Blood of Amber (2 page)

Yes.

Seen against skin, they were similar in appearance to the stone in that ring of Luke’s I had picked up at the New Line Motel some time ago.
 
Coincidence? Or was there a connection? What had my strangling cord been trying to tell me? And where had I seen another such stone?

Luke’s key ring.
 
He’d a blue stone on it, mounted on a piece of metal.

.
 
.
 
.
 
And where might I have seen another?

The caverns in which I was imprisoned had the power to block the Trumps and my Logrus magic.
 
If Luke carried stones from these walls about with him, there was probably a special reason.
 
What other properties might they possess?

I tried for perhaps an hour to learn something concerning their nature, but they resisted my Logrus probes.
 
Finally, disgusted, I pocketed them, ate some bread and cheese and took another swallow of wine.

Then I rose and made the rounds once more, inspecting my traps.
 
I’d been a prisoner in this place for what seemed at least a month now.
 
I had paced all these tunnels, corridors, grottoes, seeking an exit.
 
None of them proved a way out.
 
There were times when I had run manic through them and bloodied my knuckles upon their cold sides.
 
There were times when I had moved slowly, seeking after cracks and fault lines.
 
I had tried on several occasions to dislodge the boulder that barred the entranceway-to no avail.
 
It was wedged in place, and I couldn’t budge it.
 
It seemed that I was in for the duration.

My traps.
 
.
 
.
 
.

They were all as they had been the last time I had checked-deadfalls, boulders nature had left lying about in typical careless fashion, propped high and ready now to be released from their wedging when someone tripped any of the shadow-masked lengths of packing cord I’d removed from crates in the storeroom.

Someone? Luke, of course.
 
Who else? He was the one who’d imprisoned me.
 
And if he returned-no, when he returned-the booby traps would be waiting.
 
He was armed.
 
He would have me at a disadvantage from the overhead position of the entrance if I merely waited for him below.
 
No way.
 
I would not be there.

I would make him come in after me—and then . . .

Vaguely troubled, I returned to my quarters.

Hands behind my head, I lay there and reviewed my plans.
 
The deadfalls could kill a man, and I did not want Luke dead.
 
This had nothing to do with sentiment, though I had thought of Luke as a good friend until fairly recently-up until the time I learned that he had killed my Uncle Caine and seemed intent upon destroying the rest of my relatives in Amber as well.
 
This was because Caine had killed Luke’s father-my Uncle Brand-a man whom any of the others would gladly have done in also.
 
Yes, Luke-or Rinaldo, as I now knew him-was my cousin, and he had a reason for engaging in one of our in-family vendettas.
 
Still, going after everybody struck me as a bit intemperate.

But neither consanguinity nor sentiment bade me dismantle my traps.
 
I wanted him alive because there were too many things about the entire situation that I did not understand and might never understand were he to perish without telling me.

Jasra .
 
.
 
.
 
the Trumps of Doom .
 
.
 
.
 
the means by which I had been tracked so easily through Shadow .
 
.
 
.
 
the entire story of Luke’s relationship with the painter and mad occultist Victor Melman .
 
.
 
.
 
anything he knew about Julia and her death.
 
.
 
.
 
.

I began again.
 
I dismantled the deadfalls.
 
The new plan was a simple one, and it drew upon something of which I believed Luke had no knowledge.

I moved my sleeping bag to a new position, in the tunnel just outside the chamber whose roof held the blocked entranceway.
 
I shifted some of the food stores there, also.
 
I was determined to remain in its vicinity for as much of the time as possible.

The new trap was a very basic thing: direct and just about unavoidable.
 
Once I’d set it there was nothing to do but wait.
 
Wait, and remember.
 
And plan.
 
I had to warn the others.
 
I had to do something about my Ghostwheel.
 
I needed to find out what Meg Devlin knew.
 
I needed to .
 
.
 
.
 
lots of things.

I waited.
 
I thought of Shadow storms, dreams, strange Trumps and the Lady in the Lake.
 
After a long spell of drifting, my life had become very crowded in a matter of days.
 
Then this long spell of doing nothing.
 
My only consolation was that this time line probably outpaced most of the others that were important to me right now.
 
My month here might only be a day back in Amber, or even less.
 
If I could deliver myself from this place soon, the trails I wished to follow might still be relatively fresh.

Later, I put out the lamp and went to sleep.
 
Sufficient light filtered through the crystal lenses of my prison, brightening and waning, for me to distinguish day from night in the outside world, and I kept my small series of routines in accord with its rhythms.

During the next three days I read through Melman’s diary again-a thing heavy in allusion and low in useful information-and just about succeeded in convincing myself that the Hooded One, as he referred to his visitor and teacher, had probably been Luke.
 
Except for a few references to androgyny, which puzzled me.
 
References to the sacrifice of the Son of Chaos near the end of the volume were something I could take personally, in light of my present knowledge of Melman’s having been set up to destroy me.
 
But if Luke had done it, how to explain his ambiguous behavior on the mountain in New Mexico, when he had advised me to destroy the Trumps of Doom and had driven me away almost as if to protect me from something? And then he had admitted to several of the earlier attempts on my life, but denied the later ones.
 
No reason to do that if he were indeed responsible for all of them.
 
What else might be involved? Who else? And how? There were obviously missing pieces to the puzzle, but I felt as if they were minor, as if the smallest bit of new information and the slightest jiggling of the pattern would suddenly cause everything to fall into place, with the emerging picture to be something I should have seen all along.

I might have guessed that the visitation would be by night.
 
I might have, but I didn’t.
 
Had it occurred to me, I would have changed my sleep cycle and been awake and alert.
 
Even though I felt fairly confident of my trap’s efficiency, every little edge is important in truly crucial matters.

I was deeply asleep, and the grating of rock upon rock was a distant thing.
 
I stirred but slowly as the sounds continued, and it was several seconds more before the proper circuits closed and I realized what was occurring.
 
Then I sat up, my mind still dusty, and moved into a crouch beside the wall of the chamber nearest the entranceway, knuckling my eyes, brushing back my hair, seeking lost alertness on sleep’s receding shore.

The first sounds I heard must have accompanied the removal of the wedges, which apparently had entailed some rocking or tipping of the boulder.
 
The continuing sounds were muffled, echoless—external.

So I ventured a quick glance into the chamber.
 
There was no opened adit, showing stars.
 
The overhead vibrations continued.
 
The rocking sounds were now succeeded by a steady crunching, grating noise.
 
A ball of light with a diffuse halo shone through the translucent stone of the chamber’s roof.
 
A lantern, I guessed.
 
Too steady to be a torch.
 
And a torch would be impractical under the circumstances.

A crescent of sky appeared, holding two stars near its nether horn.
 
It widened, and I heard the heavy breathing and grunts of what I took to be two men.

My extremities tingled as I felt additional adrenaline doing its biological trick within me.
 
I hadn’t counted on Luke’s bringing anyone with him.
 
My foolproof plan might not be proof against this-meaning I was the fool.

The boulder rolled more quickly now, and there was not even time for profanity as my mind raced, focused upon a course of action and assumed its appropriate stance.

I summoned the image of the Logrus and it took shape before me.
 
I rose to my feet, still leaning against the wall, and began moving my arms to correspond with the random-seeming movements of two of the eidolon’s limbs.
 
By the time I achieved a satisfactory conjunction, the sounds from overhead had ceased.

The opening was now clear.
 
Moments later the light was raised and moved toward it.

I stepped into the chamber and extended my hands.
 
As the men, short and dark, came into view above me my original plan was canceled completely.
 
They both carried unsheathed poignards in their right hands.
 
Neither of them was Luke.

I reached out with my Logrus gauntlets and took hold of each of them by the throat.
 
I squeezed until they collapsed within my grip.
 
I squeezed a little longer, then released them.

As they dropped from sight I hooked the high lip of the entrance with my glowing lines of force and drew myself upward with them.
 
As I reached the opening I paused to recover Frakir, who was coiled about its underside.
 
That had been my trap.
 
Luke, or anyone else, would have been passing through a noose to enter, a noose ready to tighten instantly upon anything moving through.

Now, though.
 
.
 
.
 
.

A trail of fire ran down the slope to my right.
 
The fallen lantern had shattered, its spilled fuel become a burning rivulet.
 
The men I had choked lay sprawled at either hand.
 
The boulder that had blocked this opening rested to the left and somewhat to the rear of me.
 
I remained where I was -head and shoulders above the opening, resting on my elbows-with the image of the Logrus dancing between my eyes, the warm tingling of its power lines yet a part of my arms, Frakir moving from my left shoulder down to my biceps.

It had been almost too easy.
 
I couldn’t see Luke trusting a couple of lackeys to question, kill or transport me-whichever of these had been their mission.
 
That is why I had not emerged fully, but scanned the nighted environs from my vantage of relative security.

Prudent, for a change.
 
For someone else shared the night with me.
 
It was sufficiently dark, even with the dwindling fire trail, that my ordinary vision did not serve to furnish me this intelligence.
 
But when I summon the Logrus, the mental set that grants me vision of its image permits me to view other nonphysical manifestations as well.

So it was that I detected such a construct beneath a tree to my left, amid shadows where I would not have seen the human figure before which it hovered.
 
And a strange pattern at that, reminiscent of Amber’s own; it turned like a slow pinwheel, extending tendrils of smoke-shot yellow light.
 
These drifted toward me across the night and I watched, fascinated, knowing already what I would do when the moment came.

There were four big ones, and they came on slowly, probing.
 
When they were within several yards of me they halted, gained slack, then struck like cobras.
 
My hands were together and slightly crossed, Logrus limbs extended.
 
I separated them with a single sweeping motion, tilting them slightly forward as I did so.
 
They struck the yellow tendrils, casting them away to be thrown back upon their pattern.
 
I felt a tingling sensation in my forearms as this occurred.
 
Then, using my right-hand extension as if it were a blade,I struck at the now-wavering pattern as if it were a shield.
 
I heard a short sharp cry as that image grew dim, and I struck again quickly, hauled myself out of my hole and started down the slope, my arm aching.