Guns of Avalon

Chapter 4

Riding, riding, through the wild, weird ways that led to Avalon, we went, Ganelon and I, down alleys of dream and of nightmare, beneath the brass bark of the sun and the hot, white isles of night, till these were gold and diamond chips and the moon swam like a swan. Day belled forth the green of spring, we crossed a mighty river and the mountains before us were frosted by night. I unleashed an arrow of my desire into the midnight and it took fire overhead, burned its way like a meteor into the north. The only dragon we encountered was lame and limped away quickly to hide, singeing daisies as it panted and wheezed. Migrations of bright birds arrowed our destination, and crystalline voices from lakes echoed our words as we passed. I sang as we rode, and after a time, Ganelon joined me. We had been traveling for over a week, and the land and the sky and the breezes told me we were near to Avalon now.

We camped in a wood near a lake as the sun slid behind stone and the day died down and ceased. I went off to the lake to bathe while Ganelon unpacked our gear. The water was cold and bracing. I splashed about in it for a long while.

I thought I heard several cries as I bathed, but I could not be certain. It was a weird wood and I was not overly concerned. However, I dressed quickly and hurried back to the camp.

As I walked, I heard it again: a whine, a plea. Drawing nearer, I realized that a conversation was in progress.

Then I entered the small clearing we had chosen. Our gear was spread about and the beginnings of a campfire had been laid.

Ganelon squatted on his haunches beneath an oak tree. The man hung from it.

He was young and fair of hair and complexion. Beyond that, it was hard to say at a glance. It is difficult, I discovered, to obtain a clear initial impression as to a man’s features and size when he is hanging upside down several feet above the ground.

His hands had been tied behind his back and he hung from a low bough by a rope that had been knotted about his right ankle.

He was talking — brief, rapid phrases in response to Ganelon’s questions — and his face was moist with spittle and sweat. He did not hang limply, but swung back and forth. There was an abrasion on his cheek and several spots of blood on his shirt front.

Halting, I restrained myself from interrupting for a moment and watched. Ganelon would not have put him where he was without a reason, so I was not immediately overwhelmed with sympathy for the fellow. Whatever it was that had prompted Ganelon to question him thus, I knew that I, too, would be interested in the information. I was also interested in whatever the session would show me concerning Ganelon, who was now something of an ally. And a few more minutes upside down could not do that much additional damage…

As his body slowed, Ganelon prodded him in the sternum with the tip of his blade and set him to swinging violently once again. This broke the skin lightly and another red spot appeared. At this, the boy cried out. From his complexion, I could see now that he was a youth. Ganelon extended his blade and held its point several inches beyond the place the boy’s throat would come to on the backswing. At the last moment, he snatched it back and chuckled as the boy writhed and cried out, “Please!”

“The rest,” said Ganelon. “Tell me everything.”

“That’s all!” said the other. “I know no more!”

“Why not?”

“They swept on by me then! I could not see!”

“Why did you not follow?”

“They were mounted. I was on foot.”

“Why did you not follow on foot then?”

“I was dazed.”

“Dazed? You were afraid! You deserted!”

“No!”

Ganelon held his blade forth, snapped it away again at the final moment.

“No!” cried the youth.

Ganelon moved the blade again.

“Yes!” the boy screamed. “I was afraid!”

“And you fled then?”

“Yes! I kept running! I’ve been fleeing ever since…”

“And you know nothing of how things went after that?”

“No.”

“You lie!” He moved the blade again.

“No!” said the boy. “Please…”

I stepped forward then. “Ganelon,” I said.

He glanced at me and grinned, lowering the blade. The boy sought my eyes.

“What have we here?” I asked.

“Ha!” he said, slapping the inside of the youth’s thigh so that he cried out. “A thief, a deserter — with an interesting tale to tell.”

“Then cut him down and let me hear it,” I said.

Ganelon turned and cut through the cord with one swipe of his blade. The boy fell to the ground and began sobbing.

“I caught him trying to steal our supplies and thought to question him about the area,” Ganelon said. “He’s come from Avalon — quickly.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was a foot soldier in a battle that took place there two nights ago. He turned coward during the fighting and deserted.”

The youth began to mouth a denial and Ganelon kicked him.

“Silence!” he said. “I’m telling it now — as you told me!”

The boy moved sideways like a crab and looked at me with wide, pleading eyes.

“Battle? Who was fighting?” I asked. Ganelon smiled grimly.

“It sounds somewhat familiar,” he said. “The forces of Avalon were engaged in what seems to have been the largest — and perhaps final — of a long series of confrontations with beings not quite natural.”

“Oh?”

I studied the boy and his eyes dropped, but I saw the fear that was there before they fell.

“…Women,” Ganelon said. “Pale furies out of some hell, lovely and cold. Armed and armored. Long, light hair. Eyes like ice. Mounted on white, firebreathing steeds that fed on human flesh, they came forth by night from a warren of caves in the mountains an earthquake opened several years ago. They raided, taking young men back with them as captives, killing all others. Many appeared later as a soulless infantry, following their van. This sounds very like the men of the Circle we knew.”

“But many of those lived when they were freed,” I said. “They did not seem soulless then, only somewhat as I once did — amnesiac. It seems strange,” I went on, “that they did not block off these caves during the day, since the riders only came forth by night…”

“The deserter tells me this was tried,” said Ganelon, “and they always burst forth after a time, stronger than before.”

The boy was ashen, but he nodded when I looked toward him inquiringly.

“Their General, whom he calls the Protector, routed them many times,” Ganelon continued. “He even spent part of a night with their leader, a pale bitch named Lintra — whether in dalliance or parlay, I’m not certain. But nothing came of this. The raids continued and her forces grew stronger. The Protector finally decided to mass an all — out attack, in hopes of destroying them utterly. It was during that battle that this one fled,” he said, indicating the youth with a gesture of his blade, “which is why we do not know the ending to the story.”

“Is that the way it was?” I asked him.

The boy looked away from the weapon’s point, met my eyes for a moment, then nodded slowly.

“Interesting,” I said to Ganelon. “Very. I’ve a feeling their problem is linked to the one we just solved. I wish I knew how their fight turned out.” Ganelon nodded, shifted his grip on his weapon. “Well, if we’re finished with him now…” he said.

“Hold. I presume he was trying to steal something to eat?”

“Yes.”

“Free his hands. We’ll feed him.”

“But he tried to steal from us.”

“Did you not say that you had once killed a man for a pair of shoes?”

“Yes, but that was different.”

“How so?”

“I got away with it.”

I laughed. It broke me up completely, and I could not stop laughing. He looked irritated, then puzzled. Then he began laughing himself.

The youth regarded us as if we were a pair of maniacs.

“All right,” said Ganelon finally, “all right,” and he stooped, turned the boy with a single push, and severed the cord that bound his wrists.

“Come, lad,” he said. “I’ll fetch you something to eat,” and he moved to our gear and opened several food parcels.

The boy rose and limped slowly after him. He seized the food that was offered and began eating quickly and noisily, not taking his eyes off Ganelon. His information, if true, presented me with several complications, the foremost being that it would probably be more difficult to obtain what I wanted in a war-ravaged land. It also lent weight to my fears as to the nature and extent of the disruption pattern.

I helped Ganelon build a small fire.

“How does this affect our plans?” he asked.

I saw no real choice. All of the shadows near to what I desired would be similarly involved. I could lay my course for one which did not possess such involvement, but in reaching it I would have achieved the wrong place. That which I desired would not be available there. If the forays of chaos kept occurring on my desire — walk through Shadow, then they were bound up with the nature of the desire and would have to be dealt with, one way or another, sooner or later. They could not be avoided. Such was the nature of the game, and I could not complain because I had laid down the rules.

“We go on,” I said. “It is the place of my desire.”

The youth let out a brief cry, and then — perhaps from some feeling of indebtedness for my having prevented Ganelon from poking holes in him — warned, “Do not go to Avalon, sir! There is nothing there that you could desire! You will be slain!”

I smiled to him and thanked him. Ganelon chuckled then and said, “Let us take him back with us to stand a deserter’s trial.”

At this, the youth scrambled to his feet and began running.

Still laughing, Ganelon drew his dagger and cocked his arm to throw it. I struck his arm and his cast went wide of its mark. The youth vanished within the wood and Ganelon continued to laugh.

He retrieved the dagger from where it had fallen and said, “You should have let me kill him, you know.”

“I decided against it.” He shrugged.

“If he returns and cuts our throats tonight you may find yourself feeling somewhat different.”

“I should imagine. But he will not, you know that.”

He shrugged again, skewering a piece of meat and warming it over the flames.

“Well, war has taught him to show a good pair of heels,” he acknowledged. “Perhaps we will awaken in the morning.”

He took a bite and began to chew. It seemed like a good idea and I fetched some for myself.

Much later, I was awakened from a troubled sleep to stare at stars through a screen of leaves. Some omen making portion of my mind had seized upon the youth and used us both badly. It was a long while before I could get back to sleep.

In the morning we kicked dirt over the ashes and rode on. We made it into the mountains that afternoon and passed through them the following day. There were occasional signs of recent passage on the trail we followed, but we encountered no one.

The following day we passed several farmhouses and cottages, not pausing at any of them. I had opted against the wild, demonic route I had followed when I had exiled Ganelon. While quite brief, I knew that he would have found it massively disconcerting. I had wanted this time to think, so much a journeying was not called for. Now, however, the long route was nearing its end. We achieved Amber’s sky that afternoon, and I admired it in silence. It might almost be the Forest of Arden through which we rode. There were no horn notes, however, no Julian, no Morgenstern, no stormhounds to harry us, as there had been in Arden when last I passed that way. There were only the bird notes in the great-boled trees, the complaint of a squirrel, the bark of a fox, the plash of a waterfall, the whites and blues and pinks of flowers in the shade.

The breezes of the afternoon were gentle and cool, they lulled me so that I was unprepared for the row of fresh graves beside the trail that came into sight when we rounded a bend. Near by, there was a torn and trampled glen. We tarried there briefly but learned nothing more than had been immediately apparent.

We passed another such place farther along, and several fire-charred groves. The trail was well worn by then and the side brush trampled and broken, as by the passage of many men and beasts. The smell of ashes was occasionally upon the air, and we hurried past the partly eaten carcass of a horse now well ripened where it lay.

The sky of Amber no longer heartened me, though the way was clear for a long while after that.

The day was running to evening and the forest had thinned considerably when Ganelon noted the smoke trails to the southeast. We took the first side path that seemed to lead in that direction, although it was tangent to Avalon proper. It was difficult to estimate the distance, but we could tell that we would not reach the place until after nightfall.

“Their army — still encamped?” Ganelon wondered.

“Or that of their conqueror.”

He shook his head and loosened his blade in its scabbard.

Toward twilight, I left the trail to follow a sound of running water to its source. It was a clear, clean stream that had made its way down from the mountains and still bore something of their chill within it. I bathed there, trimming my new bearding and cleaning the dust of travel from my garments as well. As we were nearing this end of our journeying, it was my wish to arrive with what small splendor I could muster. Appreciating this, Ganelon even splashed water over his face and blew his nose loudly.

Standing on the bank, blinking my rinsed eyes at the heavens, I saw the moon resolve itself sharp and clear, the fuzziness fading from its edges. This was the first time it had happened. My breathing jerked to a halt and I kept staring. Then I scanned the sky for early stars, traced the edges of clouds, the distant mountains, the farthest trees. I looked back at the moon, and it still held clear and steady. My eyesight was normal once again.

Ganelon drew back at the sound of my laughter, and he never inquired as to its cause.

Suppressing an impulse to sing, I remounted and headed back toward the trail once again. The shadows deepened as we rode, and clusters of stars bloomed among the branches overhead. I inhaled a big piece of the night, held it a moment, released it. I was myself once again and the feeling was good.

Ganelon drew up beside me and said in a low voice, “There will doubtless be sentries.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Then hadn’t we better leave the trail?”

“No. I would rather not seem furtive. It matters not to me whether we arrive with an escort. We are simply two travelers.”

“They may require the reason for our travels.”

“Then let us be mercenaries who have heard of strife in the realm and come seeking employment.”

“Yes. We look the part. Let us hope they pause long enough to notice.”

“If they cannot see us that well, then we are poor targets.”

“True, but I am not fully comforted by the thought.”

I listened to the sounds of the horses’ hoofs on the trail. The way was not straight. It twisted, curved, and wandered for a time, then took an upward turn. As we mounted the rise it followed, the trees thinned even more.

We came to the top of a hill then, and into a fairly open area. Advancing, we achieved a sudden view that covered several miles. We drew rein at an abrupt drop that curved its way into a gradual slope after ten or fifteen precipitous meters, sweeping downward to a large plain perhaps a mile distant, then continuing on through a hilly, sporadically wooded area. The plain was dotted with campfires and there were a few tents toward the center of things. A large number of horses grazed near by, and I guessed there were several hundred men sitting beside the fires or moving about the compound. Ganelon sighed.

“At least they seem to be normal men,” he said.

“Yes.”

“…And if they are normal military men, we are probably being watched right now. This is too good a vantage to leave unposted.”

“Yes.”

There came a noise from behind us. We began to turn, just as a near by voice said, “Don’t move!” I continued to turn my head, and I saw four men. Two of them held crossbows trained on us and the other two had blades in their hands. One of these advanced two paces.

“Dismount!” he ordered. “On this side! Slowly!” We climbed down from our mounts and faced him, keeping our hands away from our weapons. “Who are you? Where are you from?” he asked.

“We are mercenaries,” I replied, “from Lorraine. We heard there was fighting here, and we are seeking employment. We were headed for that camp below. It is yours, I hope?”

“…And if I said no, that we are a patrol for a force about to invade that camp?”

I shrugged. “In that case, is your side interested in hiring a couple of men?”

He spat. “The Protector has no need for your sort,” he said. Then, “From what direction do you ride?”

“East,” I said.

“Did you meet with any difficulty recently?”

“No,” I said. “Should we have?”

“Hard to say,” he decided. “Remove your weapons. I’m going to send you down to the camp. They will want to question you about anything you may have seen in the east — anything unusual.”

“We’ve seen nothing unusual,” I said.

“Whatever, they will probably feed you. Though I doubt you will be hired. You have come a bit late for the fighting. Remove your weapons now.”

He called two more men from within the trees while we unbuckled our sword belts. He instructed them to escort us below, on foot. We were to lead our horses. The men took our weapons, and as we turned to go our interrogator cried out, “Wait!” I turned back toward him.

“You. What is your name?” he asked me.

“Corey,” I said.

“Stand still.”

He approached, drawing very near. He stared at me for perhaps ten seconds.

“What is the matter?” I asked.

Instead of replying, he fumbled with a pouch at his belt. He withdrew a handful of coins and held them close to his eyes.

“Damn! It’s too dark,” he said, “and we can’t make a light.”

“For what?” I said.

“Oh, it is not of any great importance,” he told me. “You struck me as familiar, though, and I was trying to think why. You look like the head stamped on some of our old coins. A few of them are still about.

“Doesn’t he?” he addressed the nearest bowman.

The man lowered his crossbow and advanced. He squinted at me from a few paces’ distance.

“Yes,” he said then, “he does.”

“What was it — the one we’re thinking of?”

“One of those old men. Before my time. I don’t remember.”

“Me neither. Well…” He shrugged. “No importance. Go ahead, Corey. Answer their questions honestly and you’ll not be harmed.”

I turned away and left him there in the moonlight, gazing after me and scratching the top of his head.

The men who guarded us were not the talkative sort. Which was just as well.

All the way down the hill I wondered about the boy’s story and the resolution of the conflict he had described, for I had achieved the physical analogue of the world of my desire and would now have to operate within the prevailing situations.

The camp had the pleasant smell of man and beast, wood smoke, roasting meat, leather and oil, all intermingled in the firelight where men talked, honed weapons, repaired gear, ate, gamed, slept, drank, and watched us as we led our mounts through their midst, escorted in the direction of a nearly central trio of tattered tents. A sphere of silence expanded about us as we went.

We were halted before the second-largest tent and one of our guards spoke with a man who was pacing the area. The man shook his head several times and gestured in the direction of the largest tent. The exchange lasted for several minutes, then our guard returned and spoke with the other guard who waited at our left. Finally, our man nodded and approached me while the other summoned a man from the nearest campfire.

“The officers are all at a meeting in the Protector’s tent,” he said. “We are going to hobble your horses and put them to graze. Unstrap your things and set them here. You will have to wait to see the captain.” I nodded, and we set about unstowing our belongings and rubbing the horses down. I patted Star on the neck and watched a small man with a limp lead him and Ganelon’s mount Firedrake off toward the other horses. We sat on our packs then and waited. One of the guards brought us some hot tea and accepted a pipeful of my tobacco. They moved then to a spot somewhat to our rear.

I watched the big tent, sipped my tea, and thought of Amber and a small night club in the Rue de Char et Pain in Brussels, on the shadow Earth I had so long inhabited. Once I obtained the jewelers rouge I needed from here, I would be heading for Brussels to deal with the arms merchants of the Gun Bourse once again. My order would be complicated and expensive, I realized, because some ammunition manufacturer would have to be persuaded to set up a special production line. I knew dealers on that Earth other than Interannco, thanks to my itinerant military background in that place, and I estimated that it would only take me a few months to get outfitted there. I began considering the details and time passed quickly and pleasantly.

After what was probably an hour and a half, the shadows stirred within the large tent. It was several minutes after that before the entrance flap was thrown aside and men began to emerge, slowly, talking among themselves, glancing back within. The last two tarried at the threshold, still talking with someone who remained inside. The rest of them passed into the other tents.

The two at the entrance edged their way outside, still facing the interior. I could hear the sounds of their voices, although I could not make out what was being said. As they drifted farther outside, the man with whom they were speaking moved also and I caught a glimpse of him. The light was at his back and the two officers blocked most of my view, but I could see that he was thin and very tall.

Our guards had not yet stirred, indicating to me that one of the two officers was the captain mentioned earlier. I continued to stare, willing them to move farther and grant me a better look at their superior.

After a time they did, and a few moments later he took a step forward.

At first, I could not tell whether it was just a play of light and shadow… But no! He moved again and I had a clear view for a moment. He was missing his right arm, from a point just below the elbow. It was so heavily bandaged that I guessed the loss to have been quite recent.

Then his large left hand made a downward, sweeping gesture and hovered a good distance out from his body. The stump twitched at the same moment, and so did something at the back of my mind. His hair was long and straight and brown, and I saw the way that his jaw jutted…

He stepped outside then, and a breeze caught the cloak he wore and caused it to flare to his right. I saw that his shirt was yellow, his trousers brown. The cloak itself was a flame-like orange, and he caught its edge with an unnaturally rapid movement of his left hand and drew it back to cover his stump.

I stood quickly, and his head snapped in my direction.

Our gazes met, and neither of us moved for several heartbeats after that.

The two officers turned and stared, and then he pushed them aside and was striding toward me. I heard Ganelon grunt and climb quickly to his feet. Our guards were taken by surprise, also.

He halted several paces before me and his hazel eyes swept over me. He seldom smiled, but he managed a faint one this time.

“Come with me,” he said, and he turned back toward his tent.

We followed him, leaving our gear where it lay.

He dismissed the two officers with a glance, halted beside the tent’s entrance and motioned us in. He followed and let the flap fall behind him. My eyes took in his bedroll, a small table, benches, weapons, a campaign chest. There was an oil lamp on the table, as well as books, maps, a bottle, and some cups. Another lamp flickered atop the chest.

He clasped my hand and smiled again. “Corwin,” he said, “and still alive.”

“Benedict,” I said, smiling myself, “and breathing yet. It has been devilish long.”

“Indeed. Who is your friend?”

“His name is Ganelon.”

“Ganelon,” he said, nodding toward him but not offering to clasp hands.

He moved to the table then and poured three cups of wine. He passed one to me, another to Ganelon, raised the third himself.

“To your health, brother,” he said.

“To yours.” We drank.

Then, “Be seated,” he said, gesturing toward the nearest bench and seating himself at the table, “and welcome to Avalon.”

“Thank you — Protector.” He grimaced.

“The sobriquet is not unearned,” he said flatly, continuing to study my face. “I wonder whether their earlier protector could say the same?”

“It was not really this place,” I said, “and I believe that he could.” He shrugged.

“Of course,” he said. “Enough of that! Where have you been? What have you been doing? Why have you come here? Tell me of yourself. It has been too long.”

I nodded. It was unfortunate, but family etiquette as well as the balance of power required that I answer his questions before asking any of my own. He was my elder, and I had — albeit unknowing — intruded in his sphere of influence. It was not that I begrudged him the courtesy. He was one of the few among my many relatives whom I respected and even liked. It was that I was itching to question him. It had been, as he had said, too long.

And how much should I tell him now? I had no notion where his sympathies might lie. I did not desire to discover the reasons for his self-imposed exile from Amber by mentioning the wrong things. I would have to begin with something fairly neutral and sound him out as I went along.

“There must be a beginning,” he said then. “I care not what face you put upon it.”

“There are many beginnings,” I said. “It is difficult… I suppose I should go all the way back and take it from there.” I took another sip of the wine.

“Yes,” I decided. “That seems simplest — though it was only comparatively recently that I recalled much of what had occurred.

“It was several years after the defeat of the Moonriders out of Ghenesh and your departure that Eric and I had a major falling out,” I began. “Yes, it was a quarrel over the succession. Dad had been making abdication noises again, and he still refused to name a successor. Naturally, the old arguments were resumed as to who was more legitimate. Of course, you and Eric are both my elders, but while Faiella, mother to Eric and myself, was his wife after the death of Clymnea, they —”

“Enough!” cried Benedict, slapping the table so hard that it cracked.

The lamp danced and sputtered, but by some small miracle was not upset. The tent’s entrance flap was immediately pushed aside and a concerned guard peered in. Benedict glanced at him and he withdrew.

“I do not wish to sit in on our respective bastardy proceeding,” Benedict said softly. “That obscene pasttime was one of the reasons I initially absented myself from felicity. Please continue your story without the benefit of footnotes.”

“Well — yes,” I said, coughing lightly. “As I was saying, we had some rather bitter arguments concerning the whole matter. Then one evening it went beyond mere words. We fought.”

“A duel?”

“Nothing that formal. A simultaneous decision to murder one another is more like it. At any rate, we fought for a long while and Eric finally got the upper hand and proceeded to pulverize me. At the risk of getting ahead of my story, I have to add that all of this was only recalled to me about five years ago.” Benedict nodded, as though he understood.

“I can only conjecture as to what occurred immediately after I lost consciousness,” I went on. “But Eric stopped short of killing me himself. When I awakened, I was on a shadow Earth in a place called London. The plague was rampant at the time, and I had contracted it. I recovered with no memory of anything prior to London. I dwelled on that shadow world for centuries, seeking some clue as to my identity. I traveled all over it, often as part of some military campaign. I attended their universities, I spoke with some of their wisest men, I consulted famous physicians. But nowhere could I find the key to my past. It was obvious to me that I was not like other men and I took great pains to conceal this fact. I was furious because I could have anything that I wanted except what I wanted most — my own identity, my memories.

“The years passed, but this anger and this longing did not. It took an accident that fractured my skull to set off the changes that led to the return of my first recollections. This was approximately five years ago, and the irony of it is that I have good reason to believe Eric was responsible for the accident. Flora had apparently been resident on that shadow Earth all along, keeping watch over me.

“To return to conjecture, Eric must have stayed his hand at the last moment, desiring my death, but not wanting it traceable to him. So he transported me through Shadow to a place of sudden, almost certain death — doubtless to return and say that we had argued and I had ridden off in a huff, muttering something about going away again. We had been hunting in the Forest of Arden that day — just the two of us, together.”

“I find it strange,” Benedict interrupted, “that two rivals such as yourselves should elect to hunt together under such circumstances.”

I took a sip of wine and smiled.

“Perhaps it was a trifle more contrived than I made it sound,” I said. “Perhaps we both welcomed the opportunity to hunt together. Just the two of us.”

“I see,” he said. “So it is possible that your situations could have been reversed?”

“Well,” I said, “that is difficult to say. I do not believe I would have gone that far. I am talking as of now, of course. People do change, you know. Back then…? Yes, I might have done the same thing to him. I cannot say for certain, but it is possible.” He nodded again, and I felt a flash of anger which passed quickly into amusement.

“Fortunately, I am not out to justify my own motives for anything,” I continued. “To go on with my guesswork, I believe that Eric kept tabs on me after that, doubtless disappointed at first that I had survived, but satisfied as to my harmlessness. So he arranged to have Flora keep an eye on me, and the world turned peacefully for a long while. Then, presumably, Dad abdicated and disappeared without the question of the succession having been settled —”

“The hell he did!” said Benedict. “There was no abdication. He just vanished. One morning he simply was not in his chambers. His bed had not even been slept in. There were no messages. He had been seen entering the suite the evening before, but no one saw him depart. And even this was not considered strange for a long while. At first it was simply thought that he was sojourning in Shadow once again, perhaps to seek another bride. It was a long while before anyone dared suspect foul play or chose to construe this as a novel form of abdication.”

“I was not aware of this,” I said. “Your sources of information seem to have been closer to the heart of things than mine were.”

He only nodded, giving rise to uneasy speculations on my part as to his contact in Amber. For all I knew, he could be pro-Eric these days.

“When was the last time you were back there yourself?” I ventured.

“A little over twenty years ago,” he replied, “but I keep in touch.”

Not with anyone who had cared to mention it to me! He must have known that as he said it, so did he mean me to take it as a caution — or a threat? My mind raced. Of course he possessed a set of the Major Trumps. I fanned them mentally and went through them like mad. Random had professed ignorance as to his whereabouts. Brand had been missing a long while. I had had indication that he was still alive, imprisoned in some unpleasant place or other and in no position to report on the happenings in Amber. Flora could not have been his contact, as she had been in virtual exile in Shadow herself until recently. Llewella was in Rebma. Deirdre was in Rebma also, and had been out of favor in Amber when last I saw her. Fiona? Julian had told me she was “somewhere to the south.” He was uncertain as to precisely where. Who did that leave?

Eric himself, Julian, Gerard, or Caine, as I saw it. Scratch Eric. He would not have passed along the details of Dad’s non-abdication in a manner that would allow things to be taken as Benedict had taken them. Julian supported Eric, but was not without personal ambitions of the highest order. He would pass along information if it might benefit him to do so. Ditto for Caine. Gerard, on the other hand, had always struck me as more interested in the welfare of Amber itself than in the question of who sat on its throne. He was not over-fond of Eric, though, and had once been willing to support either Bleys or myself over him. I believed he would have considered Benedict’s awareness of events to be something in the nature of an insurance policy for the realm. Yes, it was almost certainly one of these three. Julian hated me. Caine neither liked nor disliked me especially, and Gerard and I shared fond memories that went all the way back to my childhood. I would have to find out who it was, quickly — and he was not yet ready to tell me, of course, knowing nothing of my present motives. A liaison with Amber could be used to hurt me or benefit me in short order, depending upon his desire and the person on the other end. It was therefore both sword and shield to him, and I was somewhat hurt that he had chosen to display these accoutrements so quickly. I chose to take it that his recent injury had served to make him abnormally wary, for I had certainly never given him cause for distress. Still, this caused me to feel abnormally wary also, a sad thing to know when meeting one’s brother again for the first time in many years.

“It is interesting,” I said, swirling the wine within my cup. “In this light, then, it appears that everyone may have acted prematurely.”

“Not everyone,” he said.

I felt my face redden.

“Your, pardon,” I said.

He nodded courtly.

“Please continue your telling.”

“Well, to continue my chain of assumptions,” I said, “when Eric decided that the throne had been vacant long enough and the time had come to make his move, he must also have decided that my amnesia was not sufficient and that it would be better to see my claim quitted entirely. At this time, he arranged for me to have an accident off on that shadow Earth, an accident which should have proven fatal but did not.”

“How do you know this? How much of it is guesswork?”

“Flora as much as admitted it to me — including her own complicity in the thing — when I questioned her later.”

“Very interesting. Go on.”

“The bash on my head provided what even Sigmund Freud had been unable to obtain for me earlier,” I said. “There returned to me small recollections that grew stronger and stronger — especially after I encountered Flora and was exposed to all manner of things that stimulated my memory. I was able to convince her that it had fully returned, so her speech was open as to people and things. Then Random showed up, fleeing from something —”

“Fleeing? From what? Why?”

“From some strange creatures out of Shadow. I never found out why.”

“Interesting,” he said, and I had to agree. I had thought of it often, back in my cell, wondering just why Random had entered, stage left, pursued by Furies, in the first place. From the moment we met until the moment we parted, we had been in some sort of peril; I had been preoccupied with my own troubles and he had volunteered nothing concerning his abrupt appearance. It had crossed my mind, of course, at the time of his arrival, but I was uncertain as to whether it was something of which I might be expected to have knowledge, and I let it go at that. Events then submerged it until later in my cell and again the present moment. Interesting? Indeed. Also, troubling.

“I managed to take in Random as to my condition,” I continued. “He believed I was seeking the throne, when all that I was consciously seeking was my memory. He agreed to help me return to Amber, and he succeeded in getting me back. Well, almost,” I corrected. “We wound up in Rebma. By then, I had told Random my true condition, and he proposed my walking the Pattern again as a means of restoring it fully. The opportunity was there, and I took it. It proved effective, and I used the power of the Pattern to transport myself into Amber.” He smiled.

“At this point, Random must have been a very unhappy man,” he said.

“He was not exactly singing with glee,” I said. “He had accepted Moire’s judgment, that he wed a woman of her choosing — a blind girl named Vialle — and remain there with her for at least a year. I left him behind, and I later learned that he had done this thing. Deirdre was also there. We had encountered her along the way, in flight from Amber, and the three of us had entered Rebma together. She remained behind, also.”

I finished my wine and Benedict nodded toward the bottle. It was almost empty, though, so he fetched a fresh bottle from his chest and we filled our cups. I took a long swallow. It was better wine than the previous. Must have been his private stock.

“In the palace,” I went on, “I made my way to the library, where I obtained a pack of the Tarots. This was my main reason for venturing there. I was surprised by Eric before I could do much else and we fought, there in the library. I succeeded in wounding him and believe I could have finished him, save that reinforcements arrived and I was forced to flee. I contacted Bleys then, who gave me passage to him in Shadow. You may have heard the rest from your own sources. How Bleys and I threw in together, assaulted Amber, lost. He fell from the face of Kolvir. I tossed him my Tarots and he caught them. I understand that his body was never found. But it was a long way down — though I believe the tide was high by then. I do not know whether he died that day or not.”

“Neither do I,” said Benedict.

“So I was imprisoned and Eric was crowned. I was prevailed upon to assist in the coronation, despite a small demurrer on my part. I did succeed in crowning myself before that bastard — genealogically speaking — had it back and placed it on his own head. Then he had me blinded and sent to the dungeons.”

He leaned forward and studied my face. “Yes,” he said, “I had heard that. How was it done?”

“Hot irons,” I said, wincing involuntarily and repressing an impulse to clutch at my eyes. “I passed out partway through the ordeal.”

“Was there actual contact with the eyeballs?”

“Yes,” I said. “I think so.”

“And how long did the regeneration take?”

“It was close to four years before I could see again,” I said, “and my vision is just getting back to normal now. So — about five years altogether, I would say.”

He leaned back, sighed, and smiled faintly.

“Good,” he said. “You give me some small hope. Others of us have lost portions of their anatomy and experienced regeneration also, of course, but I never lost anything significant — until now.”

“Oh yes,” I said. “It is a most impressive record. I reviewed it regularly for years. A collection of bits and pieces, many of them forgotten I daresay, but by the principals and myself: fingertips, toes, ear lobes. I would say that there is hope for your arm. Not for a long while, of course.

“It is a good thing that you are ambidextrous,” I added.

His smile went on and off and he took a drink of wine. No, he was not ready to tell me what had happened to him.

I took another sip of my own. I did not want to tell him about Dworkin. I had wanted to save Dworkin as something of an ace in the hole. None of us understood the man’s full power, and he was obviously mad. But he could be manipulated. Even Dad had apparently come to fear him after a time, and had had him locked away. What was it that he had told me back in my cell? That Dad had had him confined after he had announced his discovery of a means for destroying all of Amber. If this was not just the rambling of a psychotic and was the real reason for his being where he was, then Dad had been far more generous that I would have been. The man was too dangerous to let live. On the other hand, though, Dad had been trying to cure him of his condition. Dworkin had spoken of doctors, men he had frightened away or destroyed when he had turned his powers against them. Most of my memories of him were of a wise, kindly old man, quite devoted to Dad and the rest of the family. It would be difficult readily to destroy someone like that if there was some hope. He had been confined to what should have been inescapable quarters. Yet when he had grown bored one day, he had simply walked out. No man can walk through Shadow in Amber, the very absence of Shadow, so he had done something I did not understand, something involving the principle behind the Trumps, and had left his quarters. Before he returned to them, I managed to persuade him to provide me with a similar exit from my own cell, one that transported me to the lighthouse of Cabra, where I recovered somewhat, then set out upon the voyage that took me to Lorraine. Most likely he was still undetected. As I understood it, our family had always possessed special powers, but it was he who analyzed them and formalized their functions by means of the Pattern and the Tarots. He had often tried to discuss the matter, but it had seemed awfully abstract and boring to most of us. We are a very pragmatic family, damn it! Brand was the only one who seemed to have had any interest in the subject. And Fiona. I had almost forgotten. Sometimes Fiona would listen. And Dad. Dad knew an awful lot of things that he never discussed. He never had much time for us, and there were so many things about him that we did not know. But he was probably as well versed as Dworkin in whatever principles were involved. Their main difference was one of application. Dworkin was an artist. I do not really know what Dad was. He never encouraged intimacy, though he was not an unkind father. Whenever he took note of us, he was quite lavish with gifts and diversions. But he left our upbringing to various members of his court. He tolerated us, I feel, as occasionally inevitable consequences of passion. Actually, I am quite surprised that the family is not much larger. The thirteen of us, plus two brothers and a sister I knew who were now dead, represent close to fifteen hundred years of parental production. There had been a few others also, of whom I had heard, long before us, who had not survived. Not a tremendous batting average for so lusty a liege, but then none of us had proved excessively fertile either. As soon as we were able to fend for ourselves and walk in Shadow, Dad had encouraged us to do so, find places where we would be happy and settle there. This was my connection with the Avalon which is no more. So far as I knew, Dad’s own origins were known only to himself. I had never encountered anyone whose memory stretched back to a time when there had been no Oberon. Strange? Not to know where one’s own father comes from, when one has had centuries in which to exercise one’s curiosity? Yes. But he was secretive, powerful, shrewd — traits we all possess to some degree. He wanted us well situated and satisfied, I feel — but never so endowed as to present a threat to his own reign. There was in him, I guessed, an element of uneasiness, a not unjustifiable sense of caution with respect to our learning too much concerning himself and times long gone by. I do not believe that he had ever truly envisioned a time when he would not rule in Amber. He occasionally spoke, jokingly or grumblingly, of abdication. But I always felt this to be a calculated thing, to see what responses it would provoke. He must have realized the state of affairs his passing would produce, but refused to believe that the situation would ever occur. And no one of us really knew all of his duties and responsibilities, his secret commitments. As distasteful as I found the admission, I was coming to feel that none of us was really fit to take the throne. I would have liked to blame Dad for this inadequacy, but unfortunately I had known Freud too long not to feel self-conscious about it. Also, I was now beginning to wonder about the validity of any of our claims. If there had been no abdication and he did indeed still live, then the best of us could really hope to do was sit in regency. I would not look forward — especially from the throne — to his returning and finding things otherwise. Let’s face it, I was afraid of him, and not without cause. Only a fool does not fear a genuine power that he does not understand. But whether the title be king or regent, my claim on it was stronger than Eric’s and I was still determined to have it. If a power out of Dad’s dark past, which none of us really understood, could serve to secure it, and if Dworkin did represent such a power, then he must remain hidden until he could be employed on my behalf.

Even, I asked myself, if the power he represented was the power to destroy Amber itself, and with it to shatter the shadow worlds and capsize all of existence as I understood it?

Especially then, I answered myself. For who else could be trusted with such power? We are indeed a very pragmatic family.

More wine, and then I fumbled with my pipe, cleaning it, repacking it.

“That, basically, is my story to date,” I said, regarding my handiwork, rising and taking a light from the lamp. “After I recovered my sight, I managed to escape, fled Amber, tarried for a time in a place called Lorraine, where I encountered Ganelon, then came here.”

“Why?” I reseated myself and looked at him again.

“Because it is near to the Avalon I once knew,” I said.

I had purposely refrained from mentioning any earlier acquaintanceship with Ganelon, and hoped that he would take a clue from it. This shadow was near enough to our Avalon so that Ganelon should be familiar with its topography and most of its customs. For whatever it was worth, it seemed politic to keep this information from Benedict.

He passed over it as I thought he might, buried there where it was beside more interesting digging.

“And of your escape?” he asked. “How did you manage that?”

“I had help, of course,” I admitted, “in getting out of the cell. Once out — well, there are still a few passages of which Eric is unaware.”

“I see,” he said, nodding — hoping, naturally, that I would go on to mention my partisans’ names, but knowing better than to ask.

I puffed my pipe and leaned back, smiling.

“It is good to have friends,” he said, as if in agreement with some unvoiced thought I might be entertaining.

“I guess that we all have a few of them in Amber.”

“I like to think so,” he said. Then, “I understand you left the partly whittled cell door locked behind you, had set fire to your bedding, and had drawn pictures on the wall.”

“Yes,” I said. “Prolonged confinement does something to a man’s mind. At least, it did to mine. There are long periods during which I know I was irrational.”

“I do not envy you the experience, brother,” he said. “Not at all. What are your plans now?”

“They are still uncertain.”

“Do you feel that you might wish to remain here?”

“I do not know,” I said. “What is the state of affairs here?”

“I am in charge,” he said — a simple statement of fact, not a boast. “I believe I have just succeeded in destroying the only major threat to the realm. If I am correct, then a reasonably tranquil period should be at hand. The price was high,” — he glanced at what remained of his arm — “but will have been worth it — as shall be seen before very long, when things have returned to normal.”

He then proceeded to relate what was basically the same situation the youth had described, going on to tell how they had won the battle. The leader of the hellmaids slain, her riders had bolted and fled. Most of them were also slain then, and the caverns had been sealed once more. Benedict had decided to maintain a small force in the field for mopping-up purposes, his scouts the while combing the area for survivors.

He made no mention of the meeting between himself and their leader, Lintra.

“Who slew their leader?” I asked him.

“I managed it,” he said, making a sudden movement with his stump, “though I hesitated a moment too long on my first blow.”

I glanced away and so did Ganelon. When I looked back, his face had returned to normal and he had lowered his arm.

“We looked for you. Did you know that, Corwin?” he asked. “Brand searched for you in many shadows, as did Gerard. You guessed correctly as to what Eric said after your disappearance that day. We were inclined to look farther than his word, however. We tried your Trump repeatedly, but there was no response. It must be that brain damage can block it. That is interesting. Your failure to respond to the Trump led us to believe you had died. Then Julian, Caine, and Random joined the search.”

“All that? Really? I am astonished.”

He smiled.

“Oh,” I said then, and smiled myself.

Their joining the hunt at that point meant that it was not my welfare that concerned them, but the possibility of obtaining evidence of fratricide against Eric, so as to displace him or blackmail him.

“I sought for you in the vicinity of Avalon,” he continued, “and I found this place and was taken by it. It was in a pitiful condition in those days, and for generations I worked to restore it to its former glory. While I began this in memory of you, I developed a fondness for this land and its people. They came to consider me their protector, and so did I.”

I was troubled as well as touched by this. Was he implying that I had fouled things up terribly and that he had tarried here to put them in order — so as to clean up after his kid brother this one last time? Or did he mean that he realized I had loved this place — or a place very much like it — and that he had worked to set it in good order as something I might have wished done? Perhaps I was becoming oversensitive.

“It is good to know that I was sought,” I said, “and it is very good to know that you are the defender of this land. I would like to see this place, for it does remind me of the Avalon that I knew. Would you have any objections to my visiting here?”

“That is all that you wish to do? Visit?”

“That is all that I had in mind.”

“Know then that what is remembered of the shadow of yourself that once reigned here is not good. Children are not named Corwin in this place, nor am I brother to any Corwin here.”

“I understand,” I said. “My name is Corey. Can we be old friends?” He nodded.

“Old friends of mine are always welcome to visit here,” he said.

I smiled and nodded. I felt insulted that he would entertain the notion that I had designs upon this shadow of a shadow: I, who had — albeit but for an instant — felt the cold fire of Amber’s crown upon my brow.

I wondered what his attitude would have been had he known of my responsibility, when it came down to basics, for the raids. For that matter, I suppose, I was also responsible for the loss of his arm. I preferred to push things one step farther back, however, and hold Eric responsible. After all, it was his action that had prompted my curse.

Still, I hoped that Benedict would never find out. I wanted very badly to know where he stood with respect to Eric. Would he support him, throw his weight behind me, or just stay out of the way when I made my move? Conversely, I was certain that he wondered whether my ambitions were dead or still smoldering — and if the latter, what my plans were for stoking them. So…

Who was going to raise the matter?

I took several good puffs on my pipe, finished my wine, poured some more, puffed again. I listened to the sounds of the camp, the wind, my stomach… Benedict took a sip of wine.

Then, “What are your long-range plans?” he asked me, almost casually.

I could say that I had not made up my mind yet, that I was simply happy to be free, alive, seeing… I could tell him that that was enough for me, for now, that I had no special plans…

… And he would know that I lied in my teeth. For he knew me better than that.

So, “You know what my plans are,” I said.

“If you were to ask for my support,” he said, “I would deny it. Amber is in bad enough shape without another power grab.”

“Eric is a usurper.”

“I choose to look upon him as regent only. At this time, any of us who claims the throne is guilty of usurpation.”

“Then you believe Dad still lives?”

“Yes. Alive and distressed. He has made several attempts to communicate.”

I succeeded in keeping my face from showing anything. So I was not the only one, then. To reveal my experiences at this point would sound hypocritical, opportunistic, or a flat lie — since in our seeming contact of five years ago he had given me the go-ahead to take the throne. Of course, he could have been referring to a regency then…

“You did not lend support to Eric when he took the throne,” I said. “Would you give it to him now that he holds it, if an attempt were made to unseat him?”

“It is as I said,” he told me. “I look upon him as regent. I do not say that I approve of this, but I desire no further strife in Amber.”

“Then you would support him?”

“I have said all that I have to say on the matter. You are welcome to visit my Avalon, but not to use it as a staging area for an invasion of Amber. Does that clarify matters with respect to anything you may have in mind?”

“It clarifies matters,” I said.

“This being the case, do you still wish to visit here?”

“I do not know,” I said. “Does your desire to avoid strife in Amber work both ways?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that if I were returned to Amber against my will, I would damn well create as much strife as I could to prevent a recurrence of my previous situation.”

The lines went out of his face and he slowly lowered his eyes.

“I did not mean to imply that I would betray you. Do you think that I am without feelings, Corwin? I would not see you imprisoned again, blinded — or worse. You are always welcome to visit here, and you may leave your fears along with your ambitions at the border.”

“Then I would still like to visit,” I said. “I have no army, nor did I come here to recruit one.”

“Then you know that you are most welcome.”

“Thank you, Benedict. While I did not expect to find you here, I am glad that I did.” He reddened faintly and nodded.

“It pleases me, also,” he said. “Am I the first of us you have seen — since your escape?” I nodded.

“Yes, and I am curious as to how everyone is faring. Any major reports?”

“No new deaths,” he said.

We both chuckled, and I knew that I would have to turn up the family gossip on my own. It had been worth the attempt, though.

“I am planning on remaining in the field for a time,” he said, “and continuing my patrols until I am satisfied that none of the invaders remain. It could be another week before we withdraw.”

“Oh? Then it was not a total victory?”

“I believe that it was, but I never take unnecessary chances. It is worth a little more time to be certain.”

“Prudent,” I said, nodding.

“…So unless you have a strong desire to remain here in camp, I see no reason why you should not proceed on toward town and get near the center of things. I maintain several residences about Avalon. I have in mind for your use a small manor house that I have found pleasant. It is not far from town.”

“I look forward to seeing it.”

“I will provide you with a map and a letter to my steward in the morning.”

“Thank you, Benedict.”

“I will join you there as soon as I have finished here,” he said, “and in the meantime, I have messengers passing that way daily. I will keep in touch with you through them.”

“Very good.”

“Then find yourselves a comfortable piece of ground,” he said. “You’ll not miss the breakfast call, I’m sure.”

“I seldom do,” I said. “Is it all right if we sleep at that spot where we left our gear?”

“Certainly,” he said, and we finished the wine.

As we left his tent, I seized the flap up high when I opened it and was able to squeeze it several inches to the side when I cast it before me. Benedict bade us good night and turned away as he let it fall, not noticing the gap of several inches that I had created along its one side.

I made my bed up a good distance to the right of our equipment, facing in the direction of Benedict’s tent, and I moved the gear itself as I rummaged through it. Ganelon shot me a quizzical look, but I simply nodded and made a movement with my eyes toward the tent. He glanced that way, returned the nod, and proceeded to spread his own blankets farther to the right.

I measured it with my eyes, walked over, and said, “You know, I’d much rather sleep here. Would you mind switching with me?” I added a wink for emphasis.

“Makes no difference to me,” he said, shrugging.

The campfires had died or were dying, and most of the company had turned in. The guard only paid us heed a couple of times around. The camp was very quiet and there were no clouds to obscure the brilliance of the stars. I was tired, and the smells of the smoke and the damp earth came pleasantly to my nostrils, reminding me of other times and places such as this and the rest at the day’s end.

Instead of closing my eyes, however, I fetched my pack and propped my back against it, filled my pipe again, and struck it to life.

I adjusted my position twice as he paced within the tent. Once, he vanished from my field of vision and remained hidden for several moments. But the far light moved then, and I knew that he had opened the chest. Then he came into sight once more and cleared the table, dropped back for an instant, returned and reseated himself in his earlier position. I moved so that I could keep sight of his left arm.

He was paging through a book, or sorting something of about that size. Cards, maybe? Naturally.

I would have given a lot for one glimpse of the Trump that he finally settled upon and held before him. I would have given a lot to have Grayswandir beneath my hand, in case another person suddenly came into the tent by means other than the entrance through which I spied. My palms and the soles of my feet tingled, in anticipation of flight or combat.

But he remained alone.

He sat there unmoving for perhaps a quarter of an hour, and when he finally stirred it was only to replace the cards somewhere in his chest and to extinguish the lamps.

The guard continued on his monotonous rounds and Ganelon began to snore.

I emptied my pipe and rolled over onto my side.

Tomorrow, I told myself. If I wake up here tomorrow, everything will be all right…