original pack, the one Random lost-Hell! There are quite a number unaccounted for these days. I don't know what to do about it. Start an inventory and try some experiments, I guess. Thanks for mentioning it.”
He nodded and we both sipped for a while in silence.
Then, “What are you going to do, Corwin?” he asked.
“About what?”
“About everything. What do we attack now, and in what order?”
“My original intention was to begin tracing the black road toward its origin as soon as things were more settled here in Amber,” I said. “Now, though, I have shifted my priorities. I want Brand returned as soon as possible, if he is still living. If not, I want to find out what happened to him.”
“But will the enemy give you the breathing time? He might be preparing a new offensive right now.”
“Yes, of course. I have considered that. I feel we have some time, since they were defeated so recently. They will have to pull themselves together again, beef up their forces, reassess the situation in light of our new weapons. What I have in mind for the moment is to establish a series of lookout stations along the road to give us advance warning of any new movements on their part. Benedict has already agreed to take charge of the operation.”
“I wonder how much time we have.”
I poured him another drink, as it was the only answer I could think of.
“Things were never this complicated back in Avalon-our Avalon, I mean.”
“True,” I said. “You are not the only one who misses those days. At least, they seem simpler now.”
He nodded. I offered him a cigarette, but he declined in favor of his pipe. In the flamelight, he studied the Jewel of Judgment which still hung about my neck.
“You say you can really control the weather with that thing?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“How do you know?”
“I've tried it. It works.”
“What did you do?”
“That storm this afternoon. It was mine.”
“I wonder...”
“What?”
“I wonder what I would have done with that sort of power. What I would do wi
th it.”
“The first thing that crossed my mind,” I said, slapping the wall of my tomb, “was to destroy this place by lightning-strike it repeatedly and reduce it to rubble. Leave no doubt in anyone's mind as to my feelings, my power.”
“Why didn't you?”
“Got to thinking about it a bit more then. Decided-Hell! They might really have a use for the place before too long, if I'm not smart enough or tough enough or lucky enough. Such being the case, I tried to decide where I would like them to dump my bones. It caught me then that this is really a pretty good spot-up high, clean, where the elements still walk naked. Nothing in sight but rock and sky. Stars, clouds, sun, moon, wind, rain... better company than a lot of other stiffs. Don't know why I should have to lie beside anyone I wouldn't want next to me now, and there aren't many.”
“You're getting morbid, Corwin. Or drunk. Or both. Bitter, too. You don't need that.”
“Who the hell are you to say what I need?”
I felt him stiffen beside me, then relax.
“I don't know,” he finally said. “Just saying what I see.”
“How are the troops holding up?” I asked.
“I think they are still bewildered, Corwin. They came to fight a holy war on the slopes of heaven. They think that's what the shooting was all about last week. So they are happy on that count, seeing as we won. But now this waiting, in the city... They don't understand the place. Some of the ones they thought to be enemies are now friends. They are confused. They know they are being kept ready for combat, but they have no idea against whom, or when. As they have been restricted to the billets the whole time, they have not yet realized the extent to which their presence is resented by the regulars and the population at large. They will probably be catching on fairly soon, though. I had been waiting to raise the subject, but you've been so busy lately...”
I sat smoking for a time.
Then, “I guess I had better have a talk with them,” I said. “Won't have a chance tomorrow, though, and something should be done soon. I think they should be moved-to a bivouac area in the Forest of Arden. Tomorrow, yes. I'll locate it for you on the map when we get back. Tell them it is to keep them close to the black road. Tell them that another attack could come that way at any time-which is no less than the truth. Drill them, maintain their fighting edge. I'll come down as soon as I can and talk to them.”
“That will leave you without a personal force in Amber.”
“True. It may prove a useful risk, though, both as a demonstration of confidence and a gesture of consideration. Yes, I think it will turn out to be a good move. If not...” I shrugged.
I poured and tossed another empty into my tomb.
“By the way,” I said, “I'm sorry.”
“What for?”
“I just noticed that I am morbid and drunk and bitter. I don't need that.”
He chuckled and clicked his glass against my own.
“I know,” he said. “I know.”
So we sat there while the moon fell, till the last bottle was interred among its fellows. We talked for a time of days gone by. At length we fell silent and my eyes drifted to the stars above Amber. It was good that we had come to this place, but now the city was calling me back. Knowing my thoughts, Ganelon rose and stretched, headed for the horses. I relieved myself beside my tomb and followed him.
CHAPTER 5
The Grove of the Unicorn lies in Arden to the southwest of Kolvir, near to that jutting place where the land begins its final descent into the valley called Gamath. While Gamath had been cursed, burned, invaded, and fought through in recent years, the adjacent highlands stood unmolested. The grove where Dad claimed to have seen the unicorn ages before and to have experienced the peculiar events which led to his adopting the beast as the patron of Amber and placing it on his coat of arms, was, as near as we could tell, a spot now but slightly screened from the long view across Gamath to the sea-twenty or thirty paces in from the upper edge of things: an asymmetrical glade where a small spring trickled from a mass of rock, formed a clear pool, brimmed into a tiny creek, made its way off toward Gamath and on down.
It was to this place that Gerard and I rode the following day, leaving at an hour that found us halfway down our trail from Kolvir before the sun skipped flakes of light across the ocean, then cast its whole bucketful against the sky. Gerard drew rein as it was doing this. He dismounted then and motioned to me to do the same. I did, leaving Star and the pack horse I was leading there beside his own huge piebald. I followed him off perhaps a dozen paces into a basin half-filled with gravel. He halted and I came up beside him.
“What is it?” I asked.
He turned and faced me and his eyes were narrow and his jaw clamped tight. He unfastened his cloak, folded it, and placed it on the ground. He unclapped his swordbelt and lay it atop the cloak.
“Get rid of your blade and your cloak,” he said. “They will only get in the way.”
I had an inkling of what was coming, and I decided I had better go along with it. I folded my cloak, placed the Jewel of Judgment beside Grayswandir, and faced him once again. I said only one word.
“Why?”
“It has been a long time,” he said, “and you might have forgotten.”
He came at me slowly, and I got my arms out in front of me and backed away. He did not swing at me. I used to be faster than he was. We were both crouched, and he was making slow, pawing movements with his left hand, his right hand nearer to his body, twitching slightly.
If I had had to choose a place to fight with Gerard, this would not have been it. He, of course, was aware of this. If I had to fight with Gerard at all, I would not have chosen to do so with my hands. I am better than Gerard with a blade or a quarterstaff. Anything that involved speed and strategy and gave me a chance to hit him occasionally while keeping him at bay would permit me to wear him down eventually and provide openings for heavier and heavier assaults. He, of course, was aware of this also. That is why he had trapped me as he had. I understood Gerard, though, and I had to play by his rules now.
I brushed his hand away a couple of times as he stepped up his movements, pressing nearer to me with every pace. Finally I took a chance, ducked and swung. I landed a fast, hard left just a little above his middle. It would have broken a stout board or ruptured the insides of a lesser mortal. Unfortunately, time had not softened Gerard. I heard him grunt, but he blocked my right, got his right hand under my left arm, and caught my shoulder from behind.
I closed with him fast then, anticipating a shoulder lock I might not be able to break; and, turning, driving forward, catching his left shoulder in a similar fashion, I hooked my right leg behind his knee and was able to cast him backward to the ground.
He maintained his grip, though, and I came down atop him. I released my own hold and was able to drive my right elbow into his left side as we hit. The angle was not ideal and his left hand went up and across, reaching to grasp his right somewhere behind my head.
I was able to duck out of it, but he still had my arm. For a moment I had a clear shot at his groin with my right, but I restrained myself. It is not that I have any qualms about hitting a man below his belt. I knew that if I did it to Gerard just then his reflexes would probably cause him to break my shoulder. Instead, scraping my forearm on the gravel, I managed to twist my left arm up behind his head, while at the same time sliding my right arm between his legs and catching him about the left thigh. I rolled back as I did this, attempting to straighten my legs as soon as my feet were beneath me. I wanted to raise him off the ground and slam him down again, driving my shoulder into his middle for good measure.
But Gerard scissored his legs and rolled to the left, forcing me to somersault across his body. I let go my hold on his head and pulled my left arm free as I went over. I scrambled clockwise then, dragging my right arm away and going for a toehold.
But Gerard would have none of that. He had gotten his arms beneath him by then. With one great heave he tore h
imself free and twisted his way back to his feet. I straightened myself and leaped backwards. He began moving toward me immediately, and I decided that he was going to maul the hell out of me if I just kept grappling with him. I had to take a few chances.
I watched his feet, and at what I judged to be the best moment I dove in beneath his extended arms just as he was shifting his weight forward onto his left foot and raising his right. I was able to catch hold of his right ankle and hoist it about four feet high behind him. He went over and down, forward and to his left.
He scrambled to get to his feet and I caught him on the jaw with a left that knocked him down again. He shook his head and blocked with his arms as he came up once more. I tried to kick him in the stomach, but missed as he pivoted, catching him on the hip. He maintained his balance and advanced again.
I threw jabs at his face and circled. I caught him twice more in the stomach and danced away. He smiled. He knew I was afraid to close with him. I snapped a kick at his stomach and connected. His arms dropped sufficiently for me to chop him alongside the neck, just above the collarbone. At that moment, however, his arms shot forward and locked about my waist. I slammed his jaw with the heel of my hand, but it did not stop him from tightening his grip and raising me above the ground. Too late to hit him again. Those massive arms were already crushing my kidneys. I sought his carotids with my thumbs, squeezed.
But he kept raising me, back, up over his head. My grip loosened, slipped away. Then he slammed me down on my back in the gravel, as peasant women do their laundry on rocks.
There were exploding points of light and the world was a jittering, half-real place as he dragged me to my feet again. I saw his fist—
The sunrise was lovely, but the angle was wrong. By about ninety degrees...
Suddenly I was assailed by vertigo. It canceled out the beginning awareness of a roadmap of pains that ran along my back and reached the big city somewhere in the vicinity of my chin.
I was hanging high in the air. By turning my head slightly I could see for a very great distance, down.
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