Blood of Amber (7 page)

“Shit,” Scrof said as I crossed the line.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Merle,”

I said, clasping his grimy hand.

“Not to worry, Merle,” he told me.
 
“I wouldn’t turn in anybody who decided to take a walk from a war, unless maybe there was a reward and there ain’t on this one.
 
Did it myself years ago and never regretted it.
 
Mine was goin’ the same way this one seems to be goin’, and I had sense enough to get out.
 
No army’s ever taken that place down there, and I don’t think one ever will.”

“What place is it?”

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

I sighed.
 
“Nope,” I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s it all about?” I asked.

He turned and studied me.

“You really don’t know?”

“Just got here,” I said.

“Hungry? Thirsty?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

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

“Where are we headed?” I asked.

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

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

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

“That’s okay,” I said.
 
“I’ll wait.”

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

I started walking back along the cleft.

“Hey! Where you headed?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded and took a swig of wine.

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