Chapter 4. She asked who it was when I knocked and I told her.

She asked who it was when I knocked and I told her.

" Just a moment."

I heard her footsteps and then the door swung in. Vialle is only a little over five feet tall and quite slim. Brunette, fine featured, very soft-spoken. She was wearing red. Her sightless eyes looked through me, reminding me of darkness past, of pain.

" Random, " I said, " asked me to tell you that he would be delayed a little longer, but that there was nothing to worry about."

" Please come in, " she said, stepping aside and drawing the door the rest of the way open.

I did. I did not want to, but I did. I had not intended to take Random's request literally - that I tell her what had happened and where he had gone. I had meant simply to tell her what I had already said, nothing more. It was not until we had ridden our separate ways that I realized exactly what Random's request had amounted to: He had just asked me to go tell his wife, to whom I had never spoken more than half a dozen words, that he had taken off to go looking for his illegitimate son - the lad whose mother, Morganthe, had committed suicide, a thing for which Random had been punished by being forced to marry Vialle. The fact that the marriage had somehow worked beautifully was something which still amazed me. I had no desire to dispense a load of awkward tidings, and as I moved into the room I sought alternatives.

I passed a bust of Random set on a high shelf on the wall to my left. I had actually gone by before it registered that my brother was indeed the subject. Across the room, I saw her workbench. Turning back, I studied the bust.

" I did not realize that you sculpted, " I said.

" Yes."

Casting my gaze about the apartment, I quickly located other examples of her work. " Quite good, " I said.

" Thank you. Won't you sit down? "

I lowered myself into a large, high-armed chair, which proved more comfortable than it had looked. She seated herself on a low divan to my right, curling her legs beneath her.

" May I get you something to eat, or to drink? "

" No thanks. I can only stay a short while. What it is, is that Random, Ganelon, and I had gotten a bit sidetracked on the way home, and after that delay we met with Benedict for a time. The upshot of it was that Random and Benedict had to make another small journey."

" How long will he be away? "

" Probably overnight. Maybe a bit longer. If it is going to be much longer he will probably call back on someone's Trump, and we'll let you know."

My side began to throb and I rested my hand upon it, massaging it gently.

" Random has told me many things about you, " she said.

I chuckled.

" Are you certain you would not care for something to eat? It would be no trouble."

" Did he tell you that I am always hungry? "

She laughed.

" No. But if you have been as active as you say, I would guess that you did not take time for lunch."

" In that you would be only half-correct. All right. If you've a spare piece of bread lying about it might do me some good to gnaw on it."

" Fine. Just a moment."

She rose and departed into the next room. I took the opportunity to scratch heartily all about my wound where it was suddenly itching fit to kill. I had accepted her hospitality partly for this reason and partly because of the realization that I actually was hungry. Only a little later it struck me that she could not have seen me attacking my side as I was. Her sure movements, her confident manner, had relaxed my awareness of her blindness. Good. It pleased me that she was able to carry it so well.

I heard her humming a tune: " The Ballad of the Water Crossers, " the song of Amber's great merchant navy. Amber is not noted for manufacture, and agriculture has never been our forte. But our ships sail the shadows, plying between anywhere and anywhere, dealing in anything. Just about every male Amberite, noble or otherwise, spends some time in the fleet. Those of the blood laid down the trade routes long ago that other vessels might follow, the seas of a double dozen worlds in every captain's head. I had assisted in this in times gone by, and though my involvement had never been so deep as Gé rard's or Caine's, I had been mightily moved by the forces of the deep and the spirit of the men who crossed it.

After a while, Vialle came in bearing a tray heavy with bread, meat, cheese, fruit, and a flask of wine. She set it upon a table near at hand.

" You mean to feed a regiment? " I asked.

" Best to be safe."

" Thanks. Won't you join me? "

" A piece of fruit, perhaps, " she said.

Her fingers sought for a second, located an apple. She returned to the divan.

" Random tells me you wrote that song, " she said.

" That was a very long time ago, Vialle."

" Have you composed any recently? "

I began to shake my head, caught myself, said, " No. That part of me is... resting."

" Pity. It is lovely."

" Random is the real musician in the family."

" Yes, he is very good. But performance and composition are two different things."

" True. One day when things have eased up... Tell me, are you happy here in Amber? Is everything to your liking? Is there anything that you need? "

She smiled.

" All that I need is Random. He is a good man."

I was strangely moved to hear her speak of him in this fashion.

" Then I am happy for you, " I said. And, " Younger, smaller... he might have had it a bit rougher than the rest of us, " I went on. " Nothing quite as useless as another prince when there is already a crowd of them about. I was as guilty as the rest. Bleys and I once stranded him for two days on an islet to the south of here..."

"... And Gé rard went and got him when he learned of it, " she said. " Yes, he told me. It must bother you if you remember it after all this time."

" It must have made an impression on him, too."

" No, he forgave you long ago. He told it as a joke. Also, he drove a spike through the heel of your boot - pierced your foot when you put it on."

" Then it was Random! I'll be damned! I had always blamed Julian for that one."

" That one bothers Random."

" How long ago all of this was..." I said.

I shook my head and continued eating. Hunger seized me and she gave me several minutes of silence in which to get the upper hand on it. When I had, I felt compelled to say something.

" That is better. Much better, " I began. " It was a peculiar and trying night that I spent in the skycity."

" Did you receive omens of a useful nature? "

" I do not know how useful they might prove. On the other hand, I suppose I'd rather have had them than not. Have there been any interesting happenings hereabouts? "

" A servant tells me your brother Brand continues to rally. He ate well this morning, which is encouraging."

" True, " I said. " True. It would seem he is out of danger."

" Likely. It - it is a terrible series of happenings to which you have all been subjected. I am sorry. I was hoping you might obtain some indication of an upturn in your affairs during the night you spent in Tir-na Nog'th."

" It does not matter, " I said. " I am not that sure of the value of the thing."

" Then why - Oh."

I studied her with renewed interest. Her face still betrayed nothing, but her right hand twitched, tapping and plucking at the material of the divan. Then, as with a sudden awareness of its eloquence, she stilled it. She was obviously a person who had answered her own question and wished now she had done it in silence.

" Yes, " I said, " I was stalling. You are aware of my injury."

She nodded.

" I am not angry with Random for having told you, " I said. " His judgment has always been acute and geared to defense. I see no reason not to rely on it myself. I must inquire as to how much he has told you, however, both for your own safety and my peace of mind. For there are things I suspect but have not yet spoken."

" I understand. It is difficult to assess a negative - the things he might have left out, I mean - but he tells me most things. I know your story and most of the others. He keeps me aware of events, suspicions, conjectures."

" Thank you, " I said, taking a sip of the wine. " It makes it easier for me to speak then, seeing how things are with you. I am going to tell you everything that happened from breakfast till now..."

So I did.

She smiled occasionally as I spoke, but she did not interrupt. When I had finished, she asked, " You thought that mention of Martin would upset me? "

" It seemed possible, " I told her.

" No, " she said. " You see, I knew Martin in Rebma, when he was but a small boy. I was there while he was growing up. I liked him then. Even if he were not Random's son he would still be dear to me. I can only be pleased with Random's concern and hope that it has come in time to benefit them both."

I shook my head.

" I do not meet people like you too often, " I said. " I am glad that I finally have."

She laughed, then said, " You were without sight for a long while."

" Yes."

" It can embitter a person, or it can give him a greater joy in those things which he does have."

I did not have to think back over my feelings from those days of blindness to know that I was a person of the first sort, even discounting the circumstances under which I had suffered it. I am sorry, but that is the way that I am, and I am sorry.

" True, " I said. " You are fortunate."

" It is really only a state of mind - a thing a Lord of Shadow can easily appreciate."

She rose.

" I have always wondered as to your appearance, " she said. " Random has described you, but that is different. May I? "

" Of course."

She approached and placed her finger tips upon my face. Delicately, she traced my features.

" Yes, " she said, " you are much as I had thought you would be. And I feel the tension in you. It has been there for a long while, has it not? "

" In some form or other, I suppose, ever since my return to Amber."

" I wonder, " she said, " whether you might have been happier before you regained your memory."

" It is one of those impossible questions, " I said. " I might also be dead if I had not. But putting that part aside for a moment, in those times there was still a thing that drove me, that troubled me every day. I was constantly looking for ways to discover who I really was, what I was."

" But were you happier, or less happy, than you are now? "

" Neither, " I said. " Things balance out. It is, as you suggested, a state of mind. And even if it were not so, I could never go back to that other life, now that I know who I am, now that I have found Amber."

" Why not? "

" Why do you ask me these things? "

" I want to understand you, " she said. " Ever since I first heard of you back in Rebma, even before Random told me stories, I wondered what it was that drove you. Now I've the opportunity - no right, of course, just the opportunity - I felt it worth speaking out of turn and order beyond my station simply to ask you."

A half-chuckle caught me.

" Fairly taken, " I said. " I will see whether I can be honest. Hatred drove me at first - hatred for my brother Eric - and my desire for the throne. Had you asked me on my return which was the stronger, I would have said that it was the summons of the throne. Now, though... now I would have to admit that it was actually the other way around. I had not realized it until this moment, but it is true. But Eric is dead and there is nothing left of what I felt then. The throne remains, but now I find that my feelings toward it are mixed. There is a possibility that none of us has a right to it under present circumstances, and even if all family objections were removed I would not take it at this time. I would have to see stability restored to the realm and a number of questions answered first."

" Even if these things showed that you may not have the throne? "

" Even so."

" Then I begin to understand."

" What? What is there to understand? "

" Lord Corwin, my knowledge of the philosophical basis of these things is limited, but it is my understanding that you are able to find anything you wish within Shadow. This has troubled me for a long while, and I never fully understood Random's explanations. If you wished, could not each of you walk in Shadow and find yourself another Amber - like this one in all respects, save that you ruled there or enjoyed whatever other status you might desire? "

" Yes, we can locate such places, " I said.

" Then why is this not done, to have an end of strife? "

" It is because a place could be found which seemed to be the same - but that would be all. We are a part of this Amber as surely as it is a part of us. Any shadow of Amber would have to be populated with shadows of ourselves to seem worth while. We could even except the shadow of our own person should we choose to move into a ready realm. However, the shadow folk would not be exactly like the other people here. A shadow is never precisely like that which casts it. These little differences add up. They are actually worse than major ones. It would amount to entering a nation of strangers. The best mundane comparison which occurs to me is an encounter with a person who strongly resembles another person you know. You keep expecting him to act like your acquaintance; worse yet, you have a tendency to act toward him as you would toward that other. You face him with a certain mask and his responses are not appropriate. It is an uncomfortable feeling. I never enjoy meeting people who remind me of other people. Personality is the one thing we cannot control in our manipulations of Shadow. In fact, it is the means by which we can tell one another from shadows of ourselves. This is why Flora could not decide about me for so long, back on the shadow Earth: my new personality was sufficiently different."

" I begin to understand, " she said. " It is not just Amber for you. It is the place plus everything else."

" The place plus everything else... That is Amber, " I agreed.

" You say that your hate died with Eric and your desire for the throne has been tempered by the consideration of new things you have learned."

" That is so."

" Then I think I do understand what it is that moves you."

" The desire for stability moves me, " I said, " and something of curiosity - and revenge on our enemies..."

" Duty, " she said. " Of course."

I snorted.

" It would be comforting to put such a face on it, " I said. " As it is, however, I will not be a hypocrite. I am hardly a dutiful son of Amber or of Oberon."

" Your voice makes it plain that you do not wish to be considered one."

I closed my eyes, closed them to join her in darkness, to recall for a brief while the world where other messages than light waves took precedence. I knew then that she had been right about my voice. Why had I trodden so heavily on the idea of duty as soon as it was suggested? I like credit for being good and clean and noble and high-minded when I have it coming, even sometimes when I do not - the same as the next person. What bothered me about the notion of duty to Amber? Nothing. What was it then?

Dad.

I no longer owed him anything, least of all duty. Ultimately, he was responsible for the present state of affairs. He had fathered a great brood of us without providing for a proper succession, he had been less than kind to all of our mothers and he then expected our devotion and support. He played favorites and, in fact, it even seemed he played us off against one another. He then got suckered into something he could not handle and left the kingdom in a mess. Sigmund Freud had long ago anesthetized me to any normal, generalized feelings of resentment which might operate within the family unit. I have no quarrel on those grounds. Facts are another matter. I did not dislike my father simply because he had given me no reason to like him; in truth, it seemed that he had labored in the other direction. Enough. I realized what it was that bothered me about the notion of duty: its object.

" You are right, " I said, opening my eyes, regarding her, " and I am glad that you told me of it."

I rose.

" Give me your hand, " I said.

She extended her right hand and I raised it to my lips.

" Thank you, " I said. " It was a good lunch."

I turned and made my way to the door. When I looked back she had blushed and was smiling, her hand still partly raised, and I began to understand the change in Random.

" Good luck to you, " she said, the moment my footsteps ceased.

"... And you, " I said, and went out quickly.

***

I had been planning to see Brand next, but just could not bring myself to do it. For one thing, I did not want to encounter him with my wits dulled by fatigue. For another, talking with Vialle was the first pleasant thing which had happened to me in some time, and just this once I was going to quit while I was ahead.

I mounted the stairs and walked the corridor to my room, thinking, of course, of the night of the knifings as I fitted my new key to my new lock. In my bedchamber, I drew the drapes against the afternoon's light, undressed, and got into bed. As on other occasions of rest after stress with more stress pending, sleep eluded me for a time. For a long while I tossed and twisted, reliving events of the past several days and some from even farther back. When finally I slept, my dreams were an amalgam of the same material, including a spell in my old cell, scraping away at the door.

It was dark when I awoke and I actually felt rested. The tension gone out of me, my reverie was much more peaceful. In fact, there was a tiny charge of pleasant excitement dancing through the back of my head. It was a tip-of-the-tongue imperative, a buried notion that -

Yes!

I sat up. I reached for my clothes, began to dress. I buckled on Grayswandir. I folded a blanket and tucked it under my arm. Of course...

My mind felt clear and my side had stopped throbbing. I had no idea how long I had slept, and it was hardly worth checking at this point. I had something far more important to look into, something which should have occurred to me a long while ago - had occurred, as a matter of fact. I had actually been staring right at it once, but the crush of time and events had ground it from my mind. Until now.

I locked my room behind me and headed for the stairs. Candles flickered, and the faded stag who had been dying for centuries on the tapestry to my right looked back on the faded dogs who had been pursuing him for approximately as long. Sometimes my sympathies are with the stag; usually though, I am all dog. Have to have the thing restored one of these days.

The stairs and down. No sounds from below. Late, then. Good. Another day and we're still alive. Maybe even a trifle wiser. Wise enough to realize there are many more things we still need to know. Hope, though. There's that. A thing I lacked when I squatted in that damned cell, hands pressed against my ruined eyes, howling. Vialle... I wish I could have spoken with you for a few moments in those days. But I learned what I learned in a nasty school, and even a milder curriculum would probably not have given me your grace. Still... hard to say. I have always felt I am more dog than stag, more hunter than victim. You might have taught me something that would have blunted the bitterness, tempered the hate. But would that have been for the best? The hate died with its object and the bitterness, too, has passed - but looking back, I wonder whether I would have made it without them to sustain me. I am not at all certain that I would have survived my internment without my ugly companions to drag me back to life and sanity time and again. Now I can afford the luxury of an occasional stag thought, but then it might have been fatal. I do not truly know, kind lady, and I doubt that I ever will.

Stillness on the second floor. A few noises from below. Sleep well, lady. Around, and down again. I wondered whether Random had uncovered anything of great moment. Probably not, or he or Benedict should have contacted me by now. Unless there was trouble. But no. It is ridiculous to shop for worries. The real thing makes itself felt in due course, and I'd more than enough to go around. The ground floor.

" Will, " I said, and, " Rolf."

" Lord Corwin."

The two guards had assumed professional stances on hearing my footsteps. Their faces told me that all was well, but I asked for the sake of form.

" Quiet, Lord. Quiet, " replied the senior.

" Very good, " I said, and I continued on, entering and crossing the marble dining hall.

It would work, I was sure of that, if time and moisture had not totally effaced it. And then...

I entered the long corridor, where the dusty walls pressed close on either side. Darkness, shadows, my footsteps...

I came to the door at the end, opened it, stepped out onto the platform. Then down once more, that spiraling way, a light here, a light there, into the caverns of Kolvir. Random had been right, I decided then. If you had gouged out everything, down to the level of that distant floor, there would be a close correspondence between what was left and the place of that primal Pattern we had visited this morning.

... On down. Twisting and winding through the gloom. The torch and lantern-lit guard station was theatrically stark within it. I reached the floor and headed that way.

" Good evening. Lord Corwin, " said the lean, cadaverous figure who rested against a storage rack, smoking his pipe, grinning around it.

" Good evening, Roger. How are things in the nether world? "

" A rat, a bat, a spider. Nothing much else astir. Peaceful."

" You enjoy this duty? "

He nodded.

" I am writing a philosophical romance shot through with elements of horror and morbidity. I work on those parts down here."

" Fitting, fitting, " I said. " I'll be needing a lantern."

He took one from the rack, brought it to flame from his candle.

" Will it have a happy ending? " I inquired.

He shrugged.

" I'll be happy."

" I mean, does good triumph and hero bed heroine? Or do you kill everybody off? "

" That's hardly fair, " he said.

" Never mind. Maybe I'll read it one day."

" Maybe, " he said.

I took the lantern and turned away, heading in a direction I had not taken in a long while. I discovered that I could still measure the echoes in my mind.

Before too long, I neared the wall, sighted the proper corridor, entered it. It was simply a matter of counting my paces then. My feet knew the way.

The door to my old cell stood partly ajar. I set down the lantern and used both hands to open it fully. It gave way grudgingly, moaning as it moved. Then I raised the lantern, held it high, and entered.

My flesh tingled and my stomach clenched itself within me. I began to shiver. I had to fight down a strong impulse to bolt and run. I had not anticipated such a reaction. I did not want to step away from that heavy brassbound door for fear that it would be slammed and bolted behind me. It was an instant close to pure terror that the small dirty cell had aroused in me. I forced myself to dwell on particulars - the hole which had been my latrine, the blackened spot where I had built my fire on that final day. I ran my left hand over the inner surface of the door, finding and tracing there the grooves I had worn while scraping away with my spoon. I remembered what the activity had done to my hands. I stooped to examine the gouging. Not nearly so deep as it had seemed at the time, not when compared to the total thickness of the door. I realized how much I had exaggerated the effects of that feeble effort toward freedom. I stepped past it and regarded the wall.

Faint. Dust and moisture had worked to undo it. But I could still discern the outlines of the lighthouse of Cabra, bordered by four slashes of my old spoon handle. The magic was still there, that force which had finally transported me to freedom. I felt it without calling upon it.

I turned and faced the other wall.

The sketch which I now regarded had fared less well than that of the lighthouse, but then it had been executed with extreme haste by the light of my last few matches. I could not even make out all of the details, though my memory furnished a few of those which were hidden: It was a view of a den or library, bookshelves lining the walls, a desk in the foreground, a globe beside the desk. I wondered whether I should risk wiping it clean.

I set my lantern on the floor, returned to the sketch on the other wall. With a corner of my blanket, I gently wiped some dust from a point near the base of the lighthouse. The line grew clearer. I wiped it again, exerting a little more pressure. Unfortunate. I destroyed an inch or so of outline.

I stepped back and tore a wide strip from the edge of the blanket. I folded what remained into a pad and seated myself on it. Slowly, carefully then, I set to work on the lighthouse. I had to get an exact feeling for the work before I tried cleaning the other one.

Half an hour later I stood up and stretched, bent and massaged life back into my legs. What remained of the lighthouse was clean. Unfortunately, I had destroyed about 20 per cent of the sketch before I developed a sense of the wall's texture and an appropriate stroke across it. I doubted that I was going to improve any further.

The lantern sputtered as I moved it. I unfolded the blanket, shook it out, tore off a fresh strip. Making up a new pad, I knelt before the other sketch and set to work.

A while later I had uncovered what remained of it. I had forgotten the skull on the desk until a careful stroke revealed it once again - and the angle of the far wall, and a tall candlestick... I drew back. It would be risky to do any more rubbing. Probably unnecessary, also. It seemed about as entire as it had been.

The lantern was flickering once again. Cursing Roger for not checking the kerosene level, I stood and held the light at shoulder level off to my left. I put everything from my mind but the scene before me.

It gained something of perspective as I stared. A moment later and it was totally three-dimensional and had expanded to fill my entire field of vision. I stepped forward then and rested the lantern on the edge of the desk.

I cast my eyes about the place. There were bookshelves on all four walls. No windows. Two doors at the far end of the room, right and left, across from one another, one closed, the other partly ajar. There was a long, low table covered with books and papers beside the opened door. Bizarre curios occupied open spaces on the shelves and odd niches and recesses in the walls - bones, stones, pottery, inscribed tablets, lenses, wands, instruments of unknown function. The huge rug resembled an Ardebil I took a step toward that end of the room and the lantern sputtered again. I turned and reached for it. At that moment, it failed.

I growled an obscenity and lowered my hand. Then I turned, slowly, to check for any possible light sources. Something resembling a branch of coral shone faintly on a shelf across the room and a pale line of illumination occurred at the base of the closed door. I abandoned the lantern and crossed the room.

I opened the door as quietly as I could. The room it let upon was deserted, a small, windowless living place faintly lit by the still smoldering embers in its single, recessed hearth. The room's walls were of stone and they arched above me. The fireplace was a possibly natural niche in the wall to my left. A large, armored door was set in the far wall, a big key partly turned in its lock.

I entered, taking a candle from a nearby table, and moved toward the fireplace to give it a light. As I knelt and sought a flame among the embers, I heard a soft footfall in the vicinity of the doorway.

Turning, I saw him just beyond the threshold. About five feet in height, hunchbacked. His hair and beard were even longer than I remembered. Dworkin wore a nightshirt which reached to his ankles. He carried an oil lamp, his dark eyes peering across its sooty chimney.

" Oberon" he said, " is it finally time? "

" What time is that? " I asked softly.

He chuckled.

" What other? Time to destroy the world, of course! "