The Road to Amber (29 page)

As the thudding sounds came more heavily out of the east—even the weird music could not completely smother them—he thought back over the years the respective adventures had taken, all rushing to culmination this past summer…

Kalaran, demigod gone bad—Fallen Sunbird of high Vallada Ta-hana, home of the gods—had seemed to have everything going for him on the eve of the final battle. The four things which had tipped the balance against him had been the amulet, the ring, the sword, and the scroll—Anachron, Sombrisio, Mothganger, and Gwykander.

Gar Quithnick, the turncoat
hingu
master, had succeeded in recovering the lost amulet. Its protective, magic-dampening effect had saved the defenders from Kalaran’s wrath. Sombrisio, the deadly ring of power, returned from the city of the dead, Anthurus, by Rissa and her big-boned blond companion, Jancy Gaine, had actually hurt Kalaran, reducing him to physical combat with the Prince. Even so, he would have faced no problem against a mortal hero no matter how well muscled, save that that muscular arm had wielded Mothganger—a godslayer of a weapon which he and his partner Spotty Gulick had brought back from their quest. And then there was the scroll of Gwykander—containing the words to the ancient rite of grand exorcism—delivered from the bottom of a monster-haunted lake, and rushed to the Faltane just in time. Along with the other magical tools, it was there when it was needed. Looking back, he reflected on all the coincidences, and just plain luck, involved in the four tools being conveyed to the proper place at the proper time within minutes of each other. The outcome had truly been balanced on the edge of a blade.

A white line traced itself slowly through the heavens, expanding in the wake of whatever emitted it. Shortly, there came a distant, muffled boom from overhead, followed by a growling sound.

He shook his head. While he could tell that it was neither meteor nor comet, he had no idea what the thing was. This disturbed him more than a little. He’d had enough of unknown variables tracking muddy footprints across his life’s trail these past few years.

Yet, while he did not understand the nature of the disturbance, he had a fairly good idea as to what was causing it, even knew himself to be partly responsible for it. It was of a piece with the recent showers of blood, toads, rats, with the raucous parodies of music which filled the air, with the thing which shook the earth with its heavy, approaching footsteps. Indeed, it was also connected with the recent spate of unnatural births, of two-headed sheep and calves.

He sighed and smiled. It would be all dealt with. He would figure a way, as he had figured ways to deal with everything from minor annoyances to imminent doom in recent years. He had always been very fast on his mental feet.

With a sudden, silvery agitation, the small lake at the foot of one of the northern hills began to drain over its eastern edge, as if the land had suddenly been tipped. He nodded. That, too. Geography tended to rearrange itself periodically these days. Just where all that water was getting off to was not readily apparent. The site of the lake would be a muddy pit in the morning. Possibly, eventually, it would became a swamp. Or it might even be a lake again by tomorrow night. The interfaces between realities having grown somewhat thin in the neighborhood of Caltus, it was possible that a stream from some other place might be diverted to refill it.

There would be a meeting. Of course. With his chief advisers. In the morning. They would discuss the situation. He could see it all now, falling into place. Yes.

He waited out of misspent curiosity until the source of the approaching footsteps came into view—an enormous, heavy-footed, long-necked, long-tailed reptile—stomping its way slowly through the center of town, browsing leaves from various trees and thatching from peasant cottages along its course. He watched it make its way into the west, under the angled light of a rising piece of the moon. He finished his wine as it disappeared from sight, then turned and entered his apartments.

* * *

The following afternoon, as he inspected the new northern mud pit, viewing the long line of dinosaur tracks leading through it, Prince Rango was approached by the Princess Rissa along what had been the scenic lakeside trail.

“Rango, what the devil’s going on?” she asked.

“Another bit of overstressed reality seems to have given way—” he began.

She glanced at the wet, brown declivity and shook her head. “That is not what I mean,” she said, jerking a quick gesture in that direction, a glowing silver ring flashing upon her hand, “I refer to this morning’s meeting, to which I was not invited.”

Rango winced and drew back.

“It was fairly technical,” he responded. “I didn’t think it would hold any interest for you at all.”

“And I wouldn’t even have heard about it if Jancy hadn’t been involved,” she said. “She just came by to say that you’re taking away Sombrisio and sending it back to the ghouls.”

As if in response to her latest angry gesture, there came a deep, throat-clearing gurgle at the pit’s center. They both turned in that direction as a large circle of muck was sucked downward. A moment later, there came a brief rumble from underground. Then a streaming plume of liquid shot upward out of the hole, thirty, forty feet into the air.

The smell that followed was sulfurous.

“That is a part of the reason,” he said. “Or, rather, a part of the effect—the reason for the meeting, and the effect we were discussing.”

“She told me that you’d ordered her to take the ring back to Anthurus and secrete it there as best she might where we had found it.”

“That is correct.”

“And you’re sending Gar Quithnick off to look for lost Gelfait to return the amulet, Anachron?’

“That, too.”

“…and Spotty north into the Penduggens, to dispose of Mothganger?”

“Right.”

“And Domino Blaid is going to take the scroll of Gwykander to the cursed lake that serves as its library?”

He nodded.

“Yes, that summarizes it. They’re all tough, competent people—and probably more than a little bored now that peace has broken out. They’re ideal choices for putting the instruments to rest in safe places, against any future need.”

“I wasn’t questioning their competence, Rango,” she said, as a yellow cloud smelling of rotten eggs by blew them. “I’m wondering about the whole idea of putting the instruments out of reach at this point. I don’t see how you could bear to be parted with Mothganger, the sword that saved our lives so many times. I find the idea of giving up Sombrisio and the power she wields extremely painful. Sombrisio saved us, too.”

“I feel the same way you do,” he said. “However, the situation is suddenly altered. Though they were a priceless benefit in the past, they have now become a grave peril.”

“Are you sure that’s true?” she asked, as the ground shook again and the geyser shot even higher.

They were forced to retreat suddenly to the right as a shift in the wind threw a shower of hot droplets over them.

“Reasonably sure,” he said, offering her his handkerchief “I had to rely on expert opinions, and the consensus among the best sorcerers we could consult was that having all four of the magical instruments in one place was rather too much of a good thing. That is to say, their combined forces have been building, and all of the strange and dangerous events which have begun to occur here are a direct result. They are damaging the fabric of reality and things can only get worse. The sorcerers say that this is the real reason such potent devices are normally hidden in out-of-the-way places. Also, you’ll not ordinarily find more than one stowed in the same spot. This is not just to make life difficult for people on quests. The things are so terribly potent that if you leave them in each other’s vicinity for too long their combined forces place unnatural stresses on the area they occupy. We’ve got four of them here in Caltus, and the consensus is that their presence is the cause of all the magical disturbances we’ve been experiencing. And things will only get worse so long as they remain together.”

“I don’t know,” she said, as the geyser belched at her back. “Supposing a few of Kalaran’s nasties who survived the war were to show up, looking for trouble. For some of them, it would be very useful to have Mothganger or Sombrisio or Anachron handy. What I’m asking is, can we get a second opinion on this?”

Rango shook his head.

“I got the best I could find,” he said, “and I told you there was a consensus. To delay longer while we hunted out a few more sages would be to court a real danger to no likely end. It’s probable they’d all agree with their brothers and sisters in the Art. No, the sooner we ship the artifacts off to their resting places the sooner things will get back to normal here.”

“You could probably keep one,” she said. “Say, Mothganger or Sombrisio. There wouldn’t be the same combination of powers then. None of them, off by itself, had worked the same sort of effects they’re producing locally. Let’s just send off two or three of the four and see if the situation stabilizes.”

“This, too, was discussed,” Rango said. “The reasoning is good and would probably work if we were just bringing a pair, say, of the instruments into a clear area. Unfortunately, some damage has already been done here. When the magical stresses have already occurred any object or operation of the Art may be likely to worsen things, or at least cause manifestations. So, yes, having one about would produce less stress than having all four. But it would still be taking a chance.”

“In that case,” she said, “couldn’t you just move them out of town in four different directions until their effects are diminished to zero?”

Rango sighed and turned away, the fountain gurgling again at his back. One by one, a passing flock of birds began to fall, senseless, about them.

“Physically, what you are describing should work fine,” he said at last. “However, there is the matter of security to be considered. If we stow them in too easily accessible places they may fall into the hands of enemies who could use them against us. This was doubtless the thinking of the ancients, as well, when they in their time secreted them. Their first consideration would have been to separate them to a great distance; their second, to make it risky for anyone who wanted to go after them. That’s why there always have to be quests, and why they’re always so damned difficult.”

She moved nearer.

“It seems your experts did give it a lot of thought…” she said slowly.

“I think that each generation has to rediscover these basic truths,” he responded. “Once they’ve been realized, though, it explains the similarities in so much of high heroic literature. Moralists and literary critics have always been quick to point out that having heroes and heroines climb mountains, trudge through deserts, swim raging torrents, and face ferocious beasts or supernatural menaces has been a symbolic, external analogue of an inner, spiritual experience, intended to show a kind of initiation trial and ritual cleansing, making them worthy of the great boon they are about to bear back to their people. Now we see that this is just another example of the patriotic balderdash cultures use to glorify their values at the expense of the individual—not to mention other cultures. The real reason is a purely physical matter: It’s dangerous to leave magical tools too close together for too long.”

She stared at him through the yellow vapors. Then, “I never heard you talk so—so philosophically—before,” she said, “back when we were on the road, and in war camps.”

He smiled bleakly.

“I’ve had a lot of time for reflection since the conflict ended,” he said, “time to examine my recent affairs and determine where I made my most serious mistakes. Time to think about all sorts of matters I hadn’t the opportunity to dwell upon before.”

She moved nearer yet to him.

“Perhaps you’ve been spending too much time thinking,” she told him, placing her hand upon his arm. “All thought and no action is just as unbalanced a state of affairs as its opposite, dear.”

Suddenly, she was very near, pressed up against him. His jaw muscles bunched, then relaxed. He put his arms about her, held her to him.

“You’re right, of course,” he said. “It’s just that I want to have everything taken care of, everything in place, for us. I want life to be going smoothly here when we finally settle down to the happiness forever after business.”

“Of course,” she said. “I understand your concern.”

She looked up into his eyes.

“For a while I thought that I had done something to offend you, or that you had changed,” she said. “It seemed almost as if you were avoiding me. But I begin to understand all that you’ve had on your mind.”

He nodded.

“It hasn’t been easy,” he said. “It almost seems the peace has been harder than the war in some ways. I’m sorry if I neglected you while I tried to deal with some of its problems. I intend to have everything in hand in time for our nuptials and the crowning. Soon, I promise.”

“I can wait,” she said. “Just so I know nothing’s gone wrong between us…”

“I’d have told you,” he said, “if something had. No, it’s the damned press of business that’s been getting in the way.”

Her lips parted slightly, so he leaned forward and kissed her. Moments later, another eruption occurred and more hot droplets fell upon them. He moved away, turned, and drew her after him.

“After life is safe from things like this, we can have more time for what we were doing,” he said. “Unfortunately, it will probably keep me busy for a while yet.”

“I appreciate that,” she said, keeping up with his rapid pace. “But even in a less than perfect world perhaps we could find a few hours to be together in some place that is not yet disturbed.”

“Wish we could,” he called above the growing rumble of the new eruption. “But I’ve got to be off to another meeting on just this matter. We’ll have to get together later.”

* * *

Rango sat in the back of the room, drinking a cup of tea. He was tired. The past several days in particular—this morning’s meeting, the encounter with Rissa—had been emotionally stressful, and he was physically tired. So he’d turned the briefing of the Bearers over to one of their own number, with whom he’d conferred quickly in advance. Colonel Dominik Blaid—no, damn it! General Domino Blaid—for whom he’d just signed the promotion papers a week or so back—had the full respect of her fellows and the experience of countless military briefings.