Roger Zelazny - Amber 07 - Blood Of Amber

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Blood Of Amber

(intr.)Reflections In A Crystal Cave

My life had been relatively peaceful for eight years - not counting April

thirtieths, when someone invariably tried to kill me. Outside of that, my

academic career with its concentration on computer science went well enough

and my four years employment at Grand Design proved a rewarding experience,

letting me use what I'd learned in a situation I liked while I labored on a

project of my own on the side. I had a good friend in Luke Raynard, who worked

for the same company, in sales. I sailed my little boat, I jogged regularly.

It all fell apart this past April 30, just when I thought things were

about to come together. My pet project, Ghostwheel, was built; I'd quit my

job, packed my gear and was ready to move on to greener shadows. I'd stayed in

town this long only because that morbidly fascinating day was near, and this

time I intended to discover who was behind the attempts on my life and why.

At breakfast that morning Luke appeared with a message from my former

girlfriend, Julia. Her note said that she wanted to see me again. So I stopped

by her place, where I found her dead, apparently killed by the same doglike

beast which then attacked me. I succeeded in destroying the creature. A quick

search of the apartment before I fled the scene turned up a slim packet of

strange playing cards, which I took along with me.

They were too much like the magical Tarots of Amber and Chaos for a

sorcerer such as myself not to be interested in them.

Yes. I am a sorcerer. I am Merlin, son of Corwin of Amber and Dara of the

Courts of Chaos, known to local friends and acquaintances as Merle Corey:

bright, charming, witty, athletic... Go read Castiglione and Lord Byron for

particulars, as I'm modest, aloof and reticent, as well.

The cards proved to be genuine magical objects, which seemed appropriate

once I learned that Julia had been keeping company with an occultist named

Victor Melman after we had broken up. A visit to this gentleman's studio

resulted in his attempting to kill me in a ritual fashion. I was able to free

myself from the constraints of the ceremony and question him somewhat, before

local conditions and my enthusiasm resulted in his death. So much for rituals.

I'd learned enough from him to realize that he'd been but a cat's-paw.

Someone else had apparently put him up to the sacrifice bit - and it seemed

quite possible that the other person was the one responsible for Julia's death

and my collection of memorable April thirtieths.

I had small time to reflect upon these matters, though, because I was

bitten (yes, bitten) shortly thereafter by an attractive red-haired woman who

materialized in Melman's apartment, following my brief telephone conversation

with her in which I'd tried to pose as Melman. Her bite paralyzed me, but I

was able to depart before it took full effect by employing one of the magical

cards I'd found at Julia's place. It bore me into the presence of a sphinx,

which permitted me to recover so that it could play that silly riddle game

sphinxes love so well because they get to eat you when you lose. All I can say

about it is that this particular sphinx was a bad sport.

Anyhow, I returned to the shadow Earth where I'd been making my home to

discover that Melman's place had burned down during my absence. I tried

phoning Luke, because I wanted to have dinner with him, and learned that he

had checked out of his motel, leaving me a message indicating that he had gone

to New Mexico on business and telling me where he'd be staying. The desk clerk

also gave me a blue-stone ring Luke had left behind, and I took it with me to

return when I saw him.

I flew to New Mexico, finally catching up with Luke in Santa Fe. While I

waited in the bar for him to get ready for dinner, a man named Dan Martinez

questioned me, giving the impression that Luke had proposed some business deal

and that he wanted to be assured Luke was reliable and could deliver. After

dinner, Luke and I went for a drive in the mountains.

Martinez followed us and started shooting as we stood admiring the night.

Perhaps he'd decided Luke was not reliable or couldn't deliver. Luke surprised

me by drawing a weapon of his own and shooting Martinez. Then an even stranger

thing happened. Luke called me by name - my real name, which I'd never told

him - and cited my parentage and told me to get into the car and get the hell

out. He emphasized his point by placing a shot in the ground near my feet. The

matter did not seem open to discussion so I departed. He also told me to

destroy those strange Trumps that had saved my life once already. And I'd

learned on the way up that he'd known Victor Melman...

I didn't go far. I parked downhill and returned on foot. Luke was gone. So

was Martinez' body. Luke did not return to the hotel, that night or the next

day, so I checked out and departed. The only person I was sure I could trust,

and who actually might have some good advice for me, was Bill Roth. Bill was

an attorney who lived in upstate New York, and he had been my father's best

friend. I went to visit him, and I told him my story.

Bill got me to wondering even more about Luke. Luke, by the way, is a big,

smart, red-haired natural athlete of uncanny prowess - and though we'd been

friends for many years I knew next to nothing (as Bill pointed out) concerning

his background.

A neighboring lad named George Hansen began hanging out near Bill's place,

asking strange questions. I received an odd phone call, asking similar

questions. Both interrogators seemed curious as to my mother's name.

Naturally, I lied. The fact that my mother is a member of the dark aristocracy

of the Courts of Chaos was none of their business. But the caller spoke my

language, Thari, which made me curious enough to propose a meeting and a

trade-off of information that evening in the bar of the local country club.

But my Uncle Random, King of Amber, called me home before that, while Bill

and I were out hiking. George Hansen, it turned out, was following us and

wanted to come along as we shifted away across the shadows of reality. Tough;

he wasn't invited. I took Bill along because I didn't want to leave him with

anyone acting that peculiar.

I learned from Random that my Uncle Caine was dead, of an assassin's

bullet, and that someone had also tried to kill my Uncle Bleys but only

succeeded in wounding him. The funeral service for Caine would be the

following day.

I kept my date at the country club that evening, but my mysterious

interrogator was nowhere in sight. All was not lost, however, as I made the

acquaintance of a pretty lady named Meg Devlin - and, one thing leading to

another, I saw her home and we got to know each other a lot better. Then, at a

moment when I would have judged her thoughts to be anywhere but there, she

asked me my mother's name. So, what the hell, I told her. It did not come to

me until later that she might really have been the person I'd gone to the bar

to meet.

Our liaison was terminated prematurely by a call from the lobby - from a

man purportedly Meg's husband. I did what any gentleman would do. I got the

hell out fast.

My Aunt Fiona, who is a sorceress (of a different style from my own), had

not approved of my date. And apparently she approved even less of Luke,

because she asked me whether I had a picture of him after I'd told her

somewhat concerning him. I showed her a photo I had in my wallet, which

included Luke in the group. I'd have sworn she recognized him from somewhere,

though she wouldn't admit it. But the fact that she and her brother Bleys both

disappeared from Amber that night would seem more than coincidental.

The pace of events was accelerated even more after that. A crude attempt

at knocking off most of the family with a thrown bomb was made the next day,

following Caine's funeral. The would-be assassin escaped. Later, Random was

upset at a brief demonstration on my part of the power of the Ghostwheel, my

pet project, my hobby, my avocation during those years at Grand Design.

Ghostwheel is a - well, it started out as a computer that required a different

set of physical laws to operate than those I'd learned in school. It involved

what might be called magic. But I found a place where it could be built and

operated, and I'd constructed it there. It was still programming itself when

I'd left it. It seemed to have gone sentient, and I think it scared Random. He

ordered me to go and turn it off. I didn't much like the idea, but I departed.

I was followed in my passage through Shadow; I was harassed, threatened

and even attacked. I was rescued from a fire by a strange lady who later died

in a lake. I was protected from vicious beasts by a mysterious individual and

saved from a bizarre earthquake by the same person - who turned out to be

Luke. He accompanied me to the final barrier, for a confrontation with

Ghostwheel. My creation was a bit irritated with me and banished us by means

of a shadow-storm - a thing it is not fun to be caught in, with or without an

umbrella. I delivered us from the vicissitudes by means of one of the Trumps

of Doom, as I'd dubbed the odd pasteboards from Julia's apartment.

We wound up outside a blue crystal cave, and Luke took me in. Good old

Luke. After seeing to my needs he proceeded to imprison me. When he told me

who he was, I realized that it was a resemblance to his father which had upset

Fiona when she'd seen his photo. For Luke was the son of Brand, assassin and

arch traitor, who had damn near destroyed the kingdom and the rest of the

universe along with it some years back. Fortunately, Caine had killed him

before he'd accomplished his designs. Luke, I learned then, was the one who'd

killed Caine, to avenge his father. (And it turned out he'd gotten the news of

his father's death on an April thirtieth and had had a peculiar way of

observing its anniversary over the years.) Like Random, he too had been

impressed by my Ghostwheel, and he told me that I was to remain his prisoner,

as I might become necessary in his efforts to gain control of the machine,

which he felt would be the perfect weapon for destroying the rest of the

family.

He departed to pursue the matter, and I quickly discovered that my powers

were canceled by some peculiar property of the cave, leaving me with no one to

talk to but you, Frakir, and no one here for you to strangle...

Would you care to hear a few bars of "Over the Rainbow"?

Blood Of Amber

Chapter 1

I threw the hilt away after the blade had shattered. The weapon had done

me no good against that blue sea of a wall in what I had taken to be its

thinnest section. A few small chips of stone lay at my feet. I picked them up

and rubbed them together. This was not the way out for me. The only way out

seemed to be the way I had come in, and it wasn't working.

I walked back to my quarters, meaning that section of the caves where I

had cast my sleeping bag. I sat down on the bag, a heavy brown one, uncorked a

wine bottle and took a drink. I had worked up a sweat hacking away at the

wall.

Frakir stirred upon my wrist then, unwound herself partway and slithered

into the palm of my left hand, to coil around the two blue chips I still held.

She knotted herself about them, then dropped to hang and swing pendulum-like.

I put the bottle aside and watched. The arc of her swing paralleled the

lengthwise direction of the tunnel I now called home. The swinging continued

for perhaps a full minute. Then she withdrew upward, halting when she came to

the back of my hand. She released the chips at the base of my third linger and

returned to her normal hidden position about my wrist.

I stared. I raised the flickering oil lamp and studied the stones. Their

color...

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...

It 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.

The image - whatever it had been, faded and was gone. By then, however, I

could make out more clearly the figure leaning against the tree trunk. It

appeared to be that of a woman, though I could not distinguish her features

because of some small object she had raised and now held before her near to

eye level. Fearing that it was a weapon, I struck at it with a Logrus

extension, hoping to knock it from her hand.

I stumbled then, for there was a recoil which jolted my arm with

considerable force. It would seem to have been a potent sorcerous object which

I had struck. At least I had the pleasure of seeing the lady sway also. She

uttered a short cry, too, but she hung on to the object.

A moment later a faint polychrome shimmering began about her form and I

realized what the thing was. I had just directed the force of the Logrus

against a Trump. I had to reach her now, if only to find out who she was.

But as I rushed ahead I realized that I could not get to her in time.

Unless...

I plucked Frakir from my shoulder and past her along the line of the

Logrus force, manipulating her in the proper direction and issuing my commands

as she flew.

From my new angle of view and by the faint rainbow halo that now

surrounded her I finally saw the lady's face. It was Jasra, who had damn near

killed me with a bite back in Melman's apartment. In a moment she would be

gone, taking with her my chance of obtaining some answers on which my life

might depend.

"Jasra!" I cried, trying to break her concentration.

It didn't work, but Frakir did. My strangling cord, glowing silver now,

caught her about the throat, whipping out with a free end to lash tightly

about the branch that hung near, to Jasra's left.

The lady began to fade, apparently not realizing that it was too late. She

couldn't trump out without decapitating herself.

She learned it quickly. I heard her gurgling cry as she stepped back, grew

solid, lost her halo, dropped her Trump and clawed at the cord encircling her

throat.

I came up beside her, to lay my hand upon Frakir, who uncoiled one end

from the tree limb and rewound it about my wrist.

"Good evening, Jasra," I said, jerking her head back. "Try the poison bite

again and you'll need a neck brace. You understand?"

She tried to talk but couldn't. She nodded.

"I'm going to loosen my cord a bit," I said, "so you can answer my

questions."

I eased Frakir's grip upon her throat. She began coughing, then, and gave

me a look that would have turned sand to glass. Her magical construct had

faded completely, so I let the Logrus slip away also.

"Why are you after me?" I asked. "What am I to you?"

"Son of perdition!" she said, and she tried to spit at me but her mouth

must have been too dry.

I jerked lightly on Frakir and she coughed again. "Wrong answer," I said.

"Try again."

But she smiled then, her gaze shifting to a point beyond me. I kept the

slack out of Frakir and chanced a glance. The air was beginning to shimmer,

behind me and to the right, in obvious preparation to someone's trumping in.

I did not feel ready to take on an additional threat at this time, and so

I dipped my free hand into my pocket and withdrew a handful of my own Trumps.

Flora's was on top. Fine. She'd do.

I pushed my mind toward her, through the feeble light, beyond the face of

the card. I felt her distracted attention, followed by a sudden alertness.

Then, Yes...?

"Bring me through! Hurry!" I said.

"Is it an emergency?" she asked.

"You'd better believe it," I told her.

"Uh - okay. Come on."

I had an image of her in bed. It grew clearer, clearer. She extended her

hand.

I reached out and took it. I moved forward just as I heard Luke's voice

ring out, crying, "Stop!"

I continued on through, dragging Jasra after me. She tried to draw back

and succeeded in halting me as I stumbled against the side of the bed. It was

then I noted the dark-haired, bearded man regarding me with wide eyes from the

bed's farther side.

"Who - ? What - ?" he began as I smiled bleakly and regained my balance.

Luke's shadowy form came into view beyond my prisoner. He reached forward

and seized Jasra's arm, drawing her back away from me. She made a gurgling

noise as the movement drew Frakir more tightly about her throat.

Damn! What now?

Flora rose suddenly, her face contorted, the scented lavender sheet

falling away as she drove a fist forward with surprising speed.

"You bitch!" she cried. "Remember me?"

The blow fell upon Jasra's jaw, and I barely managed to free Frakir in

time to keep from being dragged backward with her into Luke's waiting arms.

Both of them faded, and the shimmer was gone.

The dark-haired guy in the meantime had scrambled out of the bed and was

snatching up articles of clothing. Once he had them all in his grasp he did

not bother to don any, but simply held them in front of him and backed quickly

toward the door.

"Ron! Where are you going?" Flora asked.

"Away!" he answered, and he opened the door and passed through it.

"Hey! Wait!"

"No way!" came the reply from the next room.

"Damn!" she said, glaring at me. "You have a way of messing up a person's

life." Then, "Ron! What about dinner?" she called.

"I have to see my analyst," came his voice, followed shortly by the

slamming of another door.

"I hope you realize what a beautiful thing you just destroyed," Flora told

me.

I sighed. "When did you meet him?" I asked.

She frowned. "Well, yesterday," she replied. "Go ahead and smirk. These

things are not always a mere function of time. I could tell right away that it

was going to be something special. Trust someone crass like you or your father

to cheapen a beautiful - "

"I'm sorry," I said. "Thanks for pulling me through. Of course he'll be

back. We just scared the hell out of him. But how could he fail to return once

he's known you?"

She smiled. "Yes, you are like Corwin," she said. "Crass, but perceptive."

She rose and crossed to the closet, took out a lavender robe and donned

it.

"What," she said, belting it about her, "was that all about?"

"It's a long story - "

"Then I'd better hear it over lunch. Are you hungry?" she asked.

I grinned.

"It figures. Come on."

She led me out through a French Provincial living room and into a large

country kitchen full of tiles and copper. I offered to help her, but she

pointed at a chair beside the table and told me to sit.

As she was removing numerous goodies from the refrigerator, I said,

"First..."

"Yes?"

"Where are we?"

"San Francisco," she replied.

"Why have you set up housekeeping here?"

"After I finished that business of Random's I decided to stay on. The town

looked good to me again."

I snapped my fingers. I'd forgotten she'd been sent to determine the

ownership of the warehouse where Victor Melman had had his apartment and

studio, and where Brutus Storage had a supply of ammo that would Ere in Amber.

"So who owned the warehouse?" I asked.

"Brutus Storage," she replied. "Melman rented from them."

"And who owns Brutus Storage?"

"J. B. Rand, Inc."

"Address?"

"An office in Sausalito. It was vacated a couple of months ago."

"Did the people who owned the place have a home address for the renter?"

"Just a post office box. It's been abandoned too."

I nodded. "I'd a feeling it would be something like that," I said. "Now

tell me about Jasra. Obviously you know the lady."

She sniffed. "No lady," she said. "A royal whore is what she was when I

knew her."

"Where?"

"In Kashfa."

"Where's that?"

"An interesting little shadow kingdom, a bit over the edge of the Golden

Circle of those with which Amber has commerce. Shabby barbaric splendor and

all that. It's kind of a cultural backwater."

"How is it you know it at all, then?"

She paused a moment in stirring something in a bowl.

"Oh, I used to keep company with a Kashfan nobleman I'd met in a wood one

day. He was out hawking and I happened to have twisted my ankle - "

"Uh," I interjected, lest we be diverted by details. "And Jasra?"

"She was consort to the old king Menillan. Had him wrapped around her

finger."

"What have you got against her?"

"She stole Jasrick while I was out of town."

"Jasrick?"

"My nobleman. Earl of Kronklef."

"What did His Highness Menillan think of these goings-on?"

"He never knew. He was on his deathbed at the time. Succumbed shortly

thereafter. In fact, that's why she really wanted Jasrick. He was chief of the

palace guard and his brother was a general. She used them to pull off a coup

when Menillan expired. Last I heard, she was queen in Kashfa and she'd ditched

Jasrick. Served him proper, I'd say. I think he had his eye on the throne, but

she didn't care to share it. She had him and his brother executed for treason

of one sort or another. He was really a handsome fellow... Not too bright,

though."

"Do the people of Kashfa have any - uh - unusual physical endowments?" I

asked.

She smiled. "Well, Jasrick was one hell of a fellow. But I wouldn't use

the word 'unusual' to - "

"No, no," I interrupted. "What I meant was some sort of anomaly of the

mouth - retractable fangs or a sting or something of that sort."

"Un-uh," she said, and I could not tell whether her heightened coloring

came from the heat of the stove. "Nothing like that. They're built along

standard lines. Why do you ask?"

"When I told you my story back in Amber I omitted the part where Jasra bit

me, and I was barely able to trump out because of some sort of poison she

seemed to have injected. It left me numb, paralyzed and very weak for a long

while."

She shook her head.

"Kashfans can't do anything like that. But then, of course, Jasra is not a

Kashfan."

"Oh? Where's she from?"

"I don't know. But she's a foreigner. Some say a slaver brought her in

from a distant land. Others say she just wandered in herself one day and

caught Menillan's eye. It was rumored she was a sorceress. I don't know."

"I do. That rumor is right."

"Really? Perhaps that's how she got Jasrick."

I shrugged. "How long ago was your experience with her?"

"Thirty or forty years, I'd guess."

"And she is still queen in Kashfa?"

"I don't know. It's been a long time since I've been back that way."

"Is Amber on bad terms with Kashfa?"

She shook her head. "No special terms at all, really. As I said, they're a

bit out of the way. Not as accessible as a lot of other places, with nothing

greatly desirable for trade."

"No real reason then for her to hate us?"

"No more than for hating anyone else."

Some delightful cooking odors began to fill the room. As I sat there

sniffing them and thinking of the long, hot shower I would head for after

lunch, Flora said what I had somehow known she would say.

"That man who dragged Jasra back... He looked familiar. Who was he?"

"He was the one I told you about back in Amber," I replied. "Luke. I'm

curious whether he reminds you of anyone."

"He seems to," she said, after a pause. "But I can't say just who."

As her back was to me I said, "If you're holding anything that might break

or spill if you drop it, please put it down."

I heard something set to rest on the countertop. Then she turned, a

puzzled expression on her face.

"Yes?"

"His real name is Rinaldo, and he's Brand's son," I told her. "I was his

prisoner for over a month in another shadow. I just now escaped."

"Oh, my," she whispered. Then, "What does he want?"

"Revenge," I answered.

"Against anyone in particular?"

"No. All of us. But Caine, of course, was first."

"I see."

"Please don't burn anything," I said. "I've been looking forward to a good

meal for a long time."

She nodded and turned away. After a while she said, "You knew him for a

pretty long time. What's he like?"

"He always seemed to be a fairly nice guy. If he's crazy, like his dad, he

hid it well."

She uncorked a wine bottle, poured two glasses and brought them over. Then

she began serving the meal.

After a few bites she paused with her fork half raised and stared at

nothing in particular.

"Who'd have thought the son of a bitch would reproduce?" she remarked.

"Fiona, I think," I told her. "The night before Caine's funeral she asked

me whether I had a photo of Luke. When I showed her one I could tell that

something was bothering her, but she wouldn't say what."

"And the next day she and Bleys were gone," Flora said. "Yes. Now I think

of it, he does look somewhat the way Brand did when he was very young, so long

ago. Luke seems bigger and heavier, but there is a resemblance."

She resumed eating.

"By the way, this is very good," I said.

"Oh, thanks." She sighed then. "That means I have to wait till you're

finished eating to hear the whole story."

I nodded, because my mouth was full. Let the empire totter. I was starved.

Blood Of Amber

Chapter 2

Showered, trimmed, manicured and garbed in fresh-conjured finery, I got a

number out of Information and placed a call to the only Devlin listed in Bill

Roth's area. The voice of the woman who answered did not possess the proper

timbre, though I still recognized it.

"Meg? Meg Devlin?" I said.

"Yes," came the reply. "Who is this?"

"Merle Corey."

" Who?"

"Merle Corey. We spent an interesting night together some time back - "

"I'm sorry," she said. "There must be some mistake."

"If you can't talk freely now I can call whenever you say. Or you can call

me."

"I don't know you," she said, and she hung up.

I stared at the receiver. If her husband were present I'd assumed she'd

play it a bit cagey but would at least give some indication that she knew me

and would talk another time. I had held off on getting in touch with Random

because I'd a feeling he'd summon me back to Amber immediately, and I'd wanted

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BloodOfAmber(intr.)ReflectionsInACrystalCaveMylifehadbeenrelativelypeacefulforeightyears-notcountingAprilthirtieths,whensomeoneinvariablytriedtokillme.Outsideofthat,myacademiccareerwithitsconcentrationoncomputersciencewentwellenoughandmyfouryearsemploymentatGrandDesignprovedarewardingexperience,lett...

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Roger Zelazny - Amber 07 - Blood Of Amber

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