The Road to Amber (58 page)

I could tell that he was, unaware of my presence, really teasing Luke, because I had figured it out for myself and knew it would take only a moment to tell him, if one could speak.

Then I was disengaging and dropping as fast as I could, for Luke was swinging Werewindle, and I’d no desire to be severed. I really did not know what would happen if this were to occur—if both segments would wind up as wise, witty, and conscious as myself; or, perhaps, whether I would be destroyed in the process. And having no desire to learn this information firsthand, flight seemed most prudent.

I hit the floor before the blow fell. A section of the guisel’s head also dropped, still writhing. I squirmed toward Luke’s nearest ankle. Flora picked up a heavy chair and brought it down on the thing’s back with considerable force, despite her broken fingernail. And she swung it a couple of more times, with some effect, while Luke was in the process of cutting it in half.

I found my way to where I was headed, crawled up, and caught hold.

Can you hear me, Luke?
I tried then.

“Yes,” he replied. “What are you?”

Merlin’s strangling cord, Frakir.

Luke swung at the hind section then as it whipped toward him, tiny legs clawing. Then he whirled and halved the attacking forepart. Flora struck its rear end again with the chair.

I know what the sorcerer knew,
I said.

“Oh, what’s that?” he asked, slicing off another section and slipping on its gooey exudation as he retreated.

You might well be able to draw enough energy through Werewindle to destroy a world.

“Really?” he said, struggling to regain his feet as a section of the creature thrust itself upon him. “All right.”

He touched it with the point of his blade and it withdrew from him as if shocked. Then he rose to his feet.

“You’re right,” he said. “There’s something to it.” He touched the attacking segment again and it vanished in a burst of blue fire. “Flora! Get back!” he cried.

She did, and he proceeded to incinerate the section that had been about to attack her. Then another that came at him.

“I’m getting the hang of it,” he said, turning to get another segment. “But I’m not quite sure why it works this way.”

It’s not just a sword,
I said.

“What is it, then?”

Long before there was Werewindle, it was the spikard Rawg.

“Spikard? Like that strange ring Merlin picked up?”

Exactly.

With rapid moves then, Luke disposed of the rest of the guisel.

“Thanks, Frakir,” he said, “for telling me how the thing worked. I’d better try a quick search for that sorcerer now, though I’ve a hunch he disappeared into the nearest mirror.”

I’d guess that, too.

“What was his name?”

He didn’t say.

“It figures.”

“Flora,” he continued, “I’m going to look for that sorcerer. I’ll be back in a bit. Good show.”

She gave him a smile and he departed. Needless to say, the sorcerer did not turn up.

“Wonder where he came from, beyond the mirror,” Luke asked.

I’ve no idea,
I replied.
I think I might be more interested in the person who sent that thing after him.

Luke nodded.

“What now?” he asked.

I guess we tell Flora that her Peeping Tom has hit the road,
I said.
You’re a sorcerer. Any way of fixing her mirrors so he can’t pull that routine again?

“I think so,” Luke said, moving to the nearest window and looking out. “I’ll fix them in just a bit. What about you?”

I’d like to get back to Merlin.

“I can’t send you through by Trumps if he’s in the Courts—and I suspect he is.”

What about Werewindle?

“I still don’t know exactly how it works. I’m going to have to practice some with it.”

Uh—why are you here?
I asked.

“Had to talk to Vialle about a number ofthings,” he said, “and she told me that Corwin might be by soon—and she offered me room and board if I wanted to wait for him for a few days.”

Well, if you can wear me till he gets here maybe I can persuade him to take me with him. I’ve a feeling he’ll be seeing Merlin again soon.

“I might, too, but it’s hard to say at this point.”

Okay. We can work it out when the time comes.

“What do you think is going on, anyway?”

Some horrible Wagnerian thing,
I told him,
full of blood, thunder, and death for us all.

“Oh, the usual,” Luke said.

Exactly,
I replied.

“This story takes up the second Amber series where ‘The Shroudling and the GuiseI’ left off. It shows the continuing tale of Merlin’s strangling cord, Frakir, while telling more about the leftover guisel and the sorcerer responsible for the affair behind the mirror. Flora and the visiting Luke are drawn into the action.

“I have been using an occasional short story of late to tie up loose ends I’d left hanging in the previous Amber books and stories, as well as to continue the overall narrative. The first of these was ‘The Salesman’s Tale’ featuring Luke and Vialle, and the second was ‘Blue Horse, Dancing Mountains.’ ‘The Shroudling and the Guisel’ was the third Amber short story, and ‘Coming to a Cord’ is the fourth.

“So, if anyone has a burning Amber question, I suggest they send it to me c/o AvoNova and I may be able to straighten the matter out in one of these stories (I may not, also). And to all you Amber fans, thanks for hanging around for so long.”
[1]

Wagnerian thing
refers to the epic works of German composer Richard Wagner (the Ring Cycle, Tristan and Isolde, etc.).

1. Pirate Writings
   Vol 3 No 2, June 1995.
   

N
either of us realized there had been a change until a half-dozen guys tried an ambush.

We had spent the night in the Dancing Mountains, Shask and I, where I’d witnessed a bizarre game between Dworkin and Suhuy. I’d heard strange tales about things that happened to people who spent the night there, but I hadn’t had a hell of a lot of choice in the matter. It had been storming, I was tired, and my mount had become a statue. I don’t know how that game turned out, though I was mentioned obliquely as a participant and I’m still wondering.

The next morning my blue horse Shask and I had crossed the Shadow Divide ‘twixt Amber and Chaos. Shask was a Shadow mount my son Merlin had found for me in the royal stables of the Courts. At the moment, Shask was traveling under the guise of a giant blue lizard, and we were singing songs from various times and places.

Two men rose on either side of the trail from amid rocky cover, pointing crossbows at us. Two more stepped out before us—one with a bow, the other bearing a rather beautiful-looking blade, doubtless stolen, considering the guy’s obvious profession.

“Halt! and no harm’ll happen,” said the swordsman.

I drew rein.

“When it comes to money, I’m pretty much broke right now,” I said, “and I doubt any of you could ride my mount, or would care to.”

“Well now, maybe and maybe not,” said the leader, “but it’s a rough way to make a living, so we take whatever we can.”

“It’s not a good idea to leave a man with nothing,” I said. “Some people hold grudges.”

“Most of them can’t walk out of here.”

“Sounds like a death sentence to me.”

He shrugged.

“That sword of yours looks pretty fancy,” he said. “Let’s see it.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said.

“Why not?”

“If I draw it, I may wind up killing you,” I said.

He laughed.

“We can take it off your body,” he said, glancing to his right and left.

“Maybe,” I said.

“Let’s see it.”

“If you insist.” I drew Grayswandir with a singing note. It persisted, and the eyes of the swordsman before me widened as it went on to describe an arc calculated to intersect with his neck. His own weapon came out as mine passed through his neck and continued. His cut toward Shask and passed through the animal’s shoulder. Neither blow did any damage whatsoever.

“You a sorcerer?” he asked as I swung again, delivering a blow that might have removed his arm. Instead, it passed harmlessly by.

“Not the kind who does things like this. You?”

“No,” he answered, striking again. “What’s going on?”

I slammed Grayswandir back into the scabbard.

“Nothing,” I said. “Go bother someone else.”

I shook the reins, and Shask moved forward.

“Shoot him down!” the man cried.

The men on either side of the trail released their crossbow bolts, as did the other man before me. All four bolts from the sides passed through Shask, three of the men injuring or killing their opposite numbers. The one from ahead passed through me without pain or discomfort. An attempted sword blow achieved nothing for my first assailant.

“Ride on,” I said.

Shask did so and we ignored their swearing as we went.

“We seem to have come into a strange situation,” I observed.

The beast nodded.

“At least it kept us out of some trouble,” I said.

“Funny. I’d a feeling you would have welcomed trouble,” Shask said.

I chuckled.

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” I replied. “I wonder how long the spell lasts?”

“Maybe it has to be lifted.”

“Shit! That’s always a pain.”

“Beats being insubstantial.”

“True.”

“Surely someone back at Amber will know what to do.”

“Hope so.”

We rode on, and we encountered no one else that day. I felt the rocks beneath me when I wrapped myself in my cloak to sleep that night. Why did I feel them when I didn’t feel a sword or a crossbow bolt? Too late to ask Shask whether he had felt anything, for he had turned to stone for the night.

I yawned and stretched. A partly unsheathed Grayswandir felt normal beneath my fingers. I pushed it back in and went to sleep.

Following my morning ablutions, we rode again. Shask was taking well to hellrides, as well as most Amber mounts did. Better, in some ways. We raced through a wildly changing landscape. I thought ahead to Amber, and I thought back to the time I’d spent imprisoned in the Courts. I had honed my sensitivity to a very high degree through meditation, and I began to wonder whether that, coupled with other strange disciplines I’d undertaken, could have led to my intangibility. I supposed it might have contributed, but I’d a feeling the Dancing Mountains were the largest donor.

“I wonder what it represents and where it came from?” I said aloud.

“Your homeland, I’d bet,” Shask replied, “left especially for you.”

“Why did you read it that way?”

“You’ve been telling me about your family as we rode along. I wouldn’t trust them.”

“Those days are past.”

“Who knows what might have happened while you were away? Old habits return easily.”

“One would need a reason for something like that.”

“For all you know, one of them has a very good one.”

“Possibly. But it doesn’t seem likely. I’ve been away for some time, and few know I’m free at last.”

“Then question those few.”

“We’ll see.”

“Just trying to be helpful.”

“Don’t stop. Say, what do you want to do after we get to Amber?”

“Haven’t made up my mind yet. I’ve been something of a wanderer.”

I laughed.

“You’re a beast after my own heart. In that your sentiments are most unbeastlike, how can I repay you for this transport?”

“Wait. I’ve a feeling the Fates will take care of that.” “So be it. In the meantime, though, if you happen to think of something special, let me know.”

“It’s a privilege to help you, Lord Corwin. Let it go at that.”

“All right. Thanks.”

We passed through shadow after shadow. Suns ran backward and storms assailed us out of beautiful skies. We toyed with night, which might have trapped a less adroit pair than us, found a twilight, and took our rations there. Shortly thereafter, Shask turned back to stone. Nothing attacked us that night, and my dreams were hardly worth dreaming.

Next day we were on our way early, and I used every trick I knew to shortcut us through Shadow on our way home. Home… It did feel good to be headed back, despite Shask’s comments on my relatives. I’d no idea I would miss Amber as much as I had. I’d been away far longer on countless occasions, but usually I had at least a rough idea as to when I might be heading back. A prison in the Courts, though, was not a place from which one might make such estimates.

So we tore on, wind across a plain, fire in the mountains, water down a steep ravine. That evening I felt the resistance begin, the resistance which comes when one enters that area of Shadow near to Amber. I tried to make it all the way but failed. We spent that night at a place near to where the Black Road used to run. There was no trace of it now.

The next day the going was slower, but, more and more, familiar shadows cropped up. That night we slept in Arden, but Julian did not find us. I either dreamed his hunting horn or heard it in the distance as I slept; and though it is often prelude to death and destruction, it merely made me feel nostalgic. I was finally near to home.