Blood of Amber (32 page)

I studied that intricate mass of curved lines as I moved to the comer where they began.
 
I had quieted Frakir but I had not entirely subdued my own apprehensions.
 
If it were a response of the Logrus within me, I wondered whether my reaction to the Logrus itself would be worse were I to go back and essay it again, now that I bore the Pattern as well.
 
Fruitless speculation.
 
.
 
.
 
.

I tried to relax.
 
I breathed deeply.
 
I shut my eyes for a moment.
 
I bent my knees.
 
I lowered my shoulders.
 
No use waiting any longer.
 
.
 
.
 
.

I opened my eyes and set my foot upon the Pattern.
 
Immediately, sparks rose about my foot.
 
I took another step.
 
More sparks.
 
A tiny crackling noise.
 
Another step.
 
A bit of resistance as I moved again.
 
.
 
.
 
.

It all came back to me-everything I had felt the first time through: the chill, the small shocks, the easy areas and the difficult ones.
 
There was a map of the Pattern somewhere inside me, and it was almost as if I read from it as I moved along that first curve, resistance rising, sparks flying, my hair stirring, the crackling, a kind of vibration.
 
.
 
.
 
.

I reached the First Veil, and it was like walking in a wind tunnel.
 
Every movement involved heavy effort.
 
Resolve, though; that was all that it really took.
 
If I just kept pushing I would advance, albeit slowly.
 
The trick was not to stop.
 
Starting again could be horrible, and in some places impossible.
 
Steady pressure was all that was required just now.
 
A few moments more and I would be through.
 
The going would be easier.
 
It was the Second Veil that was the real killer.
 
.
 
.
 
.

Turn, turn.
 
.
 
.
 
.

I was through.
 
I knew the way would be easy now for a time.
 
I began to stride with a bit of confidence.
 
Perhaps Flora had been right.
 
This part seemed a little less difficult than it had the first time.
 
I negotiated a long curve, then a sharp switchback.
 
The sparks reached up to my boottops now.
 
My mind was flooded with April thirtieths, with family politics in the Courts, where people dueled and died as the succession to the succession to the succession wound and shifted its intricate way through blood rituals of status and elevation.
 
No more.
 
I was done with all that.
 
Push it away.
 
They might be a lot politer about it, but more blood was spilled there than in Amber, and for the damnedest small advantages over one’s fellows.
 
.
 
.
 
.

I gritted my teeth.
 
It was hard to keep my mind focused on the task at hand.
 
Part of the effect, of course.
 
I remembered that too, now.
 
Another step.
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
Tingling sensations all the way up my legs.
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
The crackling sounds as loud as a storm to me.
 
.
 
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.
 
One foot in front of the other.
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
Pick them up, put them down.
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
Hair standing on end now.
 
: .
 
.
 
Turn.
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
Push.
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
Bringing the Starburst in before an autumn squall, Luke running the sails, wind like the breath of dragons at our back.
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
Three more steps and resistance rises.
 
.
 
.
 
.

I am upon the Second Veil, and it is suddenly as if I am trying to push a car out of a muddy ditch.
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
All my strength goes forward, and the return on it is infinitesimal.
 
I move with glacial slowness and the sparks are about my waist.
 
I am blue flame.
 
.
 
.
 
.

My mind is abruptly stripped of distraction.
 
Even Time goes away and leaves me alone.
 
There is only this pastless, nameless thing I am become, striving with its entire being against the inertia of all its days-an equation so finely balanced that I should be frozen here in mid-stride forever, save that this cancellation of masses and forces leaves the will unimpaired, purifies it in a way, so that the process of progress seems to transcend the physical striving.
 
.
 
.
 
.

Another step, and another, and I am through, and ages older and moving again, and I know that I am going to make it despite the fact that I am approaching the Grand Curve, which is tough and tricky and long.
 
Not at all like the Logrus.
 
The power here is synthetic, not analytic.
 
.
 
.
 
.

The universe seemed to wheel about me.
 
Each step here made me feel as if I were fading and coming back into focus, being broken down and reassembled, scattered and gathered, dying and reviving.
 
.
 
.
 
.

Outward.
 
Onward.
 
Three more curves then, followed by a straight line.
 
I pushed ahead.
 
Dizzy, nauseated.
 
Soaking wet.
 
End of the line.
 
A series of arcs.
 
Turn.
 
Turn.
 
Turn again.
 
.
 
.
 
.

I knew that I was coming up to the Final Veil when the sparks rose to become a cage of lightnings and my feet began to drag again.
 
The stillness and the terrible pushing.
 
.
 
.
 
.

But this time I felt somehow fortified, and I drove onward knowing that I would win through.
 
.
 
.
 
.

I made it, shaking, and only a single short arc remained.
 
Those final three steps may well be the worst, however.
 
It is as if, having gotten to know you this well, the Pattern is reluctant to release you.
 
I fought it here, my ankles sore as at any race’s end.
 
Two steps.
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
Three

Off.
 
Standing still.
 
Panting and shuddering.
 
Peace.
 
Gone the static.
 
Gone the sparks.
 
If that didn’t wash off the blue stones’ vibes I didn’t know what would.

Now-well, in a minute-I could go anywhere.
 
From this point, in this moment of empowerment, I could command the Pattern to transport me anywhere and I would be there delivered.
 
Hardly a thing to waste to, say, save myself a walls up the spiral staircase and back to my rooms.
 
No.
 
I had other plans.
 
In a minute...

I adjusted my apparel, ran my hand through my hair, checked my weapons and my hidden Trump, waited for the pounding of my pulse to subside.

Luke had sustained his injuries in a battle at the Keep of the Four Worlds, fighting with his former friend and ally Dalt, the mercenary, son of the Desacratrix.
 
Dalt meant little to me save as a possible obstacle, in that he now seemed in the employ of the keeper of the Keep.
 
But even allowing for any time differential-which was probably not that great-I had seen him fairly soon following his fight with Luke.
 
Which seemed to indicate that he was at the Keep when I had reached him via his Trump.

Okay.

I tried to recall it, my memory of the room where I had reached Dalt.

It was pretty sketchy.
 
What was the minimum amount of data the Pattern required in order to operate? I recalled the texture of the stone wall, the shape of the small window, a bit of worn tapestry upon the wall, strewn rushes on the floor; a low bench and a stool had come into view to his rear when Dalt had moved, a crack in the wall above them- and a bit of cobweb.
 
.
 
.

I formed the image as sharply as I could.
 
I willed myself there.
 
I wanted to be in that place.
 
.
 
.
 
.

And I was.

I turned around quickly, my hand on the hilt of my blade, but I was alone in the chamber.
 
I saw a bed and an armoire, a small writing table, a storage chest, none of which had been in my line of sight during my brief view of the place.
 
Daylight shone through the small window.

I crossed the room to its single door and stood there for a long while, listening.
 
There was only silence on the other side.
 
I opened it a crack-it swung to the left-and looked upon a long, empty hallway.
 
I eased the door farther open.
 
There was a stairway directly across from me, leading down.
 
To my left was a blank wall.
 
I stepped outside and closed the door.
 
Go down or go right? There were several windows on both sides of the hallway.
 
I moved to the nearest one, which was to my right, and looked out.

I saw that I was near to the lower comer of a rectangular courtyard, more buildings across the way and to my right and left, all of them con nected at the corners save for an opening to the upper right which seemed as if it led to another courtyard where a very large structure rose beyond the buildings directly across from me.
 
There were perhaps a dozen troops in the courtyard below, disposed near various entranceways, though not giving the appearance of being formally on guard-that is, they were engaged in cleaning and repairing their gear.
 
Two of them were heavily bandaged.
 
Still, most seemed in such a state that they could leap to service fairly quickly.

At the yard’s Ear end was a strange bit of flotsam, looking like a large broken kite, which seemed somehow familiar.
 
I decided to head along the hallway, which paralleled the courtyard, for it seemed that this would take me into those buildings along the farther edge of the perimeter and probably give me a view into the next yard.

I moved along the hallway, alert to any sounds of activity.
 
There was nothing but silence as I advanced to the corner.
 
I waited there for a long while, listening.

In that I heard nothing, I rounded the comer then, and froze.
 
So did the man seated on the windowsill to the right.
 
He wore a chain mail shirt, a leather cap, leather leggings and boots.
 
There was a heavy blade at his side, but it was a dagger that he held in his hand, apparently giving himself a manicure.
 
He looked as surprised as I felt when his head jerked in my direction.

“Who are you?” he asked.

His shoulders straightened and he lowered his hands as if to push himself from his perch and into a standing position.

Embarrassing to both of us.
 
He seemed to be a guard.
 
Whereas alertness or attempted stealth might have betrayed him to Frakir or myself, sloth had provided him with excellent concealment and me with a small dilemma.
 
I was sure I couldn’t bluff him, or trust to the result if I seemed to.
 
I did not wish to attack him and create a lot of noise.
 
This narrowed my choices.
 
I could kill him quickly arid silently with a neat little cardiacarrest spell I had hanging in front of me.
 
But I value life too highly to waste it when there is no need.
 
So, as much as I hated to spend another spell that I carried this soon, I spoke the word that caused my hand to move reflexively through an accompanying gesture, and I had a glimpse of the Logrus as its force pulsed through me.
 
The man closed his eyes and slumped back against the casement.
 
I adjusted his position against slippage and left him snoring peacefully, the dagger still in his hand.
 
Besides, I might have a greater need for the cardiac-arrest spell later.