Sign of the unicorn (22 page)

“What the hell,” he asked, “is that?”

I shook my head.

“I lopped it off the ghost of Benedict,” I told him. “For reasons I do not understand, it was able to reach me.”

He stooped and picked it up, studied it.

“A lot lighter than I thought it would be,” he observed. He raked the air with it. “You could do quite a job on someone, with a hand like that.”

“I know.”

He worked the fingers.

“Maybe the real Benedict could use it.”

“Maybe,” I said. “My feelings are quite mixed when it comes to offering it to him, but possibly you’re right...”

“How’s the side?”

I prodded it gently.

“Not especially bad, everything considered. I’ll be able to ride after breakfast, so long as we take it nice and easy.”

“Good. Say, Corwin, while Random is getting things ready, I have a question that may be out of order, but it has been bothering me all along.”

“Ask it.”

“Well, let me put it this way: I am all for you, or I would not be here. I will fight for you to have your throne, no matter what. But every time talk of the succession occurs, someone gets angry and breaks it off or the subject gets changed. Like Random did, while you were up there. I suppose that it is not absolutely essential for me to know the basis of your claim to the throne, or that of any of the others, but I cannot help being curious as to the reasons for all the friction.”

I sighed, then sat silent for a time.

“All right,” I said after a while, and then I chuckled. “All right. If we cannot agree on these things ourselves, I would guess that they must seem pretty confused to an outsider. Benedict is the eldest. His mother was Cymnea. She bore Dad two other sons, also-Osric and Finndo. Then-how does one put thesethings?-Faiella bore Eric. After that. Dad found some defect in his marriage with Cymnea and had it dissolved-ab initio, as they would say in my old shadow-from the beginning. Neat trick, that. But he was the king.”

“Didn’t that make all of them illegitimate?”

“Well, it left their status less certain. Osric and Finndo were more than a little irritated, as I understand it, but they died shortly thereafter. Benedict was either less irritated or more politic about the entire affair. He never raised a fuss. Dad then married Faiella.”

“And that made Eric legitimate?”

“It would have, if he had acknowledged Eric as his son. He treated him as if he were, but he never did anything formal in that regard. It involved the smoothing-over process with Cymnea’s family, which had become a bit stronger around that time.”

“Still, if he treated him as his own.. “

“Ah! But he later did acknowledge Llewella formally. She was born out of wedlock, but he decided to recognize her, poor girl. All of Eric’s supporters hated her for its effect on his status. Anyway, Faiella was later to become my mother. I was born safely in wedlock, making me the first with a clean claim on the throne. Talk to one of the others and you may get a different line of reasoning, but those are the facts it will have to be based on. Somehow it does not seem quite as important as it once did, though, with Eric dead and Benedict not really interested. . . , But that is where I stand.”

“I see-sort of,” he said. “Just one more thing, then...”

“What?”

“Who is next? That is to say, if anything were to happen to you. . . ?”

I shook my head.

“It gets even more complicated there, now. Caine would have been next with him dead, I see it as swinging over to Clarissa’s brood-the redheads. Bleys would have followed, then Brand.”

“Clarissa? What became of your mother?”

“She died in childbirth. Deirdre was the child. Dad did not remarry for many years after mother’s death. When he did, it was a redheaded wench from a far southern shadow. I never liked her. He began feeling the same way after a time and started fooling around again. They had one reconciliation after Llewella’s birth in Rebma, and Brand was the result. When they were finally divorced, he recognized Llewella to spite Clarissa. At least, that is what I think happened.”

“So you are not counting the ladies in the succession?”

“No. They are neither interested nor fit. If I were, though, Fiona would precede Bleys and Llewella would follow him. After Clarissa’s crowd, it would swing over to Julian, Gerard, and Random, in that order. Excuse me-count Flora befare Julian. The marriage data is even more involved, but no one will dispute the final order. Let it go at that.”

“Gladly,” he said. “So now Brand gets it if you die, right?”

“Well . . . He is a self-confessed traitor and he rubs everybody the wrong way. I do not believe the rest of them would have him, as he stands now. But I do not believe he has by any means given up.”

“But the alternative is Julian.” I shrugged.

“The fact that I do not like Julian does not make him unfit. In fact, he might even be a very effective monarch.”

“So he knifed you for the chance to prove it,” Random called out. “Come on and eat.”

“I still don’t think so,” I said, getting to my feet and heading for the food. “First, I don’t see how he could have gotten to me. Second, it would have been too damned obvious. Third, if I die in the near future Benedict will have the real say as to the succession. Everyone knows that. He’s got the seniority, he’s got the wits, and he’s got the power. He could simply say, for example. The hell with all this bickering, I am backing Gerard, and that would be it.”

“What if he decided to reinterpret his own status and take it himself?” Ganelon asked.

We seated ourselves on the ground and took the tin dishes Random had filled.

“He could have had it long before this, had he wanted it,” I said. “There are several ways of regarding the offspring of a void marriage, and the most favorable one would be the most likely in his case. Osric and Finndo rushed to judgment, taking the worst view. Benedict knew better. He just waited. So . . . It is possible. Unlikely, though. I’d say.”

“Then-in the normal course of affairs-if anything happened to you, it could still be very much in the air?”

“Very much.”

“But why was Caine killed?” Random asked. Then, between mouthfuls, he answered his own question. “So that when they got you, it would swing over to Clarissa’s kids immediately. It has occurred to me that Bleys is probably still living, and he is next in line. His body was never found. My guess is this: He trumped off to Fiona during your attack and returned to Shadow to rebuild his forces, leaving you to what he hoped would be your death at the hands of Eric. He is finally ready to move again. So they killed Caine and tried for you. If they are really allied with the black-road horde, they could have arranged for another assault from that quarter. Then he could have done the same thing you did-arrive at the last hour, turn back the invaders, and move on in. And there he would be, next in line and first in force. Simple. Except that you survived and Brand has been returned. If we are to believe Brand’s accusation of Fiona—and I see no reason why we should not-then it follows from their original program.”

I nodded.

“Possibly,” I said. “I asked Brand just those things. He admitted their possibility, but he disavowed any knowledge as to whether Bleys was still living. Personally, I think he was lying.”

“Why?”

“It is possible that he wishes to combine revenge for his imprisonment and the attempt on his life with the removal of the one impediment, save for myself, to his own succession. I think he feels that I will be expended in a scheme he is evolving to deal with the black road. The destruction of his own cabal and the removal of the road could make him look pretty decent, especially after all the penance he has had thrust upon him. Then, maybe then, he would have a chance-or thinks that he would.”

“Then you think Bleys is still living, too?”

“Just a feeling,” I said. “But yes, I do.”

“What is their strength, anyway?”

“An endorsement of higher education,” I said. “Fiona and Brand paid attention to Dworkin while the rest of us were off indulging our assorted passions in Shadow. Consequently, they seem to have obtained a better grasp of principles than we possess. They know more about Shadow and what lies beyond it, more about the Pattern, more about the Trumps than we do. That is why Brand was able to send you his message.”

“An interesting thought . . .” Random mused. “Do you think they might have disposed of Dworkin after they felt they had learned enough from him? It would certainly help to keep things exclusive, if anything happened to Dad.”

“That thought had not occurred to me,” I said.

And I wondered, could they have done something that had affected his mind? Something that left him as he was when last I had seen him? If so, were they aware that he was possibly still living, somewhere? Or might they have assumed his total destruction?

“Yes, an interesting thought,” I said. “I suppose that it is possible.”

The sun inched its way upward, and the food restored me. No trace of Tir-na Nog’th remained in the motning’s light. My memories of it had already taken on the quality of images in a dim mirror. Ganelon fetched its only other token, the arm, and Random packed it away along with the dishes. By daylight, the first three steps looked less like stairs and more like jumbled rock.

Random gestured with his head. “Take the same way back?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, and we mounted.

We had come by way of a trail that wound about Kolvir to the south. It was longer but less rugged than the route across the crest. I’d a humor to pamper myself so long as my side protested.

So we bore to the right, moving single file. Random in the lead, Ganelon to the rear. The trail ran gently upward, then cut back down again. The air was cool, and it bore the aromas of verdure and moist earth, a thing quite unusual in that stark place, at that altitude. Straying air currents, I reasoned, from the forest far below.

We let the horses pick their own casual pace down thiough the dip and up the next rise. As we neared its crest, Random’s horse whinnied and began to rear. He controlled it immediately, and I glanced about but saw nothing that might have startled it.

When he reached its summit, Random slowed and called back, “Take a look at that sunrise now, will you?”

It would have been rather difficult to avoid doing so, though I did not remark on the fact. Random was seldom given to sentimentality over vegetation, geology, or illumination.

I almost drew rein myself as I topped the rise, for the sun was a fantastic golden ball. It seemed half again its normal size, and its peculiar coloration was unlike anything I remembered having seen before. It did marvelous things to the band of ocean that had come into view above the next rise, and the tints of cloud and sky were indeed singular. I did not halt, though, for the sudden brightness was almost painful.

“You’re right,” I called out, following him down into the next declivity. Behind me, Ganelon snorted an appreciative oath.

When I had blinked away the aftereffects of that display I noticed that the vegetation was heavier than I had remembered in this little pocket in the sky. I had thought there were several scrubby trees and some patches of lichen, but there were actually several dozen trees, larger than I recalled, and greener, with a clutch of grasses here and there and a vine or two softening the outlines of the rocks. However, since my return I had only passed this way after dark. And now that I thought of it, it was probably the source of the aromas that had come to me earlier.

Passing through, it seemed that the little hollow was also wider than I recalled it. By the time we had crossed and were ascending once more, I was certain of it.

“Random,” I called out, “has this place changed recently?”

“Hard to say,” he answered. “Eric didn’t let me out much. It seems to have grown up a bit.”

“It seems bigger-wider.”

“Yes, it does. I had thought that that was just my imagination.”

When we reached the next crest I was not dazzled again because the sun was blocked by foliage. The area ahead of us contained many more trees than the one we had just departed-and they were larger and closer together. We drew rein.

“I don’t remember this,” he said. “Even passing through at night, it would have registered. We must have taken a wrong turn.”

“I don’t see how. Still, we know about where we are. I would rather go ahead than go back and start again. We should keep aware of conditions around Amber, anyway.”

“True.”

He headed down toward the wood. We followed.

“It’s kind of unusual, at this altitude-a growth like this,” he called back.

“There also seems to be a lot more soil than I recall.”

“I believe you are right.”

The trail curved to the left as we entered among the trees. I could see no reason for this deviation from the direct route. We stayed with it, however, and it added to the illusion of distance. After a few moments it swung suddenly to the right again. The prospect on cutting back was peculiar. The trees seemed even taller and were now so dense as to puzzle the eye that sought their penetration. When it turned once more it broadened, and the way was straight for a great distance ahead. Too great, in fact. Our little dell just wasn’t that wide.