Trumps of Doom

Chapter 8

I guess that my thoughts at funerals are typical. Like Bloom in Ulysses, I think the most mundane things about the deceased and the current goings-on. The rest of the time my mind wanders.

On the wide strand of shoreline at the southern foot of Kolvir there is a small chapel dedicated to the Unicorn, one of several such throughout the realm at places where she had been sighted. This one seemed most appropriate for Caine’s service in that — like Gerard — he had once expressed a desire to be laid to rest in one of the sea caves at the mountain’s foot, facing the waters he had sailed so long, so often. One such had been prepared for him, and there would be a procession after the service to inter him there. It was a windy, misty, sea-cool morning with only a few sails in sight, moving to or from the port over half a league westward of us.

Technically, I suppose Random should have officiated, since his kingship automatically made him high priest, but aside from reading an opening and closing passage on the Passing of Princes from the Book of the Unicorn, he turned the service over to Gerard to perform in his stead, as Caine had gotten along with Gerard better than with anyone else in the family. So Gerard’s booming voice filled the small stone building, reading long sections involving the sea and mutability. It was said that Dworkin himself had penned the Book in his saner days, and that long passages had come direct from the Unicorn. I don’t know. I wasn’t there. It is also said that we are descended of Dworkin and the Unicorn, which gives rise to some unusual mental images. Origins of anything tend to fade off into myth, though. Who knows? I wasn’t around then.

“… And all things return to the sea,” Gerard was saying. I looked about me. Besides the family, there were perhaps forty or fifty people present, mostly nobility from the town, a few merchants with whom Caine had been friendly, representatives of realms in several adjacent shadows where Caine had spent time on both official and personal business, and of course Vinta Bayle. Bill had expressed a desire to be present, and he stood to my left. Martin was at my right. Neither Fiona nor Bleys was present. Bleys had pleaded his injury and excused himself from the service. Fiona had simply vanished. Random had been unable to locate her this morning. Julian departed partway through the service, to check on the guard he had posted along the strand, someone having pointed out that a would-be assassin could rack up a high score with that many of us together in one small space. Consequently, Julian’s foresters, with short sword, dagger, and longbow or lance, were spotted strategically all over the place — and every now and then we’d hear the baying of one of his hellhounds, to be answered almost immediately by several others, a mournful, unnerving thing, counterpointing waves, wind, and reflections upon mortality. Where had she gotten off to? I wondered. Fiona? Fear of a trap? Or something to do with last night? And Benedict… he had sent regrets and regards, mentioning sudden business that precluded his making it back in time. Llewella simply hadn’t shown, and could not be reached by Trump. Flora stood ahead and to the left of me, knowing she looked lovely in dark colors, too. Perhaps I do her an injustice. I don’t know. But she seemed more fidgety than contemplative.

At the conclusion of the service we filed out, four seamen bearing Caine’s casket, and we formed up into a procession that would lead to the cave and his sarcophagus. A number of Julian’s troops came up to pace us as an armed escort.

As we walked along, Bill nudged me and gestured upward with his head, toward Kolvir. I looked in that direction and beheld a black-cloaked and cowled figure standing upon a ledge in the shadow of a rocky projection. Bill leaned close so that I could hear him above the sound of the pipes and strings that were now playing.

“Is that one some part of the ceremony?” he asked.

“Not that I know of,” I answered.

I broke out of line and moved forward. In another minute or so we would pass directly beneath the figure.

I caught up with Random and put my hand on his shoulder. When he looked back I pointed upward. He halted and stared, squinting.

His right hand rose to his breast, where he wore the Jewel of Judgment, as on most state occasions. Instantly, the winds rose.

“Halt!” Random called out. “Stop the procession! Everyone stay where you are!”

The figure moved then, slightly, head turning as if to stare at Random. In the sky, as if by trick photography, a cloud blew itself together, growing, above Kolvir. A red, pulsing glow emerged from beneath Random’s hand.

Suddenly, the figure looked upward and a hand flashed beneath the cloak, emerging moments later to perform a quick casting movement. A tiny black object hung in the air, then began its descent.

“Everybody down!” Gerard called out.

Random did not move as the others of us dropped. He remained standing, watching, as lightning emerged from the cloud and played across the face of the cliff.

The thunder that followed coincided almost exactly with the explosion that occurred high overhead. The distance had been too great. The bomb had gone off before it reached us — though it would probably have scored had we continued as we were, to pass beneath the ledge and have it dropped directly upon us. When the spots stopped dancing before my eyes, I regarded the cliff again. The dark figure was gone.

“Did you get him?” I asked Random.

He shrugged as he lowered his hand. The Jewel had ceased its pulsing.

“Everybody on your feet!” he called out. “Let’s get on with this funeral!”

And we did. There were no more incidents, and the business was concluded as planned.

My thoughts, and probably everyone else’s, were already playing family games as the box was being fitted into the vault. Might the attacker have been one of our absent kin? And if so, which one? What motives might each of them possess for the act? Where were they now? And what were their alibis? Could there have been a coalition involved? Or cold it have been an outsider? If so, how was access obtained to the local supply of explosives? Or was this imported stuff? Or had someone local come up with the proper formula? If it were an outsider, what was the motive and where was the person from? Had one of us imported an assassin? Why?

As we filed past the vault I did think fleetingly of Caine, but more as part of the puzzle picture than as an individual. I had not known him all that well. But then, several of the others had told me early on that he was not the easiest person to get to know. He was tough and cynical and had a streak of cruelty in his nature. He had made quite a few enemies over the years and seemed even to be proud of this fact. He had always been decent enough with me, but then we’d never been at cross-purposes over anything. So my feelings did not run as deep for him as they did for most of the others. Julian was another of this cut, but more polished on the surface. And no one could be certain what lay beneath that surface an any given day. Caine… I wish I’d gotten to know you better. I am certain that I am diminished by your passing in ways that I do not even understand.

Departing, afterward, heading back to the palace for food and drink, I wondered, not for the first time, how my problems and everyone else’s were connected. For I felt they were. I don’t mind small coincidences, but I don’t trust big ones.

And Meg Devlin? Did she know something of this business, too? It seemed possible that she might. Husband or no husband, I decided, we had a date. Soon.

Later, in the big dining hall, amid the buzz of conversation and the rattle of cutlery and crockery, one vague possibility occurred to me and I resolved to pursue it immediately. Excusing myself from the cold but attractive company of Vinta Bayle, third daughter of some minor nobility and apparently Caine’s last mistress, I made my way to the far end of the hall and the small knot of people surrounding Random. I was standing there for several minutes, wondering how to break in, when he spotted me. He excused himself from the others immediately advanced upon me, and caught hold of my sleeve.

“Merlin,” he said, “I don’t have time now, but I just wanted to let you know that I don’t consider our conversation concluded. I want to get together with you again later this afternoon or this evening — as soon as I’m free. So don’t go running off anywhere till we’ve talked, okay?”

I nodded.

“One quick question,” I said, as he began turning back toward the others.

“Shoot,” he said.

“Are there any Amberites currently in residence on the shadow Earth I just departed — agents of any sort?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t have any, and I don’t believe any of the others do just now. I have a number of contacts there in different places, but they’re all natives — like Bill.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Something new come up?” he asked then.

I nodded again.

“Serious?”

“Possibly.”

“I wish I had the time to hear it, but it’ll just have to keep till we talk later.”

“I understand.”

“I’ll send for you,” he said, and he returned to his companions.

That shot down the only explanation I could think of for Meg Devlin. It also foreclosed the possibility of my taking off to see her as soon as I could leave the gathering.

I consoled myself with another plate of food. After a time, Flora entered the hall, studied all the knots of humanity, then made her way among them to settle beside me on the window seat.

“No way of talking to Random right now without an audience,” she said.

“You’re right,” I replied. “May I get you something to eat or drink?”

“Not now. Maybe you can help. You’re a sorcerer.”

I didn’t like that opening, but I asked, “What’s the problem?”

“I went to Bleys’ rooms, to see whether he wanted to come down and join us. He’s gone.”

“Wasn’t his door locked? Most people do that around here.”

“Yes, from the inside. So he must have trumped out. I broke in when he didn’t answer, since there’d been one attempt on his life already.”

“And what would you want of a sorcerer?”

“Can you trace him?”

“Trumps don’t leave tracks,” I said. “But even if I could, I’m not so sure that I would. He knows what he’s doing, and he obviously wants to be left alone.”

“But what if he’s involved? He and Caine had been on opposite sides in the past.”

“If he’s mixed up in something dangerous to the rest of us you should be happy to see him go.”

“So you can’t help — or won’t?”

I nodded.

“Both, I guess. Any decision to seek him out should really come from Random, don’t you think?”

“Maybe.”

“I’d suggest keeping it to yourself till you can talk to Random. No use stirring up fruitless speculations among the others. Or I’ll tell him, if you’d like. I’m going to be talking with him a bit later.”

“What about?”

Ouch.

“Not sure,” I said. “It’s something he wants to tell me, or ask me.”

She studied me carefully.

“We haven’t really had our own little talk yet,” she said then.

“Looks like we’re having it now.”

“Okay. May I hear about your problems in one of my favorite shadows?”

“Why not?” I said, and I launched into a synopsis of the damned thing again. I felt that this would be the final time, though. Once Flora knew it I was confident it would make the rounds.

She had no information bearing upon my case that she cared to share. We chatted for a while then — local gossip, and she finally decided to get something to eat. She departed in the direction of the food and did not return.

I talked with a few of the others, too — about Caine, about my father. I did not hear anything that I did not already know. I was introduced to a number of people I had not met before. I memorized a mess of names and relationships since I had nothing better to do.

When things finally broke up, I kept an eye on Random and contrived to depart at about the same time he did.

“Later,” he said as we passed, and he went off with a couple of guys he’d been talking with.

So I went back to my rooms and stretched out on the bed. When things are brewing you take your rest whenever you can.

After a time I slept, and I dreamed…

I was walking in the formal garden behind the palace. Someone else was with me, but I did not know who it was. This did not seem to matter. I heard a familiar howling. Suddenly, there were growling noises near at hand. The first time I looked about I saw nothing. But then, abruptly, they were there — three huge, doglike creatures similar to the one I had slain in Julia’s apartment. They were racing toward me across the garden. The howling continued, but they were not its authors. They restricted themselves to growling and slavering as they came on. Just as suddenly, I realized that this was a dream and that I had dreamt it several times before only to lose track of it upon awakening. The knowledge that it was a dream, however, in no way detracted from the feeling of menace as they rushed toward me. All three of them were surrounded by a kind of light — pale, distorting. Looking past them, through their haloes, I did not see the garden but caught glimpses of a forest. When they drew near and sprang to attack it was as if they had encountered a glass wall. They fell back, rose and dashed toward me once more only to be blocked again. They leaped and growled and whined and tried again. It was as if I stood beneath a bell jar or within a magic circle, though. They could not get at me. Then the howling came louder, came nearer and they turned their attention away from me.

“Wow!” Random said. “I should charge you something for pulling you out of a nightmare.”

…And I was awake and lying on my bed and there was darkness beyond my window — and I realized that Random had called me via my Trump and tuned in on my dream when he’d made contact.

I yawned and thought him my answer.

“Thanks.”

“Finish waking up and let’s have our talk,” he said.

“Yes. Where are you?”

“Downstairs. The little sitting room off the main hall to the south. Drinking coffee. We’ve got it to ourselves.”

“See you in five.”

“Check.” Random faded. I sat up, swung my feet over the side of the bed, and rose. I crossed the room to the window and flung it wide. I inhaled the crisp evening air of autumn. Spring on the shadow Earth, fall here in Amber — my two favorite seasons. I should be heartened, uplifted. Instead a trick of the night, the tag-end of the dream — it seemed for a moment that I heard the final note of the howling. I shuddered and closed the window. Our dreams are too much with us.

I hiked down to the designated room and took a seat on one of its sofas. Random let me get through half a cup of coffee before he said, “Tell me about the Ghostwheel.”

“It’s a kind of paraphysical surveillance device and library.”

Random put down his cup and cocked his head to one side.

“Could you be more specific?” he said.

“Well, my work with computers led me to speculate that basic data-processing principles could be employed with interesting results in a place where computer mechanics themselves would not operate,” I began. “In other words, I had to locate a shadow environment where the operations would remain pretty much invariant but where the physical construct, all of the peripherals, the programming techniques and the energy inputs would be of a different nature.”

“Uh, Merlin,” Random said. “You’ve lost me already.”

“I designed and built a piece of data-processing equipment in a shadow where no ordinary computer could function,” I replied, “because I used different materials, a radically different design, a different power source. I also chose a place where different physical laws apply, so that it could operate along different lines. I was then able to write programs for it which would not have operated on the shadow Earth where I’d been living. In doing so, I believe that I created a unique artifact. I called it the Ghostwheel because of certain aspects of its appearance.”

“And it’s a surveillance device and a library. What do you mean by that?”

“It riffles through Shadow like the pages of a book — or a deck of cards,” I said. “Program it for whatever you want checked out and it will keep an eye on it for you. I was planning it as a surprise. You could, say, use it to determine whether any of our potential enemies are mobilizing, or to follow the progress of Shadow-storms, or — ”

“Wait a minute,” he said, raising a hand. “How? How does it flip through shadows that way? What makes it work?”

“In effect,” I explained, “it creates the equivalent of multitudes of Trumps in an instant, then — ”

“Stop. Back up. How can you write a program for the creation of Trumps? I thought they could only be done by a person who had an initiate of either the Pattern or the Logrus.”.

“But in this case,” I said, “the machine itself is of that same class of magical objects as Dad’s blade, Grayswandir. I incorporated elements of the Pattern itself into its design.”

“And you were going to surprise us with this?”

“Yes, once it’s ready.”

“When will that be?”

“I’m not sure. It had to gather certain critical amounts of data before its programs could become fully operational. I set it to do that a while back, and I haven’t had a chance to check on it recently.”

Random poured some more coffee, took a drink.

“I don’t see where it would save that much in the way of time and effort,” he said a little later. “Say I’m curious about something in Shadow. I go and investigate, or I send someone. Now, say that instead I want to use this thing to check it out. I still have to spend the time going to the place where you keep it.”

“No,” I told him. “You summon a remote terminal.”

“Summon? A terminal?”

“Right.” I unearthed my Amber Trumps and dealt myself the one off the bottom. It showed a silver wheel against a dark background. I passed it to Random and he studied it.

“How do you use it?” he asked.

“Same as the others. You want to call it to you?”

“You do it,” he said. “I want to watch.”

“Very well,” I answered. “But while I’ve set it to gathering data across the shadows it still won’t know a whole lot that’s useful at this point.”

“I don’t want to question it so much as I want to see it.”

I raised the card and stared, seeing through it with my mind’s eye. After a few moments, there was contact. I called it to me.

There followed a small crackling sound and a feeling of ionization in the air as a glowing wheel about eight feet in diameter materialized before me.

“Diminish terminal size,” I ordered.

It shrank down to about a third of what it had been and I ordered it to halt at that point. It looked like a pale picture frame, occasional sparks dancing within it, the view across the room constantly rippling as seen through its center.

Random began to extend a hand.

“Don’t,” I said. “You might get a shock. I still don’t have all the bugs out.”

“It can transmit energy?”

“Well, it could. No big deal.”

“If you ordered to transmit energy…?”

“Oh, sure. It has to be able to transmit energy here to sustain the terminal, and through Shadow to operate its scanners.”

“I mean, could it discharge it at this end?”

“If I told it to it could build up a charge and let it go. Yes.”

“What are its limits in this?”

“Whatever it has available.”

“And what does it have available?”

“Well, in theory an entire planet. But — ”

“Supposing you ordered it to appear beside someone here, build up a large charge and discharge it into that person. Could it do an electrocution?”

“I guess so,” I said. “I don’t see why not. But that’s not its purpose — ”

“Merlin, your surprise is certainly a surprise. But I’m not sure I like it.”

“It’s safe,” I explained. “No one knows where it’s located. No one goes there. This Trump I have is the only one. Nobody else can reach it. I was going to make one more card, just for you, and then show you how to operate the thing when it was ready.”

“I’m going to have to think about this…”

“Ghost, within five thousand Shadow veils, this location — how many Shadow-storms are currently in existence?”

The words came as if spoken within the hoop: “Seventeen.”

“Sounds like — ”

“I gave it my voice,” I told him. “Ghost, give us some pictures of the biggest one.”

A scene of chaotic fury filled the hoop.

“Another thought just occurred to me,” Random stated. “Can it transport things?”

“Sure, just like a regular Trump.”

“Was the original size of that circle its maximum size?”

“No, we could make it a lot larger if you wanted. Or smaller.”

“I don’t. But supposing you made it larger — and then told it to transmit that storm, or as much of it as it could manage?”

“Wow! I don’t know. It would try. It would probably be like opening a giant window onto it.”

“Merlin, shut it down. It’s dangerous.”

“Like I said, nobody knows where it is but me, and the only other way to reach it is — ”

“I know, I know. Tell me, could anybody access it with the proper Trump, or just by finding it?”

“Well, yes. I didn’t bother with any security codes because of its inaccessibility.”

“That thing could be an awesome weapon, kid. Shut it down. Now.”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can’t dump its memory or kill its power from a remote terminal. I would actually have to travel to the site itself to do that.”

“Then I suggest you get going. I want it turned off until there are a lot more safeguards built into it. Even then — well, we’ll see. I don’t trust a power like that. Not when I don’t have any defenses against it. It could strike almost without warning. What were you thinking of when you built that thing?”

“Data-processing. Look, we’re the only ones — ”

“There’s always a possibility someone will get wise to it and find a way to get at it. I know, I know — you’re in love with your handiwork — and I appreciate what you had in mind. But it’s got to go.”

“I have done nothing to offend you.” It was my voice, but it came from the wheel.

Random stared at it, looked at me, looked back at it.

“Uh — that’s not the point,” he addressed it. “It’s your potential that I’m concerned about. Merlin, turn off the terminal!”

“End transmission,” I said. “Withdraw terminal.” It wavered a moment, then was gone.

“Had you anticipated that comment from the thing?” Random asked me.

“No. I was surprised.”

“I’m beginning to dislike surprises. Maybe that shadow environment is actually altering the thing in subtle ways. You know my wishes. Give it a rest.”

I bowed my head. “Whatever you say, sir.”

“Cut it out. Don’t be a martyr. Just do it.”

“I still think it’s just a matter of installing a few safeguards. No reason to crash the whole project.”

“If things were quieter,” he said, “maybe I’d go along with it, But there’s too much shit coming down right now, with snipers and bombers and all the things you’ve been telling me about. I don’t need another worry.”

I got to my feet.

“Okay. Thanks for the coffee,” I said. “I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

He nodded.

“Good night, Merlin.”

“Good night.”

As I was stalking out through the big entrance hall I saw Julian, in a green dressing gown, talking with two of his men. On the floor between them lay a large dead animal. I halted and stared. It was one of those same damned dog things I had just dreamed about, like at Julia’s.

I approached.

“Hi, Julian. What is it?” I asked gesturing.

He shook his head.

“Don’t know. But the hellhounds just killed three of them in Arden. I trumped these guys up with one of the carcasses, to show Random. You wouldn’t know where he is, would you?”

I stabbed with my thumb back over my shoulder.

“In the sitting room.”

He walked off in that direction. I went nearer and prodded the animal with my toe. Should I go back and tell Random I’d met one before?

The hell with it, I decided. I couldn’t see how the information would be of any vital use.

I returned to my rooms and washed up and changed my clothes. Then I stopped by the kitchen and filled my backpack with food. I didn’t feel like saying good-bye to anyone, so I just headed for the back and took the big rear staircase down into the gardens.

Dark. Starry. Cool. Walking, I felt a sudden chill as I neared the spot where, in my dream, the dogs had appeared. No howls, no growls. Nothing. I passed through that area and continued on my way to the rear of that well-kept site, to the place where a number of trails led off through a more natural landscape. I took the second one from the left. It was a slightly longer route than another I might have chosen — with which it intersected later, anyway — but was easier going, a thing I felt I needed in the night. I was still not all that familiar with the irregularities of the other way.

I hiked the crest of Kolvir for the better part of an hour before I located the downward trail I was seeking. I halted then, took a drink of water and rested for a few minutes before I began the descent.

It is very difficult to walk in Shadow on Kolvir. One has to put some distance between oneself and Amber in order to do it properly. So all I could do at this point was hike which was fine with me, because it was a good night for walking.

I was well on my way down before a glow occurred overhead and the moon crested a shoulder of Kolvir and poured its light upon my twisting trail. I increased my pace somewhat after that. I did want to make it off the mountain by morning.

I was angry with Random for not giving me a chance to justify my work. I hadn’t really been ready to tell him about it. If it hadn’t been for Caine’s funeral I would not have returned to Amber until I’d had the thing perfected. And I wasn’t even going to mention Ghostwheel this time around, except that it had figured in a small way in the mystery that had engulfed me and Random had wanted to know about it in order to have the whole story. Okay. He didn’t like what he’d seen, but the preview had been premature. Now, if I shut it down as I’d been ordered I would ruin a lot of work that had been in progress for some time now. Ghostwheel was still in a Shadow — scanning, self-education phase. I would have been checking on it about now, anyway, to see how it was coming along and to correct any obvious flaws that had crept into the system.

I thought about it as the trail grew steeper and curved on Kolvir’s western face. Random had not exactly ordered me to dump everything it had accumulated thus far. He’d simply told me to shut it down. Viewed the way I chose to view it, that meant I could exercise my own judgment as to means. I decided that gave me leeway to check everything out first, reviewing systems functions and revising programs until I was satisfied that everything was in order. Then I could transfer everything to a more permanent status before shutting it down. Then nothing would be lost; its memory would be intact when the time came to restore its functions again.

Maybe…

What if I did everything to make it shipshape, including throwing in a few — as I saw it — unnecessary safeguards to make Random happy? Then, I mused, supposing I got in touch with Random, showed him what I’d done, and asked him whether he was happy with it that way? If he weren’t, I could always shut it down then. But perhaps he’d reconsider. Worth thinking about…

I played over imaginary conversations with Random until the moon had drifted off to my left. I was more than halfway down Kolvir by then and the going was becoming progressively easier. I could already feel the force of the Pattern as somewhat diminished.

I halted a couple of more times on the way down, for water and once for a sandwich. The more I thought about it, the more I felt that Random would just get angry if I proceeded along the lines I had been thinking and probably wouldn’t even give me a full hearing. On the other hand, I was angry myself.

But it was a long journey with few shortcuts. I’d have plenty of time to mull it over.

The sky was growing lighter when I crossed the last rocky slope to reach the wide trail at the foot of Kolvir to the northwest. I regarded a stand of trees across the way, one large one a familiar landmark.

With a dazzling flash that seemed to sizzle and a bomblike report of thunder the tree was split, not a hundred meters away. I’d flung up both hands at the lightning stroke, but I could still hear cracking wood and the echo of the blast for several seconds afterward.

Then a voice cried out, “Go back!”

I assumed I was the subject of this conversational gambit. “May we talk this over?” I responded.

There was no reply.

I stretched out in a shallow declivity beside the trail, then crawled along it for several body lengths to a place where the cover was better. I was listening and watching the while, hoping that whoever had pulled that stunt would betray his position in some fashion.

Nothing happened, but for the next half minute I surveyed the grove and a portion of the slope down which I had come. From that angle their proximity gave me a small inspiration.

I summoned the image of the Logrus, and two of its lines became my arms. I reached then, not through Shadow but up the slope to where a fairly good-sized rock was poised above a mass of others.

Seizing hold, I drew upon it. It was too heavy to topple easily, so I began rocking it. Slowly, at first. Finally, I got it to the tipping point and it tumbled. It fell among the others and a small cascade began. I withdrew further as they struck and sent new ones bouncing. Several big ones bean to roll. A fracture line gave way when they fell upon its edge at a steeper place. An entire sheet of stone groaned and cracked, began to slide.

I could feel the vibration as I continued my withdrawal. I had not anticipated setting off anything this spectacular. The rocks bounced, slid and flew into the grove. I watched the trees sway, saw some of them go down. I heard the crunching, the pinging, the breaking.

I gave it an extra half minute after what seemed its end. There was much dust in the air and half of the grove was down. Then I rose to my feet, Frakir dangling from my left hand, and I advanced upon the grove.

I searched carefully, but there was no one there. I climbed upon the trunk of a fallen tree.

“I repeat, do you care to talk about it?” I called out. No answer.

“Okay, be that way,” I said, and I headed north into Arden.

I heard the sound of horses occasionally as I hiked through that ancient forest. If I was being followed, though, the horsemen showed no interest in closing with me. Most likely, I was passing in the vicinity of one of Julian’s patrols.

Not that it mattered. I soon located a trail and began the small adjustments that bore me farther and farther from them.

A lighter shade, from brown to yellow, and slightly shorter trees… Fewer breaks in the leafy canopy… Odd bird note, strange mushroom…

Little by little, the character of the wood was altered. And the shifting grew easier and easier the farther this took me from Amber.

I began to pass sunny clearings. The sky grew a paler blue… The trees were all green now, but most of them saplings…

I broke into a jog.

Masses of clouds came into view, the spongy earth grew firmer, drier…

I stepped up my pace, heading downhill. Grasses were more abundant. The trees were divided into clusters now, islands in a waving sea of those pale grasses. My view took in a greater distance. A flapping, beaded curtain off to my right: rain.

Rumbles of thunder came to me, though sunlight continued to light my way. I breathed deeply of the clean damp air and ran on.

The grasses fell away, ground fissured, sky blackened… Waters rushed through canyons and arroyos all about me… Torrents poured from overhead onto the rocking terrain…

I began slipping. I cursed each time I picked myself up, for my overeagerness in the shifting.

The clouds parted like a theater curtain, to where a lemon sun poured warmth and light from a salmon-colored sky. The thunder halted in mid-rumble and a wind rose…

I made my way up a hillside, looked down upon a ruined gage. Long-abandoned, partly overgrown, strange mounds lined its broken main street.

I passed through it beneath a slate-colored sky, picked my way slowly across an icy pond, faces of those frozen beneath me staring sightlessly in all directions…

The sky was soot-streaked, the snow hard-packed, my breath feathery as I entered the skeletal wood where frozen birds perched: an etching.

Slipping downhill, rolling, sliding into melting and spring… Movement again; about me… Mucky ground and clumps of green… Strange cars on distant highway…

A junkyard, smelling, oozing, rusting, smoldering… Threading my way amid acres of heaps… Rats scurrying…

Away… Shifting faster, breathing harder… Skyline beneath smog cap… Delta bottom… Seashore… Golden pylons along the road… Countryside with lakes… Brown grasses beneath green sky…

Slowing… Rolling grassland, river and lake… Slowing… Breeze and grass, sealike… Mopping my brow on my sleeve… Sucking air… Walking now…

I moved through the field at a normal pace, preferring to do my resting in a congenial spot such as this, where I could see for a good distance. The wind made soft noises as it passed among the grasses. The nearest lake was a deep lime color. Something in the air smelled sweet.

I thought I saw a brief flash of light off to my right, but when I looked that way there was nothing unusual to be seen. A little later, I was certain that I heard a distant sound of hoofbeats. But again, I saw nothing. That’s the trouble with shadows — you don’t always know what’s natural there; you’re never certain what to look for.

Several minutes passed, and then I smelled it before I saw anything.

Smoke. The next instant there was a rush of fire. A long line of flame cut across my path.

And again the voice: “I told you to go back!”

The wind was behind the fire, pushing it toward me. I turned to head away and saw that it was already flanking me. It takes a while to build up the proper mental set for shadow-shifting, and I had let mine go. I doubted I could set it up again in time.

I began running.

The line of flame was curving about me, as if to describe a huge circle. I did not pause to admire the precision of the thing, however, as I could feel the heat by then and the smoke was getting thicker.

Above the fire’s crackling it seemed that I could still hear the drumming of hoofs. My eyes were beginning to water, though, and streams of smoke further diminished my vision. And again, I detected no sign of the person who had sprung the trap.

Yet — definitely — the ground was shaking with the rapid progress of a hooved creature headed in my direction. The flames flashed higher, drew nearer as the circle coshed toward closure.

I was wondering what new menace was approaching, when a horse and rider burst into view through the gap in the fiery wall. The rider drew back the reins, but the horse a chestnut — was not too happy at the nearness of the flames it bared its teeth, biting at the bit, and tried several times to rear.

“Hurry! Behind me!” the rider cried, and I rushed to mount.

The rider was a dark-haired woman. I caught only a glimpse of her features. She managed to turn the horse back in the direction from which she had come, and she shook the reins. The chestnut started forward, and suddenly it reared. I managed to hang on.

When its front hooves struck the ground, the beast wheeled and tore off toward the light. It was almost into the flames when it wheeled again.

“Damn!” I heard the rider say, as she worked almost frantically with the reins.

The horse turned again, neighing loudly. Bloody spittle dripped from its mouth. And by then the circle was closed, the smoke was heavy and the flames very near. I was in no position to help, beyond giving it a pair of sharp kicks in the flanks when it began moving in a straight line again.

It plunged into the flames to our left, almost screaming as it went. I had no idea how wide the band of fire was at that point. I could feel a searing along my legs, though, and I smelled burning hair.

Then the beast was roaring again, the rider was screaming back at it, and I found that I could no longer hold on. I felt myself sliding backward just as we broke through the ring of fire and into a charred, smoldering area where the flames had already passed. I fell amid hot black clumps; ashes rose about me. I rolled frantically to my left, and I coughed and squeezed my eyes shut against the cloud of ashes that assailed my face.

I heard the woman scream and I scrambled to my feet, rubbing my eyes. My vision came clear in time for me to see the chestnut rising from where he had apparently fallen atop his rider. The horse immediately tore off, to be lost among clouds of smoke. The woman lay very still and I rushed to her side. Kneeling, I brushed sparks from her clothing and checked for breathing and a pulse. Her eyes opened while I was doing this.

“Back’s — broken I think,” she said, coughing. “Don’t feel — much…… Escape — if you can…… Leave me. I’ll die — anyway.”

“No way,” I said. “But I’ve got to move you. There’s a lake nearby, if I remember right.”

I removed my cloak where it was tied about my waist and I spread it out beside her. I inched her onto it as carefully as I could, folded it over her to protect her against the flames and began dragging her in what I hoped was the proper direction.

We made it through a shifting patchwork of fire and smoke. My throat was raw, my eyes watering steadily and my trousers on fire when I took a big step backward and felt my heel squish downward into mud. I kept going.

Finally, I was waist deep in the water and supporting her there. I leaned forward, pushed a flap of the cloak back from her face. Her eyes were still open, but they looked unfocused and there was no movement. Before I could feel for a carotid pulse, however, she made a hissing noise, then she spoke my name.

“Merlin,” she said hoarsely, “I’m — sorry — ”

“You helped me and I couldn’t help you,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry I didn’t last — longer,” she continued. “No good — with horses. They’re — following you.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Called off — the dogs, though. But the — fire — is someone — else’s. Don’t know — whose.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I splashed a little water onto her cheeks to cool them. Between the soot and her singed, disheveled hair it was difficult to judge her appearance.

“Someone — behind — you,” she said, her voice growing fainter. “Someone — ahead — too. Didn’t — know — about that one. Sorry.”

“Who?” I asked again. “And who are you? How do you know me? Why — ”

She smiled faintly. “… Sleep with you. Can’t now. Going…”

Her eyes closed.

“No!” I cried.

Her face contorted and she sucked in a final breath. She expelled it then, using it to form the whispered words.

“Just — let me — sink here. G’bye…”

A cloud of smoke blew across her face. I held my breath and shut my eyes as a larger billow followed, engulfing us. When the air finally cleared again, I studied her. Her breathing had ceased and there was no pulse, no heartbeat. There was no nonburning, nonmarshy area available for even an attempt at CPR. She was gone. She’d known she was going.

I wrapped my cloak about her carefully, turning it into a shroud. Last of all, I folded a flap over her face. I fixed everything into place with the clasp I’d used to close it at my neck when I’d worn it. Then I waded out into deeper water.

“Just let me sink here.” Sometimes the dead sink quickly, sometimes they float…

“Good-bye, lady,” I said. “Wish I knew your name. Thanks again.”

I released my hold upon her. The waters swirled. She was gone. After a time, I looked away then moved away. Too many questions and no answers.

Somewhere, a maddened horse was screaming…