Blood of Amber

Chapter 3

I stood just within the mouth of the cave for some time, my left shoulder hinting and my right leg sore also. If I could get the pain under control before I retransformed myself there was a chance that much of it would fade during the anatomical reshuffling. The process itself would probably leave me pretty tired, however. It takes a lot of energy, and switching twice this close together could be somewhat prostrating, following my bout with the Dweller. So I rested within the cave into which the pearly tunnel had eventually debouched, and I regarded the prospect before me.

Far down and to my left was a bright blue and very troubled body of water. White-crested waves expired in kamikaze attacks on the gray rocks of the shore; a strong wind scattered their spray and a piece of rainbow hung within the mist.

Before me and below me was a pocked, cracked and steaming land which trembled periodically, as it swept for well over a mile toward the high dark walls of an amazingly huge and complex structure, which I immediately christened Gormenghast. It was a hodgepodge of architectural styles, bigger even than the palace at Amber and somber as all hell. Also, it was under attack.

There were quite a few troops in the field before the walls, most of them in a distant nonscorched area of more normal terrain and some vegetation, though the grasses were well trampled and many trees shattered. The besiegers were equipped with scaling ladders and a battering ram; but the ram was idle at the moment and the ladders were on the ground. What appeared to have been an entire village of outbuildings smoldered darkly at the wall’s base. Numerous sprawled figures were, I assumed, casualties.

Moving my gaze even farther to the right, I encountered an area of brilliant whiteness beyond that great citadel. It looked to be the projecting edge of a massive glacier, and gusts of snow or ice crystals were whipped about it in a fashion similar to the sea mists far to my left.

The wind seemed a constant traveler through these parts. I heard it cry out high above me. When I finally stepped outside to look upward, I found that I was only about halfway up a massive stony hillside — or low mountainside, depending on how one regards such matters — and the whining note of the wind came down even more loudly from those broken heights. There was also a thump at my back, and when I turned I could no longer locate the cave mouth. My journey along the route from the fiery door had been completed once I exited the cave, and its spell had apparently clamped down and closed the way immediately. I supposed that I could locate the outline upon the steep wall if I wanted to, but at the moment I had no such desire. I made a little pile of stones before it, and then I looked about again, studying details.

A narrow trail curved off to my right and back among some standing stones. I headed in that direction. I smelled smoke. Whether it was from the battle site or the area of vulcanism below I could not tell. The sky was a patchwork of cloud and light above me. When I halted between two of the stones and turned to regard the scene below once again, I saw that the attackers had formed themselves into new groups and that the ladders were being home toward the walls. I also saw what looked like a tornado rise on the far side of the citadel and begin a slow counterclockwise movement about the walls. If it continued on its route it would eventually reach the attackers. Neat trick. Fortunately it was their problem and not mine.

I worked my way back into a stony declivity and settled myself upon a low ledge. I began the troublesome shapeshifting work, which I paced to take me half an hour or so. Changing from something nominally human to something rare and strange — perhaps monstrous to some, perhaps frightening — and then back again is a concept some may find repugnant. They shouldn’t. We all of us do it every day in many different ways, don’t we?

When the transformation was completed I lay back, breathing deeply, and listened to the wind. I was sheltered from its force by the stones and only its song came down to me. I felt vibrations from distant tremors of the earth and chose to take them as a gentle massage, soothing… My clothes were in tatters, and for the moment I was too tired to summon a fresh outfit. My shoulder seemed to have lost its pain, and there was only the slightest twinge in my leg, fading, fading… I closed my eyes for a few moments.

Okay, I’d made it through, and I’d a strong feeling that the answer to the matter of Julia’s killer lay in the besieged citadel below. Offhand, I didn’t see any easy way into the place at the moment, to make inquiry. But that was not the only way I might proceed. I decided to wait where I was, resting, until it grew dark — that is, if things here proceeded in a normal dark-light fashion. Then I’d slip downstairs, kidnap one of the besiegers and question him. Yes. And if it didn’t get dark? Then I’d think of something else. Right now, though, just drifting felt best…

For how long I dozed, I was uncertain. What roused me was the clicking of pebbles, from somewhere off to the right. I was instantly alert, though I didn’t stir. There was no effort at stealth, and the pattern of approaching sounds — mainly slapping footfalls, as of someone wearing loose sandals — convinced me that only a single individual was moving in this direction. I tensed and relaxed my muscles and drew a few deep breaths.

A very hairy man emerged from between two of the stones to my right. He was about five and a half feet in height, very dirty, and he wore a dark animal skin about his loins; also, he had on a pair of sandals. He stared at me for several seconds before displaying the yellow irregularities of his smile.

“Hello. Are you injured?” he asked, in a debased form of Thari that I did not recall ever having heard before.

I stretched to make sure and then stood. “No,” I replied. “Why do you ask that?”

The smile persisted. “I thought maybe you’d had enough of the fighting below and decided to call it quits.”

“Oh, I see. No, it’s not exactly like that…”

He nodded and stepped forward. “Dave’s my name. What’s yours?”

“Merle,” I said, clasping his grimy hand.

“Not to worry, Merle,” he told me. “I wouldn’t turn in anybody who decided to take a walk from a war, unless maybe there was a reward and there ain’t on this one. Did it myself years ago and never regretted it.

Mine was goin’ the same way this one seems to be goin’, and I had sense enough to get out. No army’s ever taken that place down there, and I don’t think one ever will.”

“What place is it?”

He cocked his head and squinted, then shrugged. “Keep of the Four Worlds,” he said. “Didn’t the recruiter tell you anything?”

I sighed. “Nope,” I said.

“Wouldn’t have any smokin’ stuff on you, would you?”

“No,” I answered, having used all my pipe tobacco back in the crystal cave. “Sorry.”

I moved past him to a point where I could look downward from between the stones. I wanted another Look at the Keep of the Four Worlds. After all, it was the answer to a riddle as well as the subject of numerous cryptic references in Melman’s diary. Fresh bodies were scattered all over before its walls, as if cast about by the whirlwind, which was now circling back toward the point whence it had risen. But a small party of besiegers had apparently made it to the top of the wall despite this. And a fresh party had formed below and was headed for the ladders. One of its members bore a banner I could not place, but which seemed vaguely familiar black and green, with what might be a couple of heraldic beasts having a go at each other. Two ladders were still in place, and I could see some tierce fighting going on behind the battlements.

“Some of the attackers seem to have gotten in,” I said.

Dave hurried up beside me and stared. I immediately moved upwind.

“You’re right,” he acknowledged. “Now, that’s a first. If they can get that damn gate open and let the others in they might even have a chance. Never thought I’d live to see it.”

“How long ago was it,” I asked, “when the army you were with attacked the place?”

“Must be eight, nine — maybe ten years,” he muttered. “Those guys must be pretty good.”

“What’s it all about?” I asked.

He turned and studied me.

“You really don’t know?”

“Just got here,” I said.

“Hungry? Thirsty?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Come on, then.” He took hold of my arm and steered me back between the stones, then led me along a narrow trail.

“Where are we headed?” I asked.

“I live nearby. I make it a point to feed deserters, for old times’ sake. I’ll make an exception for you.”

“Thanks.” The trail split after a short while, and he took the right-hand branch, which involved some climbing. Eventually this led us to a series of rocky shelves, the last of which receded for a considerable distance. There were a number of clefts at its rear, into one of which he ducked. I followed him a short distance along it, and he halted before a low cave mouth. A horrible odor of putrefaction drifted forth, and I could hear the buzzing of flies within.

“This is my place,” he announced. “I’d invite you in, but it’s a little uh —”

“That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll wait.”

He ducked inside, and I realized that my appetite was rapidly vanishing, especially when it came to anything he might have stored in that place. Moments later he emerged, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “Got some good stuff in here,” he announced.

I started walking back along the cleft.

“Hey! Where you headed?”

“Air,” I said. “I’m going back out on the shelf. It’s a bit close back there.”

“Oh. Okay,” he said, and he fell into step behind me.

He had two unopened bottles of wine, several canteens of water, a fresh-looking loaf of bread, some tinned meat, a few firm apples and an uncut head of cheese in the bag, I discovered, after we’d seated ourselves on a ledge out in the open and he’d gestured for me to open the thing and serve myself. Having prudently remained upwind, I took some water and an apple for openers.

“Place has a stormy history,” he stated, withdrawing a small knife from his girdle and cutting himself a piece of cheese. “I’m not sure who built it or how long it’s been there.”

When I saw that he was about to dig the cork out of a wine bottle with the knife I halted him and essayed a small and surreptitious Logrus sending. The response was quick, and I passed him the corkscrew immediately. He handed me the entire bottle after he’d uncorked it and opened the other for himself. For reasons involving public health I was grateful, though I wasn’t in the mood for that much wine.

“That’s what I call being prepared,” he said, studying the corkscrew. “I’ve needed one of these for some time…”

“Keep it,” I told him. “Tell me more about that place. Who lives there? How did you come to be part of an invading army? Who’s attacking it now?”

He nodded and took a swig of wine.

“The earliest boss of the place that I know of was a wizard named Sharu Garrul. The queen of my country departed suddenly and came here.” He paused and stared off into the distance for a time, then snorted. “Politics! I don’t even know what the given reason for the visit was at the time. I’d never heard of the damned place in those days. Anyhow, she stayed a long while and people began to wonder. Was she a prisoner? Was she working out an alliance? Was she having an affair? I gather she sent back messages periodically, but they were the usual bland crap that didn’t say anything, unless of course there were also secret communications folks like me wouldn’t have heard about. She had a pretty good-sized retinue with her, too, with an honor guard that was not just for show. These guys were very tough veterans, even though they dressed pretty. So it was kind of debatable what was going on at that point.”

“A question, if I may,” I said. “What was your king’s part in all this? You didn’t mention him, and it would seem he ought to know —”

“Dead,” he announced. “She made a lovely widow, and there was a lot of pressure on her to remarry. But she just took a succession of lovers and played the different factions off against each other. Usually her men were military leaders or powerful nobles, or both. She’d left her son in charge when she made this trip, though.”

“Oh, so there was a prince old enough to sit in control?”

“Yes. In fact, he started the damned war. He raised troops and wasn’t happy with the muster, so he got in touch with a childhood friend, a man generally considered an outlaw, but who commanded a large band of mercenaries. Name of Dalt —”

“Stop!” I said.

My mind raced as I recalled a story Gerard had once told me, about a strange man named Dalt who had led a private army against Amber, unusually effectively. Benedict himself had had to be recalled to oppose him. The man’s forces had been defeated at the foot of Kolvir, and Dalt himself severely wounded. Though no one ever saw his body, it was assumed he would have died of such injuries. But there was more.

“Your home,” I said. “You never named it. Where are you from, Dave?”

“A place called Kashfa,” he replied.

“And Jasra was your queen?”

“You’ve heard of us. Where’re you from?”

“San Francisco,” I said.

He shook his head. “Don’t know the place.”

“Who does? Listen, how good are your eyes?”

“What do you mean?”

“A little while ago, when we looked down on the lighting, could you make out the flag the attackers were carrying?”

“Eyes ain’t what they used to be,” he said.

“It was green and black with some sort of animals on it.”

He whistled. “A lion rending a unicorn, I’ll bet. Sounds like Dalt’s.”

“What is the significance of that device?”

“He hates them Amberites, is what it means. Even went up against them once.”

I tasted the wine. Not bad. The same man, then…

“You know why he hates them?” I asked.

“I understand they killed his mother,” he said. “Had something to do with border wars. They get real complicated. I don’t know the details.”

I pried open a tin of meat, broke off some bread and made myself a sandwich.

“Please go ahead with your story,” I said.

“Where was I?”

“The prince got hold of Dalt because he was concerned about his mother, and he needed more troops in a hurry.”

“That’s right, and I was picked up for Kashfan service about that time — foot soldier. The prince and Dalt led us through dark ways till we came to that place below. Then we did just what them guys downstairs were doing.”

“And what happened?”

He laughed. “Went bad for us at first,” he said. “I think it’s somehow easy for whoever’s in charge down there to control the elements — like that twister you saw a while ago. We got an earthquake and a blizzard and lightning. But we pressed on to the walls anyhow. Saw my brother scalded to death with boiling oil. That’s when I decided I’d had enough. I started running and climbed on up here. Nobody chased me, so I waited around and watched. Probably shouldn’t have, but I didn’t know how things would go. More of the same, I’d figgered. But I was wrong, and it was too late to go back. They’d have whacked off my head or some other valuable parts if I did.”

“What happened?”

“I got the impression that the attack forced Basra’s hand. She’d apparently been planning to do away with Sharu Garrul all along and take over the place herself. I think she’d been setting him up, gaining his confidence before she struck. I believe she was a little afraid of the old man. But when her army appeared on the doorstep she had to move, even though she wasn’t ready. She took him on in a sorcerous duel while her guard held his men at bay. She won, though I gather she was somewhat injured. Mad as hell, too, at her son — for bringing in an army without her ordering it. Anyway, her guard opened the gates to them, and she took over the Keep. That’s what I meant about no army taking the place. That one was an inside job.”

“How did you learn all this?”

“Like I said, when deserters head this way I feed ’em and get the news.”

“You gave me the impression that there have been other attempts to take the place. These would have had to be after she’d taken over.”

He nodded and took another drink of wine.

“Yup. There was apparently a coup back in Kashfa, with both her and her kid away — a noble named Kasman, brother of one of her dead lovers, a fellow named Jasrick. This Kasman took over, and he wanted her and the prince out of the way. Must’ve attacked this place half a dozen times. Never could get in. Finally resigned himself to a standoff, I think. She sent her son off somewhere later, maybe to raise another army and try to win back her throne. I don’t know. That was long ago.”

“What about Dalt?”

“They paid him off with some loot from the Keep — there was apparently a lot of good stuff in there — and he took his troops and went back to wherever he hangs out.”

I took another sip of wine myself and cut off a piece of the cheese. “How come you’ve stayed around all these years? It seems like a hard life.”

He nodded. “Truth of it is, I don’t know the way home. Those were strange trails they brought us in on. I thought I knew where they were, but when I went lookin’ I couldn’t never find ’em. I suppose I could have just taken off, but then I’d probably get lost more than ever. Besides, I know I can make out here. A few weeks and those outbuildings will be rebuilt and the peasants will move back in, no matter who wins. And they think I’m a holy man, prayin’ up here and meditatin’. Any time I wander down that way they come out for a blessin’ and give me enough food and drink to hold me for a long while.”

“Are you a holy man?” I asked.

“I just pretend,” he said. “Makes them happy and keeps me fed. Don’t go tellin’ that, though.”

“Of course not. They wouldn’t believe me, anyway.”

He laughed again. “You’re right.”

I got to my feet and walked back along the hail a little way, so that I could see the Keep once again. The ladders were on the ground, and I beheld even more scattered dead. I saw no signs of the struggle within.

“Is the gate open yet?” Dave called.

“No. I don’t think the ones who got in were sufficient to the task.”

“Is that green and black banner anywhere in sight?”

“I can’t see it anywhere.”

He rose and came over, carrying both bottles. He passed me mine and we both took a drink. The ground troops began to fall back from the area before the wall.

“Think they’re giving up or re-forming for another rush?” he asked me.

“Can’t say yet,” I told him.

“Whichever it is, there should be a lot of good loot down there tonight. Stick around and you’ll have all you can carry.”

“I’m curious,” I said, “why Dalt would be attacking again, if he’s on good terms with the queen and her son.”

“I think it’s just the son,” he said, “and he’s gone. The old lady’s supposed to be a real bitch. And after all, the guy is a mercenary. Maybe Kasman hired him to go after her.”

“Maybe she’s not even in there,” I said, having no idea how this time stream ran, but thinking of my recent encounter with the lady. The image of it, though, caused a strange train of thought.

“What’s the prince’s name, anyway?” I asked.

“Rinaldo,” he answered. “He’s a big red-haired guy.”

“She’s his mother!” I said involuntarily.

He laughed. “That’s how you get to be a prince,” he said. “Have the queen be your mother.”

But then, that would mean… “Brand!” I said. Then, “Brand of Amber.”

He nodded. “You’ve heard the story.”

“Not really. Just that much,” I replied. “Tell it to me.”

“Well, she snared herself an Amberite — the prince called Brand,” he said. “Rumor had it they met over some magical operation and it was love at first blood. She wanted to keep him, and I’ve heard it said they actually were married in a secret ceremony. But he wasn’t interested in the throne of Kashfa, though he was the only one she might have been willing to see on it. He traveled a lot, was away for long stretches of time. I’ve heard it said that he was responsible for the Days of Darkness years ago, and that he died in a great battle between Chaos and Amber at that time, at the hands of his kinsmen.”

“Yes,” I said, and Dave gave me a strange look, half puzzlement, half scrutiny. “Tell me more about Rinaldo,” I said quickly.

“Not much to say,” he replied. “She bore him, and I’ve heard she taught him something of her Arts. He didn’t know his father all that well, Brand being away so much. Kind of a wild kid. Ran away any number of times and hung out with a band of outlaws —”

“Dalt’s people?” I asked.

He nodded. “Rode with them, they say — even though his mother’d placed bounties on many of their heads at that time.”

“Wait a minute. You say that she really hated these outlaws and mercenaries —”

“Hate’ may be the wrong word. She’d never bothered about them before, but when her son got friendly with them I think she just got mad.”

“She thought they were a bad influence?”

“No, I think she didn’t like it that he’d run to them and they’d take him in whenever he had a falling out with her.”

“Yet you say that she saw Dalt paid off out of the Keep’s treasure and allowed him to ride away, after they’d forced her hand against Sharu Garrul.”

“Yup. Big argument at the time, too, between Rinaldo and his mom, over just that point. And she finally gave in. That’s the way I heard it from a couple of guys who were there. One of the few times the boy actually stood up to her and won, they say. In fact, that’s why the guys deserted. She ordered all witnesses to their argument executed, they told me. They were the only ones managed to get away.”

“Tough lady.”

“Yup.”

We walked on back to the area where we’d been seated and ate some more food. The song of the wind rose in pitch and a storm began out at sea. I asked Dave about big doglike creatures, and he told me that packs of them would probably be feasting on the battle’s victims tonight. They were native to the area.

“We divide the spoils,” he said. “I want the rations, the wine and any valuables. They just want the dead.”

“What good are the valuables to you?” I said.

He looked suddenly apprehensive, as if I were considering the possibility of robbing him.

“Oh, it don’t really amount to much. It’s just that I’ve always been a thrifty person,” he said, “and I make it sound more important than it is. “You never can tell,” he added.

“That’s true,” I agreed.

“How’d you get here anyway, Merle?” he asked quickly, as if to get my mind off the subject of his loot.

“Walked,” I said.

“That don’t sound right. Nobody comes here willingly.”

“I didn’t know I was coming here. Don’t think I’ll be staying long either,” I said, as I saw him take up the small knife and begin toying with it. “No sense going below and begging after hospitality at a time like this.”

“That’s true,” he remarked.

Was the old coot actually thinking of attacking me, to protect his cache? He could be more than a little mad by now, living up here alone in his stinking cave, pretending to be a saint.

“Would you be interested in returning to Kashfa,” I said, “if I could set you on the right trail?”

He gave me a crafty look. “You don’t know that much about Kashfa,” he said, “or you wouldn’t have been asking me all those questions. Now you say you can send me home?”

“I take it you’re not interested?”

He sighed. “Not really, not any more. It’s too late now. This is my home. I enjoy being a hermit.”

I shrugged. “Well, thanks for feeding me, and thanks for all the news.” I got to my feet.

“Where are you going now?” he asked.

“I think I’ll look around some, then head for home.” I backed away from that small lunatic glow in his eyes.

He raised the knife, his grip tightened on it. Then he lowered it and cut another piece of cheese.

“Here, you can take some of the cheese with you if you want,” he said.

“No, that’s okay. Thanks.”

“Just trying to save you some money. Have a good trip.”

“Right. Take it easy.”

I heard his chuckling all the way back to the trail. Then the wind drowned it.

I spent the next several hours reconnoitering. I moved around in the hills. I descended into the steaming, quaking lands. I walked along the seashore. I passed through the rear of the normal-seeming area and crossed the neck of the ice field. In all of this, I stayed as far from the Keep itself as possible. I wanted to fix the place as firmly in mind as I could, so that I could End my way back through Shadow rather than crossing a threshold the hard way. I saw several packs of wild dogs on my journey, but they were more intent upon the battle’s corpses than anything that moved.

There were oddly inscribed boundary stones at each topographical border, and I found myself wondering whether they were mapmakers’ aids or something more. Finally, I wrestled one from the burning land over about fifteen feet into a region of ice and snow. I was knocked down almost immediately by a heavy tremor; I was able to scramble away in time, however, from the opening of a crevice and the spewing of geysers. The hot area claimed that small slice of the cold land in less than half an hour. Fortunately, I moved quickly to get out of the way of any further turmoil, and I observed the balance of these phenomena from a distance. But there was more to come.

I crouched back among the rocks, having reached the foothills of the range from which I had started by crossing through a section of the volcanic area. There, I rested and watched for a time while that small segment of terrain rearranged itself and the wind smeared smoke and steam across the land. Rocks bounced and rolled; dark carrion birds went out of their way to avoid what had to be some interesting thermals.

Then I beheld a movement which I first assumed to be seismic in origin. The boundary stone I had shifted rose slightly and jogged to the side. A moment later, however, and it was elevated even farther, appearing almost as if it had been levitated slightly above the ground. Then it drifted across the blasted area, moving in a straight line at a uniform speed, until — as nearly as I could judge — it had recovered its earlier position. And there it settled. Moments later the turmoil recommenced, and this time it was a jolting shrug of the ice sheet, jerking back, reclaiming the invaded area.

I called up my Logrus sight, and I was able to make out a dark glow surrounding the stone. This was connected by a long, straight, steady stream of light of the same general hue, extending from a high rear tower of the Keep. Fascinating. I would have given a lot for a view of the interior of that place.

Then, born with a sigh, maturing to a whistle, a whirlwind rose from the disputed area, growing, graying, swaying, to advance suddenly toward me like the swung proboscis of some cloudy, sky-high elephant. I turned and climbed higher, weaving my way amid rocks and around the shoulders of hillsides. The thing pursued, as if there were an intelligence guiding its movements. And the way it hung together while traversing that irregular terrain indicated an artificial nature, which in this place most likely meant magic.

It takes some time to determine an appropriate magical defense, and even more time to bring it into being. Unfortunately, I was only about a minute ahead of the posse, and that margin was probably dwindling.

When I spotted the long narrow crevice beyond the next turning, jagged as a limb of lightning, I paused only an instant to peer into its depth, and then I was descending, my tattered garments lashed about me, the windy tower a rumbling presence at my back…

The way ran deep and so did I, following its jogs, its twistings. The rumble rose to a roar, and I coughed at the cloud of dust that engulfed me. A hailstorm of gravel assailed me. I threw myself flat then, about eight feet below the surface of the land, and covered my head with my arms, for I believed that the thing was about to pass directly above me.

I muttered warding spells as I lay there, despite their minuscule parrying effect at this distance against such an energy-intensive manifestation. I did not jump up when the silence came. It could be that the tornado’s driver had withdrawn support and collapsed the funnel on seeing that I might be out of reach. It could also be the eye of the storm, with more to come, by and by.

While I did not jump up, I did look up, because I hate to miss educational opportunities.

And there was the face — or, rather, the mask — at the center of the storm, regarding me. It was a projection, of course, larger than life and not fully substantial. The head was cowled; the mask was full and cobalt bright and strongly reminiscent of the sort worn by goalies in ice hockey; there were two vertical breathing slits from which pale smoke emerged — a touch too theatrical For my taste; a lower series of random punctures was designed to give the impression of a sardonically lopsided mouth. A distorted sound of laughter came down to me from it.

“Aren’t you overdoing it a bit?” I said, coming up into a crouch and raising the Logrus between us. “For a kid on Halloween, yes. But we’re all adults here, aren’t we? A simple domino would probably serve —”

“You moved my stone!” it said.

“I’ve a certain academic interest in such matters,” I offered, easing myself into the extensions. “Nothing to get upset about. Is that you, Jasra? I —”

The rumbling began again, softly at first, then building once more.

“I’ll make a deal,” I said. “You call off the storm, and I’ll promise not to move any more markers.”

Again, the laughter as the storm sounds rose.

“Too late,” came the reply. “Too late for you. Unless you’re a lot tougher than you look.”

What the hell! The battle is not always to the strong, and nice guys tend to win because they’re the ones who get to write their memoirs. I’d been fiddling with the Logrus projections against the insubstantiality of the mask until I found the link, the opening leading back to its source. I stabbed through it — a thing on the order of an electrical discharge — at whatever lay behind.

There came a scream. The mask collapsed, the storm collapsed, and I was on my feet and running again. When whatever I’d hit recovered I did not want to be in the same place I had been because that place might be subject to sudden disintegration.

I had a choice of cutting off into Shadow or seeking an even faster path of retreat. If a sorcerer were to tag me as I started shadow-slipping I could be followed. So I dug out my Trumps and shuffled forth Random’s. I rounded the next turning of the way then, and I would have had to halt there anyway, I saw, because it narrowed to a width impossible for me to pass. I raised the card and reached with my mind.

There followed contact, almost immediately. But even as the images solidified I felt a probe. I was certain that it was my blue-masked nemesis seeking me once more.

But Random came clear, seated before a drum set, sticks in hand. He set aside the drumsticks and rose.

“It’s about time,” he said, and he extended his hand.

Even as I reached I felt something rushing toward me. As our fingers touched and I stepped forward, they burst about me like a giant wave.

I passed through into the music room in Amber. Random had opened his mouth to speak again when the cascade of flowers fell upon us.

Brushing violets from his shirtfront, he regarded me.

“I’d rather you said it with words,” he remarked.