The Great Book of Amber

by Roger Zelazny

  “You'll bear in mind that this is classified until tomorrow?”

  “Okay. What happens tomorrow?”

  “Arkans, Duke of Shadburne, gets crowned in Kashfa.”

  “Holy shit!” Luke said. He glanced at Julian, then back at me. “That was a damned clever choice on Random's part,” he said after a time. “I didn't think he'd move this fast.”

  He stared off into some vanishing point for a long while. Then he said, “Thanks.”

  “Well, does it help or hurt?” I asked.

  “Me, or Kashfa?” he said.

  “I hadn't split it down that fine.”

  “That's okay, because I'm not sure how to take this. I need to do some thinking. Get the big picture.”

  I stared at him and he smiled again.

  “It is interesting,” he added. “You got anything else for me?”

  “That's enough,” I said.

  “Yeah, probably you're right,” he agreed. “Don't want to overload the systems. Think we're losing touch with the simple things, old buddy?”

  “Not so long as we know each other,” I said.

  Julian dropped the flap, returned to us, and sought his wine cup.

  “Your food will be along in a few minutes,” he told Luke.

  “Thanks.”

  “According to Benedict,” he said, “you told Random that Dalt is a son of Oberon.”

  “I did,” Luke acknowledged. “One who's walked the Pattern, at that. Does it make a difference?”

  Julian shrugged.

  “Won't be the first time I've wanted to kill a relative,” he stated. “By the way, you're my nephew, aren't you?”

  “Right... uncle.”

  Julian swirled the contents of his cup again.

  “Well, welcome to Amber,” he said. “I heard a banshee last night. I wonder if there's any connection?”

  “Change,” Luke said. “They mean things are changing and they wail for . what's being lost.”

  “Death. They mean death, don't they?”

  “Not always. Sometimes they just show up at turning points for dramatic effect.”

  “Too bad,” Julian said. “But one can always hope.”

  I thought Luke was going to say something else, but Julian began again before he could.

  “How well did you know your father?” he asked.

  Luke stiffened slightly, but answered, “Maybe not well as most. I don't know. He was like a salesman. Always coming and going. Didn't usually stay with us long.”

  Julian nodded.

  “What was he like, near the end?” he inguired.

  Luke studied his hands.

  “Well, he wasn't exactly normal, if that's what you mean,” he finally said. “Like I was telling Merlin earlier, I think the process he undertook to gain his powers might have unbalanced him some.”

  “I never heard that story.”

  Luke shrugged.

  “The details aren't all that important just the results.”

  “You're saying he wasn't a bad father before that?”

  “Hell, I don't know. I never had another father to a compare him to. Why do you ask?”

  “Curiosity. It's a part of his life I knew nothing about.”

  “Well, what kind of brother was he?”

  “Wild,” Julian said. “We didn't get along all that well. So we pretty much stayed out of each other's ways. He was smart, though. Talented, too. Had a flare for the arts. I was just trying to figure how much you might take after him.”

  Luke turned his hands palms upward. “Beats me,” he said.

  “Well, no matter,” Julian replied, setting down his cup and turning toward the front of the tent again. “I believe your food is about to arrive.”

  He moved off in that direction. I could hear the tiny crystals of ice rattling against the canvas overhead, and a few growls from outside: concerto for wind and hellhound. No banshees, though. Not yet.

  CHAPTER 9

  I walked a pace or so behind Luke, a couple of yards off to his left, trying to keep even with Julian, who was over to the right. The torch I bore was a big thing, about six tapering feet of pitchy wood, sharpened at its terminus to make it easy to drive into the ground. I held it at arm's distance, because the oily flames licked and lashed in all directions in accord with vagaries of the wind. Sharp, icy flakes fell upon my cheek, my forehead, my hands, with a few catching in my eyebrows and lashes. I blinked vigorously as the heat of the torch melted them and they ran into my eyes. The grasses beneath my feet were sufficiently cold to give a brittle, crunching sensation every time I took a step. Directly ahead I could see the slow advance of two other torches toward us, and the shadowy figure of a man who walked between them. I blinked and waited for the flow from one or the other of his torches to give me a better look. I'd only seen him once, very briefly, via Trump, back at Arbor House. His hair looked golden, or even coppery, by what light there was upon it, but I remembered it as a kind of dirty blond by natural light. His eyes, I recalled, were green, though there was no way I could see that now. I did begin to realize for the first time, however, that he was pretty big-either that or he had chosen fairly short torchbearers. He had been alone that one time I'd seen him, and I had had no standard for comparison. As the light from our torches reached him I saw that he had on a heavy, green sleeveless doublet without a collar, over something black and also heavy, with sleeves that extended down his arms to vanish within green gauntlets. His trousers were black, as were the high boots they entered; his cloak was black and lined with an emerald green that caught our light as the cloak furled about him in shifting, oily landscapes of yellow and red. He wore a heavy circular medallion, which looked to be gold, on a chain about his neck; and though I could not make out the details of its device, I was certain that it bore a Lion rending a Unicorn. He came to a halt about ten or twelve paces from Luke, who stopped an instant later. Dalt gestured, and his retainers drove the butts of their torches into the ground. Julian and I immediately did the same, and we remained near them, as Dalt's men were doing. Then Dalt nodded to Luke, and they both advanced again, meeting at the center of the box formed by the lights, clasping right forearms, staring into each other's eyes. Luke's back was to me, but I could see Dalt's face. He showed no signs of emotion, but his lips were already moving. I couldn't hear a word that was being said, between the wind and the fact that they seemed intentionally to be keeping it low. At least, I finally had a point of reference for Dalt's size. Luke is about six three, and I could see that Dalt was several inches taller. I glanced at Julian, but he was not looking my way. I wondered how many eyes regarded us from both sides of the field.

  Julian is always a bad person to check for reactions. He was simply watching the two of them, expressionless, stolid. I cultivated the same attitude, and the minutes passed, the snow kept falling.

  After a long while Luke turned away and headed back toward us. Dalt moved off toward one of his torchbearers. Luke stopped midway between us, and Julian and I moved to join him.

  “What's up?” I asked him.

  “Oh,” he said, “I think I found a way of settling this without a war.”

  “Great,” I said. “What did you sell him?”

  “I sold him on the idea of fighting a duel with me to determine how this thing goes,” he explained.

  “God damn it, Luke! “ I said. “That guy's a pro! And I'm sure he's got our genetic package for strength. And he's been living in the field all this time. He's probably in top shape. And he outweighs you and outreaches you.”

  Luke grinned.

  “So, I might get lucky,” he said. He looked at Julian. “Anyway, if you can get a message back to the lines and tell them not to attack when we start this thing, Dalt's side will be holding still for it, too.”

  Julian looked over to where one of Dalt's torchbearers had started back toward his lines. He turned toward his own side then and executed a number of hand signals. Shortly, a man emerged from cover and began jogs toward us.
>
  “Luke;” I said. “This is crazy. The only way you're going to win is to get Benedict for a second and then break a leg.”

  “Merle,” he said, “let it go. This is between Dalt and me. Okay?”

  “I've got a bunch of fairly fresh spells,” I said. “We can let this thing start, and then I'll hit him with one at the right time. It'll look as if you did it.”

  “No!” he said. “This really is a matter of honor. So you've got to stay out of it.”

  “Okay,” I said, “if that's how you want it.”

  “Besides, nobody's going to die,” he explained. “Neither of us wants that right now, and it's part of the deal. We're too valuable to each other alive. No weapons. Strictly mano a mono. “.

  “Just what,” Julian inquired, “is the deal?”

  “If Dalt whips my ass,” Luke replied, “I'm his prisoner. He'll withdraw his force and I'll accompany him.”

  “Luke, you're crazy!” I said.

  Julian glared at me.

  “Continue,” he said.

  “If I win, he's my prisoner,” he went on. “He goes back with me to Amber, or anywhere else I care to transport him, and his officers withdraw his troops.”

  “The only way of assuring such a withdrawal,” Julian said, “is to let them know that if they don't they're doomed.”

  “Of course,” Luke said. “That's why I told him that Benedict is waiting in the wings to roll down on him. I'm sure it's the only reason he's agreed to do this.”

  “Most astute,” Julian observed. “Either way, Amber wins. What are you trying to buy with this, Rinaldo, for yourself?”

  Luke smiled.

  “Think about it,” he said.

  “There is more to you than I'd thought, Nephew,” he replied. “Move over there to my right, would you?”

  “Why?”

  “To block his view of me, of course. I've got to let Benedict know what's going on.”

  Luke moved while Julian located his Trumps and is shuffled out the proper one. In the meantime the runner from our lines had come up and stood waiting. Julian put away all of the cards but one then, and commenced his communication. It lasted for a minute or so, then Julian paused to speak with the runner and send him back. Immediately, he continued the conversation with the card. When he finally stopped talking or seeming to listen, he did not restore the Trump to the inner pocket where he kept the others, but retained it in his hand out of sight. I realized then that the contact would not be broken, that he would stay in touch with Benedict until this business was finished, so that Benedict would know in an instant what it was that he must do.

  Luke unfastened the cloak I'd lent him, came over, and handed it to me.

  “Hold this till I'm done, will you?” he said.

  “Yes,” I agreed, accepting it. “Good luck.”

  He smiled briefly and turned away. Dalt was already moving toward the center of the square.

  Luke advanced, also. He and Dalt both halted, facing each other, while there were still several paces separating them. Dalt said something I could not hear, and Luke's reply was lost to me, also.

  Then they raised their arms. Luke struck a boxer's stance, and Dalt's hands came up in a wrestler's defense. Luke threw the first punch-or maybe it was just a feint; either way, it didn't land-toward Dalt's face. Dalt brushed at it and stepped back, and Luke moved in quickly and landed two blows on his midsection. Another shot at his face was blocked, though, and Luke began to circle, jabbing. Dalt tried rushing twice then and got clipped both times, a little trickle of blood coming from his lip after the second one. On his third rush, though, he sent Luke sprawling but was unable to crash down on top of him, as Luke was able to twist partly away and roll when he hit. He tried kicking Dalt in the right kidney, though, as soon as he'd scrambled to his feet, and Dalt caught his ankle and rose, bearing him over backward. Luke landed a kick on the side of his knee with his other foot as he went down, but Dalt kept hold of the foot, bearing down and beginning to twist. Luke bent forward then, grimacing, and managed to catch Dalt's right wrist with both hands and tear his foot free of the larger man's grip. He doubled and moved forward then, still holding the wrist, regaining his feet and straightening as he advanced, passing under Dalt's arm on his right side, turning, and dragging him face downward to the ground. He moved quickly then, bending the arm up into a hammerlock, holding it with his right hand and seizing a handful of Dalt's hair with his left. But as he drew Dalt's head backward-preparatory, I was certain, to slamming it a few times against the ground-I saw that it wasn't going to work. Dalt stiffened, and his arm started to move downward. He was straightening it against Luke's lock. Luke tried pushing Dalt's head forward several times then, without effect. It became apparent that if he released either hand he was in trouble, and he wasn't able to maintain the hold. Dalt was just too damned strong. Seeing this, Luke threw all of his weight against Dalt's back, pushed, and sprang up. He wasn't quite fast enough, however, because Dalt's freed arm swung around and clipped him across the left calf as he moved away. Luke stumbled. Dalt was up and swinging immediately. He caught Luke with a wild haymaker that knocked him over backward. This time, when he threw himself upon Luke, Luke was unable to roll free; he only managed to turn his body partly. Dalt landed with considerable force, twisting past a slow knee aimed toward his groin. Luke did not get his hands free in time to defend against a punch that caught him on the left side of the jaw. He turned with it and fell completely flat. Then his right hand snapped upward, its heel striking the point of Dalt's chin, fingers hooking toward the eyes. Dalt jerked his head back and slapped the hand away. Luke threw a hammer blow toward his temple with the other hand, and though it connected, Dalt was already moving his head to the side, and I couldn't see that it had any effect. Luke dropped both elbows to the ground and pushed himself up and forward, bowing. His forehead struck Dalt's facewhere, I am not precisely certain-before he fell back. Moments later, Dalt's nose began bleeding as he reached out with his left hand to grasp Luke by the neck. His right hand, open, slapped Luke hard on the side of the head. I saw Luke's teeth just before it landed, as he tried biting at the incoming hand, but the grip on his neck prevented this. Dalt moved to repeat the blow, but this time Luke's left arm came up and blocked it, while his right hand caught hold of Dalt's left wrist in an effort to pull it away from his neck. Dalt's right hand snaked in past Luke's left then, to take hold, creating a two-handed grip on Luke's neck, thumbs moving to depress the windpipe.

  I thought that might well be it. But Luke's right hand suddenly moved to Dalt's left elbow, his left hand crossed both of Dalt's arms to seize the left forearm, and Luke twisted his body and cranked the elbow skyward. Dalt went over to the left and Luke rolled to the right and regained his footing, shaking his head as he did so. This time he did not try kicking Dalt, who was already recovering. Dalt again extended his arms, Luke raised his fists, and they began circling once more.

  The snow continued to fall, the wind to slacken and surge, sometimes driving the icy flakes hard against faces, other times permitting the snow to descend like a troubled curtain. I thought of all the troops about me and wondered for a moment whether I would find myself in the middle of a battlefield when this thing was finally over. The fact that Benedict was ready to swoop down from somewhere and wreak extra havoc did not exactly comfort me, even though it meant that my side would probably win. I remembered then that my being there was my own choice.

  “Come on, Luke!” I yelled. “Flatten him!”

  This produced a very odd effect. Immediately, Dalt's torchbearers began shouting encouragement to him. Our voices must have carried though the wind's lulls, for shortly there came waves of sound, which I at first took to be some distant part of the storm and only later realized to be shouting coming from both lines. Only Julian remained silent, inscrutable.

  Luke continued to circle Dalt, throwing jabs and trying occasional combinations, and Dalt kept swatting away at them and trying to catch an arm. Both of t
hem had blood on their faces and both seemed a bit slower than they had been earlier. I'd a feeling they'd both been hurt, though it was impossible to guess to what extent. Luke had opened a small cut high on Dalt's left cheek. Both of their faces were beginning to look puffy.

  Luke connected with another body combination, but it was hard to say how much force there was behind the blows. Dalt took them stoically and found extra energy somewhere to rush forward and attempt to grapple. Luke was slow in withdrawing and Dalt managed to draw him into a clinch. Both tried kneeing the other; both turned their hips and avoided it. They kept tangling arms and twisting as Dalt continued reaching after a better grip and Luke kept defeating the efforts while attempting to free an arm wind get in a punch. Both tried several forehead bashes and instep stompings, but all of these were avoided by the other. Finally, Luke succeeded in hooking Dalt's leg, driving him backward to the ground.

  Half kneeling atop him then, Luke caught him with a left cross and followed it immediately with a right. He tried for another left then, and Dalt caught his fist, surged upward and threw him back to the ground. As Dalt hurled himself upon him again, his face a half mask of blood and dirt, Luke was somehow able to strike him beneath the heart, but this did not stop Dalt's right fist which came down like a falling rock on the side of Luke's jaw. Dalt followed it with a weak left to the other side, a weak right, paused to suck in a great breath, then landed a solid left. Luke's head rolled to the side and he did not move.

  Dalt crouched there atop him, panting like a dog, studying his face as if suspecting some trick, his right hand twitching as if he were contemplating striking again.

  But nothing happened. They remained in that position for ten or fifteen seconds before Dalt slowly drew himself erect, eased off of Luke to Luke's left, then rose carefully to his feet, swayed for a second and straightened fully.

  I could almost taste the death spell I had hung earlier. It would only take a few seconds to nail him, and no one would be certain how he had died. But I wondered what would happen if he were to collapse now, too. Would both sides attack? It was neither this nor humanitarian considerations that finally restrained me, however. Instead, it was Luke's words, “This really is a matter of honor. So you've got to stay out of it,” and, “Nobody's going to die... We're too valuable to each other alive.”