The courts of chaos (3 page)

“Merlin, this is Corwin,” I said. “Do you hear me?”

I seemed to hear a reply. It seemed to be, “I cannot-“ And then there was nothing. The card lost its coldness.

“Did you reach him?” she asked.

“I am not sure,” I said. “But I think so. Just for a moment.”

“Better than I thought,” she said. “Either conditions are good or your minds are very similar.”

“When you began waving Dad’s signet around you spoke of orders,” Random said. “What orders? And why is he sending them through you?”

“It is a matter of timing.”

“Timing? Hell! He just left here this morning!”

“He had to finish one thing before he was ready for another. He had no idea how long it would take. But I was just in touch with him before I came here-though I was hardly prepared for the reception I walked into-and he is now ready to begin the next phase.”

“Where did you speak with him?” I asked. “Where is he?”

“I have no idea where he is. He contacted me.”

“And... ?”

“He wants Benedict to attack immediately.”

Gerard finally stirred from the huge armchair in which he had sat listening. He rose to his feet, hooked his thumbs in his belt and looked down at her.

“An order like that would have to come directly from Dad.”

“It did,” she said.

He shook his head.

“It makes no sense. Why contact you-someone we have small reason to trust-rather than one of us?”

“I do not believe that he can reach you at the moment. On the other hand, he was able to reach me.”

“Why?”

“He did not use a Trump. He does not have one for me. He used a reverberation effect of the black road, similar to the means by which Brand once escaped Corwin.”

“You know a lot of what has been going on.”

“I do. I still have sources in the Courts, and Brand transported himself there after your struggle. I hear things.”

“Do you know where our father is right now?” Random asked.

“No, I do not know. But I believe that he has journeyed to the real Amber, to take counsel with Dworkin and to re-examine the damage to the primal Pattern.”

“To what end?”

“I do not know. Probably to decide on the course of action he will take. The fact that he reached me and ordered the attack most likely means that he has decided.”

“How long ago was this communication?”

“Just a few hours-my time. But I was far from here in Shadow. I do not know what the time differential is. I am too new at this.”

“So it could be something extremely recent. Possibly only moments ago,” Gerard mused. “Why did he talk with you rather than one of us? I do not believe that he could not reach us if he wished to.”

“Perhaps to show that he looks upon me with favor,” she said.

“All of this may be entirely true,” Benedict stated. “But I am not moving without a confirmation of that order.”

“Is Fiona still at the primal Pattern?” Random asked.

“Last I heard,” I told him, “she had set up camp there. I see what you mean. . . .”

I shuffled out Fi’s card.

“It took more than one of us to get through from there,” he observed.

“True. So give me a hand.”

He rose, came to my side. Benedict and Gerard also approached.

“This is not really necessary,” Dara protested.

I ignored her and concentrated on the delicate features of my red-haired sister. Moments later, we had contact.

“Fiona,” I asked, seeing from the background that she was still in residence at the heart of things, “is Dad there?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling tightly. “He is inside with Dworkin.”

“Listen, urgency prevails. I do not know whether or not you know Dara, but she is here-“

“I know who she is, but I have never met her.”

“Well, she claims she has an attack order for Benedict, from Dad. She has his signet to back it up, but he did not speak of this earlier. Do you know anything about it?”

“No,” she said. “All we did was exchange greetings when he and Dworkin were out here earlier to look at the Pattern. I had some suspicions then, though, and this confirms them.”

“Suspicions? What do you mean?”

“I think Dad is going to try to repair the Pattern. He has the Jewel with him, and I overheard some of the things he said to Dworkin. If he makes the attempt, they will be aware of it in the Courts of Chaos the moment that he begins. They will try to stop him. He would want to strike first to keep them occupied. Only . . .”

“What?”

“It is going to kill him, Corwin. I know that much about it. Whether he succeeds or fails, he will be destroyed in the process.”

“I find it hard to believe.”

“That a king would give up his life for the realm?”

“That Dad would.”

“Then either he has changed or you never really knew him. But I do believe he is going to try it.”

“Then why send his latest order by someone he knows we do not really trust?”

“To show that he wants you to trust her, I would guess, once he has confirmed it.”

“It seems a roundabout way of doing things, but I agree that we should not act without that confirmation. Can you get it for us?”

“I will try. I will get back to you as soon as I have spoken with him.”

She broke the contact.

I turned toward Dara, who had heard only our side of the conversation.

“Do you know what Dad is going to do right now?” I asked her.

“Something involving the black road,” she said. “He had indicated that much. What, though, or how, he did not say.”

I turned away. I squared my cards and encased them. I did not like this turning of events. This entire day had started badly, and things had been going downhill ever since. It was only a little past lunchtime, too. I shook my head. When I had spoken with him, Dworkin had described the results of any attempt to repair the Pattern, and they had sounded pretty horrendous to me. Supposing Dad tried it, failed, and got himself killed in the attempt? Where would we be then? Right where we were now, only without a leader, on the eve of battle-and with the succession problem stirring again. That whole ghastly business would be in the back of our minds as we rode to the wars, and we would all begin our private arrangements to fight one another once more as soon as the current enemy was dealt with. There had to be another way of handling things. Better Dad alive and on the throne than a revival of the succession intrigues.

“What are we waiting for?” Dara asked. “Confirmation?”

“Yes,” I replied.

Random began to pace. Benedict seated himself and tested the dressing on his arm. Gerard leaned against the mantelpiece. I stood and thought. An idea came to me just then. I pushed it away immediately, but it returned. I did not like it, but that had nothing to do with practicalities. I would have to move quickly, though, before I had a chance to talk myself around to another viewpoint. No. I would stick with this one. Damn it!

There came a stirring of contact. I waited. Moments later, I regarded Fiona again. She stood in a familiar place that it took me several seconds to recognize: Dworkin’s sitting room, on the other side of the heavy door at the back of the cave. Dad and Dworkin were both with her. Dad had dropped his Ganelon disguise and was his old self once again. I saw that he wore the Jewel.

“Corwin,” Fiona said, “it is true. Dad did send the attack order with Dara, and he expected this call for confirmation. I-“

“Fiona, bring me through.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Now!”

I extended my right hand. She reached forward and we touched.

“Corwin!” Random shouted. “What’s happening!”

Benedict was on his feet, Gerard already moving toward me.

“You will hear about it shortly,” I said, and I stepped forward.

I squeezed her hand before I released it and I smiled.

“Thanks, Fi. Hello, Dad. Hi, Dworkin. How’s everything?”

I glanced once at the heavy door, saw that it stood open. Then I passed around Fiona and moved toward them. Dad’s head was lowered, his eyes narrowed. I knew that look.

“What is this, Corwin? You are here without leave,” he said. “I have confirmed that damned order, now I expect it to be carried out.”

“It will be,” I said, nodding. “I did not come here to argue about that.”

“What, then?”

I moved nearer, calculating my words as well as the distance. I was glad that he had remained seated.

“For a time we rode as comrades,” I said. “Damned if I did not come to like you then. I never had before, you know. Never had guts enough to say that before either, but you know it is true. I like to think that that is how things could have been, if we had not been what we are to each other.”

For the barest moment, his gaze seemed to soften as I positioned myself. Then,

“At any rate,” I went on, “I am going to believe in you that way rather than this way, because there is something I would never have done for you otherwise.”

“What?” he asked.

“This.”

I seized the Jewel with an upward sweeping motion and snapped the chain up over his head. I pivoted on my heel then and raced across the room and through the door. I drew it shut behind me and snapped it to. I could see no way to bar it from the outside, so I ran on, retracing the route through the cave from that night I had followed Dworkin along it. Behind me, I heard the expected bellow.

I followed the twistings. I stumbled only once. Wixer’s smell still hung heavy in his lair. I pounded on and a final turning brought me a view of daylight ahead.

I raced toward it, slipping the Jewel’s chain over my head as I went. I felt it fall to my breast, I reached down into it with my mind. There were echoes in the cave behind me.

Outside!

I sprinted toward the Pattern, feeling through the Jewel, turning it into an extra sense. I was the only person other than Dad or Dworkin fully attuned to it. Dworkin had told me that the Pattern’s repair might be effected by a person’s walking the Grand Pattern in such a state of attunement, burning out the smear at each crossing, replacing it with stock from the image of the Pattern that he bore within him, wiping out the black road in the process. Better me than Dad, then. I still felt that the black road owed something of its final form to the strength my curse against Amber had given it. I wanted to wipe that out, too. Dad would do a better job of putting things together after the war than I ever could, anyway. I realized, at that moment, that I no longer wanted the throne. Even if it were available, the prospect of administering to the kingdom down all the dull centuries that might lie before me was overwhelming. Maybe I would be taking the easy way out if I died in this effort. Eric was dead, and I no longer hated him. The other thing that had driven me-the throne-seemed now to have been desirable only because I’d thought he had wanted it so. I renounced both. What was left? I had laughed at Vialle, then wondered. But she had been right. The old soldier in me was strongest. It was a matter of duty. But not duty alone. There was more. . . .

I reached the edge of the Pattern, quickly made my way toward its beginning. I glanced back at the cavemouth. Dad, Dwarkin, Fiona-none of them had yet emerged. Good. They could never make it in time to stop me. Once I set foot on the Pattern, if would be too late for them to do anything but wait and watch. I thought for a fleeting instant of lago’s dissolution, pushed that thought away, strove to calm my mind to the level necessary for the undertaking, recalled my battle with Brand in this place and his strange departure, pushed that away, too, slowed my breathing, prepared myself.

A certain lethargy came upon me. It was time to begin, but I held back for a moment, trying to fix my mind properly on the grand task that lay before me. The Pattern swam for a moment in my vision. Now! Damn it! Now! No more preliminaries! Begin, I told myself. Walk!

Still, I stood, contemplating the Pattern as in a dream. I forgot about myself for long moments as I regarded it. The Pattern, with its long black smear to be removed . . .

It no longer seemed important that it might kill me. My mind drifted, considering the beauty of the thing. . . .

I heard a sound. It would be Dad, Dworkin, Fiona, coming. I had to do something before they reached me. I had to walk it, in a moment. . . .

I pulled my gaze away from the Pattern and glanced back toward the cavemouth. They had emerged, come partway down the slope and halted. Why? Why had they stopped?

What did it matter? I had the time I needed in which to begin. I began to raise my foot, to step forward.

I could barely move. I inched my foot ahead with a great effort of will. Taking this first step was proving worse than walking the Pattern itself, near to the end. But it did not seem so much an external resistance I fought against as it did the sluggishness at my own body. It was almost as if-

Then I had me an image of Benedict beside the Pattern in Tir-na Nog’th, Brand approaching, mocking, the Jewel burning upon his breast.