Roger Zelazny - Amber 03 - The Sign of the Unicorn

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The Sign of the Unicorn

Chapter 1

I ignored the questions in the eyes of the groom as I lowered the grisly

parcel and turned the horse in for care and maintenance. My cloak could not

really conceal the nature of its contents as I slung the guts over my shoulder

and stamped off toward the rear entrance to the palace. Hell would soon be

demanding its paycheck.

I skirted the exercise area and made my way to the trail that led toward

the southern end of the palace gardens. Fewer eyes along that route. I would

still be spotted, but it would be a lot less awkward than going in the front

way, where things are always busy. Damn.

And again, damn. Of troubles I considered myself amply possessed. But

those who have do seem to get. Some spiritual form of compound interest, I

suppose.

There were a few idlers beside the fountain at the far end of the garden.

Also, a couple of guards were passing among the bushes near the trail. The

guards saw me coming, held a brief discussion, and looked the other way.

Prudent.

Me, back less than a week. Most things, still unresolved. The court of

Amber, full of suspicion and unrest. This, now: a death to further jeopardize

the brief, unhappy prereign of Corwin 1: me.

Time now to do something I should have done right away. But there had been

so many things to do, from the very first. It was not as if I had been

nodding, as I saw it. I had assigned priorities and acted on them. Now,

though...

I crossed the garden, out of the shade and into the slanting sunlight. I

swung up the wide, curving stair. A guard snapped to attention as I entered

the palace. I made for the rear stairway, then up to the second floor. Then

the third.

From the right, my brother Random stepped out of his suite and into the

hallway.

"Corwin!" he said, studying my face. "What's the matter? I saw you from

the balcony and - "

"Inside," I said, gesturing with my eyes. "We are going to have a private

conference. Now."

He hesitated, regarding my burden.

"Let's make it two rooms up," he said. "Okay? Vialle's in here."

"All right."

He led the way, opened the door. I entered the small sitting room, sought

a likely spot, dropped the body.

Random stared at the bundle.

"What am I supposed to do?" he asked.

"Unwrap the goodies," I said, "and take a look."

He knelt and undid the cloak. He folded it back. "Dead all right," he

observed. "What's the problem?"

"You did not look closely enough," I said. "Peel back an eyelid. Open the

mouth and look at the teeth. Feel the spurs on the backs of the hands. Count

the joints in the fingers. Then you tell me about the problem."

He began doing these things. As soon as he looked at the hands he stopped

and nodded. "All right," he said. "I remember."

"Remember out loud."

"It was back at Flora's place..."

"That was where I first saw anyone like this," I said. "They were after

you, though. I never did find out why."

"That's right," he said. "I never got a chance to tell you about it. We

weren't together all that long. Strange... Where did this one come from?"

I hesitated, torn between pushing him from his story and telling him mine.

Mine won out because it was mine and very immediate.

I sighed and sank into a chair.

"We've just lost us another brother," I said. "Caine is dead. I got there

a bit too late. That thing - person - did it. I wanted it alive, for obvious

reasons. But it put up quite a fight. I didn't have much of a choice."

He whistled softly, seated himself in the chair opposite me.

"I see," he said very softly.

I studied his face. Was that the faintest of smiles waiting in the wings

to enter and meet my own? Quite possibly.

"No," I said flatly. "If it were otherwise, I would have arranged for a

lot less doubt as to my innocence. I'm telling you what really happened."

"All right," he said. "Where is Caine?"

"Under a layer of sod, near the Grove of the Unicorn."

"That looks suspicious right there," he said. "Or will. To the others."

I nodded.

"I know. I had to hide the body and cover it in the meantime, though. I

couldn't just bring him back and start parrying questions. Not when there were

important facts waiting for me, in your head."

"Okay," he said. "I don't know how important they are, but they're yours.

But don't leave me hanging, huh? How did this thing happen?"

"It was right after lunch," I said. "I had eaten down at the harbor with

Gerard. Afterward, Benedict brought me topside through his Trump. Back in my

rooms, I found a note which apparently had been slipped in under the door. It

requested a private meeting, later in the afternoon, at the Grove of the

Unicorn. It was signed 'Caine.' "

"Have you still got the note?"

"Yes." I dug it out of my pocket and passed it to him. "Here."

He studied it and shook his head.

"I don't know," he said. "It could be his writing - if he were in a hurry

- but I don't think it is."

I shrugged. I took the note back, folded it, put it away.

"Whatever, I tried to reach him with his Trump, to save myself the ride.

But he wasn't receiving. I guessed it was to maintain secrecy as to his

whereabouts, if it was all that important. So I got a horse and rode on

down."

"Did you tell anyone where you were going?"

"Not a soul. I did decide to give the horse a workout, though, so I rode

along at a pretty good clip. I didn't see it happen, but I saw him lying there

as I came into the wood. His throat had been cut, and there was a disturbance

off in the bushes some distance away. I rode the guy down, jumped him, fought

with him, had to kill him. We didn't engage in any conversation while this was

going on."

"You're sure you got the right guy?"

"As sure as you can be under such circumstances. His trail went back to

Caine. He had fresh blood on his garments."

"Might have been his own."

"Look again. No wounds. I broke his neck. Of course I remembered where I

had seen his like before, so I brought him right to you. Before you tell me

about it, though, there was one more thing - just for a clincher."

I withdrew the second note, passed it over.

"The creature had this on its person. I presume it had removed it from

Caine."

Random read it, nodded, and handed it back.

"From you, to Caine, asking to be met there. Yes, I see. Needless to

say..."

"Needless to say," I finished. "And it does look a bit like my writing -

at first glance, anyway."

"I wonder what would have happened if you had gotten there first?"

"Probably nothing," I said. "Alive and looking bad - that seems how they

wanted me. The trick was to get us there in the proper order, and I didn't

hurry quite enough to miss what was bound to follow."

He nodded.

"Granting the tight scheduling," he said, "it had to be someone on the

scene, here in the palace. Any ideas?"

I chuckled and reached for a cigarette. I lit it and chuckled again.

"I'm just back. You have been here all along," I said. "Which one hates me

the most these days?"

"That is an embarrassing question, Corwin," he stated. "Everyone's down on

you for something. Ordinarily, I would nominate Julian. Only it doesn't seem

to hold up here."

"Why not?"

"He and Caine got along very well. For years now. They had been looking

out for each other, hanging around together. Pretty thick. Julian is cold and

petty and just as nasty as you remember. But if he liked anybody, he liked

Caine. I don't think he'd do it to him, not even to get at you. After all, he

probably could have found plenty of other ways if that was all he wanted."

I sighed.

"Who's next?"

"I don't know. I just don't know."

"Okay. How do you read the reactions to this?"

"You're screwed, Corwin. Everyone is going to think you did it, no matter

what you say."

I nodded at the corpse. Random shook his head.

"That could easily be some poor clod you dug up out of Shadow to take the

blame."

"I know," I said. "Funny, coming back to Amber as I did, I arrived at an

ideal time for positioning myself advantageously."

"A perfect time," Random agreed. "You didn't even have to kill Eric to get

what you wanted. That was a stroke of luck."

"Yes. Still, it is no secret that that is what I came to do, and it is

only a matter of time before my troops - foreign, specially armed, and

quartered here - are going to start provoking some very bad feelings. Only the

presence of an external threat has saved me from that so far. And then there

are the things I am suspected of having done before my return - like murdering

Benedict's retainers. Now this..."

"Yes," Random said, "I saw it coming as soon as you told me. When you and

Bleys attacked years ago, Gerard deployed part of the fleet so that it was out

of your way. Caine, on the other hand, engaged you with his vessels and

scuttled you. Now that he is gone, I imagine you will put Gerard in command of

the entire fleet."

"Who else? He is the only man for the job."

"Nevertheless..."

"Nevertheless. Admitted. If I were going to kill anyone person to

strengthen my position, Caine would be the logical choice. That's the real,

damning truth."

"How do you propose handling this?"

"Tell everyone what happened and try to discover who was behind it. Have

you any better suggestions?"

"I've been trying to think how I could alibi you. But it does not look

promising."

I shook my head.

"You are too close to me. No matter how good we made it sound, it would

probably have the opposite effect."

"Have you considered admitting to it?"

"Yes. But self-defense is out. With a cut throat, it had to be a matter of

surprise. And I have no stomach for starting off with the alternative: hoke up

some evidence that he was up to something rotten and say I did it for the good

of Amber. I flatly refuse to take on fake guilt under those terms. I'd wind up

with a bad odor that way, too."

"But with a real tough reputation."

"It's the wrong kind of tough for the sort of show I want to run. No,

that's out."

"That covers everything, then - just about."

"What do you mean 'just about'?"

He studied his left thumbnail through slitted eyes.

"Well, it occurs to me that if there is anyone else you are anxious to get

out of the picture, now is the time to consider that a frame can often be

shifted."

I thought about it and finished my cigarette.

"Not bad," I said, "but I can't spare any more brothers at the moment. Not

even Julian. Anyhow, he's the least frameable."

"It need not be family," he said. "Plenty of noble Amberites around with

possible motives. Take Sir Reginald - "

"Forget it, Random. The reframing is out, too."

"Okay. I've exhausted my little gray cells, then."

"Not the ones in charge of memory, I hope."

"All right."

He sighed. He stretched. He got to his feet, stepped over the room's other

occupant, and made his way to the window. Drawing back the drapes, he stared

out for a time.

"All right," he repeated. "There's a lot to tell..."

Then he remembered out loud.

The Sign of the Unicorn

Chapter 2

While sex heads a great number of lists, we all have other things we like

to do in between. With me, Corwin, it's drumming, being up in the air, and

gambling - in no special order. Well, maybe soaring has a little edge - in

gliders, balloons, and certain variations - but mood has a lot to do with that

too, you know. I mean, ask me another time and I might say one of the others.

Depends on what you want most at the moment.

Anyway, I was here in Amber some years ago. Not doing much of anything.

Just visiting and being a nuisance. Dad was still around, and when I noticed

that he was getting into one of his grumpy moods, I decided it was time to

take a walk. A long one. I had often noticed that his fondness for me tended

to increase as an inverse function of my proximity. He gave me a fancy riding

crop for a going-away present - to hasten the process of affection, I suppose.

Still, it was a very nice crop - silver-chased, beautifully tooled - and I

made good use of it. I had decided to go looking for an assemblage of all my

simple pleasures in one small nook of Shadow.

It was a long ride - I will not bore you with the details - and it was

pretty far from Amber, as such things go. This time, I was not looking for a

place where I would be especially important. That can get either boring or

difficult fairly quickly, depending on how responsible you want to be. I

wanted to be an irresponsible nonentity and just enjoy myself.

Texorami was a wide open port city, with sultry days and long nights, lots

of good music, gambling around the clock, duels every morning and in - between

mayhem for those who couldn't wait. And the air currents were fabulous. I had

a little red sail plane I used to go sky surfing in, every couple of days. It

was the good life. I played drums till all hours in a basement spot up the

river where the walls sweated almost as much as the customers and the smoke

used to wash around the lights like streams of milk. When I was done playing

I'd go find some action, women, or cards, usually. And that was it for the

rest of the night. Damn Eric, anyway! That reminds me again... He once accused

me of cheating at cards, did you know that? And that's about the only thing I

wouldn't cheat at. I take my card playing seriously. I'm good and I'm also

lucky. Eric was neither. The trouble with him was that he was good at so many

things he wouldn't admit even to himself that there were some things other

people could do better. If you kept beating him at anything you had to be

cheating. He started a nasty argument over it one night - could have gotten

serious - but Gerard and Caine broke it up. Give Caine that. He took my part

that time. Poor guy... Hell of a way to go, you know? His throat... Well,

anyhow, there I was in Texorami, making music and women, winning at cards and

jockeying around the sky. Palm trees and night-blooming wallflowers. Lots of

good port smells - spices, coffee, tar, salt - you know. Gentlefolk,

merchants, and peons - the same straights as in most other places. Sailors and

assorted travelers passing in and out. Guys like me living around the edges of

things. I spent a little over two years in Texorami, happy. Really. Not much

contact with the others. Sort of postcard like hellos via the Trumps every now

and then, and that was about it. Amber was pretty much off my mind. All this

changed one night when I was sitting there with a full house and the guy

across from me was trying to make up his mind whether or not I was bluffing.

The Jack of Diamonds began talking to me.

Yes, that is how it started. I was in a weird frame of mind anyway. I had

just finished a couple very hot sets and was still kind of high. Also, I was

physically strung out from a long day's gliding and not much sleep the night

before. I decided later that it must be our mental quirk associated with the

Trumps that made me see it that way when someone was trying to reach me and I

had cards in my hand - any cards. Ordinarily, of course, we get the message

empty-handed, unless we are doing the calling. It could have been that my

subconscious - which was kind of footloose at the time - just seized on the

available props out of habit Later, though, I had cause to wonder. Really, I

just don't know.

The Jack said, "Random." Then its face blurred and it said, "Help me." I

began getting a feel of the personality by then, but it was weak. The whole

thing was very weak. Then the face rearranged itself and I saw that I was

right. It was Brand. He looked like hell, and he seemed to be chained or tied

to something. "Help me," he said again.

"I'm here," I said. "What's the matter?" "... prisoner," he said, and

something else that I couldn't make out. "Where?" I asked.

He shook his head at that.

"Can't bring you through," he said. "No Trumps, and I am too weak. You

will have to come the long way around..."

I did not ask him how he was managing it without my Trump. Finding out

where he was seemed of first importance. I asked him how I could locate him.

"Look very closely," he said. "Remember every feature. I may only be able

to show you once. Come armed, too..."

Then I saw the landscape - over his shoulder, out a window, over a

battlement, I can't be sure. It was far from Amber, somewhere where the

shadows go mad. Farther than I like to go. Stark, with shifting colors. Fiery.

Day without a sun in the sky. Rocks that glided like sailboats across the

land. Brand there in some sort of tower - a small point of stability in that

flowing scene. I remembered it, all right. And I remembered the presence

coiled about the base of that tower. Brilliant. Prismatic. Some sort of

watch-thing, it seemed - too bright for me to make out its outline, to guess

its proper size. Then it all just went away. Instant off. And there I was,

staring at the Jack of Diamonds again, with the guy across from me not knowing

whether to be mad at my long distraction or concerned that I might be having

some sort of sick spell.

I closed up shop with that hand and went home. I lay stretched out on my

bed, smoking and thinking. Brand had still been in Amber when I had departed.

Later, though, when I had asked after him, no one had any idea as to his

whereabouts. He had been having one of his melancholy spells, had snapped out

of it one day and ridden off. And that was that. No messages either - either

way. He wasn't answering, he wasn't talking.

I tried to figure every angle. He was smart, damn smart. Possibly the best

mind in the family. He was in trouble and he had called me. Eric and Gerard

were more the heroic types and would probably have welcomed the adventure.

Caine would have gone out of curiosity, I think. Julian, to look better than

the rest of us and to score points with Dad. Or, easiest of all, Brand could

have called Dad himself. Dad would have done something about it. But he had

called me. Why?

It occurred to me then that maybe one or more of the others had been

responsible for his circumstances. If, say, Dad was beginning to favor him...

Well. You know. Eliminate the positive. And if he did call Dad, he would look

like a weakling.

So I suppressed my impulse to yell for reinforcements. He had called me,

and it was quite possible that I would be cutting his throat by letting anyone

back in Amber in on the fact that he had gotten the message out. Okay. What

was in it for me?

If it involved the succession and he had truly become fair-haired, I

figured that I could do a lot worse than give him this to remember me by. And

if it did not... There were all sorts of other possibilities. Perhaps he had

stumbled onto something going on back home, something it would be useful to

know about. I was even curious as to the means he had employed for bypassing

the Trumps. So it was curiosity, I'd say, that made me decide to go it alone

and try to rescue him.

I dusted off my own Trumps and tried reaching him again. As you might

expect, there was no response. I got a good night's sleep then and tried one

more time in the morning. Again, nothing. Okay, no sense waiting any longer.

I cleaned up my blade, ate a big meal, and got into some rugged clothes. I

also picked up a pair of dark, polaroid goggles. Didn't know how they would

work there, but that warden-thing had been awfully bright - and it never hurts

to try anything extra you can think of. For that matter, I also took a gun. I

had a feeling it would be worthless, and I was right. But, like I said, you

never know till you try.

The only person I said good-bye to was another drummer, because I stopped

to give him my set before I left. I knew he'd take good care of them.

Then I went on down to the hangar, got the sail plane ready, went aloft,

and caught a proper current. It seemed a neat way to do it.

I don't know whether you've ever glided through Shadow, but - No? Well, I

headed out over the sea till the land was only a dim line to the north. Then I

had the waters go cobalt beneath me, rear up and shake sparkly beards. The

wind shifted. I turned. I raced the waves shoreward beneath a darkening sky.

Texorami was gone when I returned to the rivermouth, replaced by miles of

swamp. I rode the currents inward, crossing and recrossing the river at new

twists and kinks it had acquired. Gone were the piers, the trails, the

traffic. The trees were high.

Clouds massed in the west, pink and pearl and yellow. The sun phased from

orange through red to yellow. You shake your head? The sun was the price of

the cities, you see. In a hurry, I depopulate - or, rather, go the elemental

route. At that altitude artifacts would have been distracting. Shading and

texture becomes everything for me. That's what I meant about gliding it being

a bit different.

So, I bore to the west till the woods gave way to surface green, which

quickly faded, dispersed, broke to brown, tan, yellow. Light and crumbly then,

splotched. The price of that was a storm. I rode it out as much as I could,

till the lightnings forked nearby and I feared that the gusts were getting to

be too much for the little glider. I toned it down fast then, but got more

green below as a result. Still, I pulled it out of the storm with a yellow sun

firm and bright at my back. After a time, I got it to go desert beneath me

again, stark and rolling.

Then the sun shrank and strands of cloud whipped past its face, erasing it

bit by bit. That was the shortcut that took me farther from Amber than I had

been in a long while.

No sun then, but the light remained, just as bright but eerie now,

directionless. It tricked my eyes, it screwed up perspective. I dropped lower,

limiting my range of vision. Soon large rocks came into view, and I fought for

the shapes I remembered. Gradually, these occurred.

The buckling, flowing effect was easier to achieve under these conditions,

but its production was physically disconcerting. It made it even more

difficult to judge my effectiveness in guiding the glider. I got lower than I

thought I was and almost collided with one of the rocks. Finally, though, the

smokes rose and flames danced about as I remembered them - conforming to no

particular pattern, just emerging here and there from crevasses, holes, cave

mouths. Colors began to misbehave as I recalled from my brief view. Then came

the actual motion of the rocks - drifting, sailing, like rudderless boats in a

place where they wring out rainbows.

By then, the air currents had gone crazy. One updraft after another, like

fountains, I fought them as best I could, but knew I could not hold things

together much longer at that altitude. I rose a considerable distance,

forgetting everything for a time while trying to stabilize the craft. When I

looked down again, it was like viewing a free-form regatta of black icebergs.

The rocks were racing around, clashing together, backing off, colliding again,

spinning, arcing across the open spaces, passing among one another. Then I was

slammed about, forced down, forced up - and I saw a strut give way. I gave the

shadows their final nudge, then looked again. The tower had appeared in the

distance, something brighter than ice or aluminum stationed at its base.

That final push had done it. I realized that just as I felt the winds

start a particularly nasty piece of business. Then several cables snapped and

I was on my way down - like riding a waterfall. I got the nose up, brought it

in low and wild, saw where we were headed, and jumped at the last moment. The

poor glider was pulverized by one of those peripatetic monoliths. I felt worse

about that than I did about the scrapes, rips, and lumps I collected.

Then I had to move quickly, because a hill was racing toward me. We both

veered, fortunately in different directions. I hadn't the faintest notion as

to their motive force, and at first I could see no pattern to their movements.

The ground varied from warm to extremely hot underfoot, and along with the

smoke and occasional jets of flame, nasty-smelling gases were escaping from

numerous openings in the ground. I hurried toward the tower, following a

necessarily irregular course.

It took a long while to cover the distance. Just how long, I was

uncertain, as I had no way of keeping track of the time. By then, though, I

was beginning to notice some interesting regularities. First, the larger

stones moved at a greater velocity than the smaller ones. Second, they seemed

to be orbiting one another - cycles within cycles within cycles, larger about

smaller, none of them ever still. Perhaps the prime mover was a dust mote or a

single molecule - somewhere. I had neither time nor desire to indulge in any

attempt to determine the center of the affair. Keeping this in mind, I did

manage to observe as I went, though, enough so that I was able to anticipate a

number of their collisions well in advance.

So Childe Random to the dark tower came, yeah, gun in one hand, blade in

the other. The goggles hung about my neck. With all the smoke and confused

lighting, I wasn't about to don them until it became absolutely necessary.

Now, whatever the reason, the rocks avoided the tower. While it seemed to

stand on a hill, I realized as I approached that it would be more correct to

say that the rocks had scooped out an enormous basin just short of it. I could

not tell from my side, however, whether the effect was that of an island or a

peninsula.

I dashed through the smoke and rubble, avoiding the jets of flame that

leaped from the cracks and holes. Finally I scrambled up the slope, removing

myself from the courseway. Then for several moments I clung at a spot just

below any line of sight from the tower. I checked my weapons, controlled my

breathing, and put on the goggles. Everything set, I went over the top and

came up into a crouch.

Yes, the shades worked. And yes, the beast was waiting.

It was a fright all right, because in some ways it was kind of beautiful.

It had a snake body as big around as a barrel, with a head sort of like a

massive claw hammer, but kind of tapered to the snout end. Eyes of a very pale

green. And it was clear as glass, with very faint, fine lines seeming to

indicate scales. Whatever flowed in its veins was reasonably clear, also. You

could look right into it and see its organs - opaque or cloudy as the case

might be. You could almost be distracted by watching the thing function. And

it had a dense mane, like bristles of glass, about the head and collaring its

gullet. Its movement when it saw me, raised that head and slivered forward,

was like flowing water - living water, it seemed, a bedless river without

banks. What almost froze me, though, was that I could see into its stomach.

There was a partly digested man in it I raised the gun, aimed at the nearest

eye, and squeezed the trigger.

I already told you it didn't work. So I threw the gun, leaped to my left,

and sprang in on its right side, going for its eye with my blade.

You know how hard it can be to kill things built along reptilian lines. I

decided immediately to try to blind the thing and hack off its tongue as the

first order of business. Then, being more than a little fast on my feet, I

might have any number of chances to lay in some good ones about the head until

I decapitated it. Then let it tie itself in knots till it stopped. I was

hoping, too, that it might be sluggish because it was still digesting someone.

If it was sluggish then, I was glad that I hadn't stopped by earlier. It

drew its head out of the path of my blade and snapped down over it while I was

still off balance. That snout glanced across my chest, and it did feel as if I

had been hit by a massive hammer. It knocked me sprawling.

I kept on rolling to get out of range, coming up short near the edge of

the embankment. I recovered my footing there while it unwound itself, dragged

a lot of weight in my direction, and then reared up and cocked its head again,

about fifteen feet above me.

I know damn well that Gerard would have chosen that moment to attack. The

big bastard would have strode forward with that monster blade of his and cut

the thing in half. Then it probably would have fallen on him and writhed all

over him, and he'd have come away with a few bruises. Maybe a bloody nose.

Benedict would not have missed the eye. He would have had one in each pocket

by then and be playing football with the head while composing a footnote to

Clausewitz. But they are genuine hero types. Me, I just stood there holding

the blade point upward, both hands on the hilt, my elbows on my hips, my head

as far back out of the way as possible. I would much rather have run and

called it a day. Only I knew that if I tried it, that head would drop down and

smear me.

Cries from within the tower indicated that I had been spotted, but I was

not about to look away to see what was going on. Then I began cursing the

thing. I wanted it to strike and get it over with, one way or the other.

When it finally did, I shuffled my feet, twisted my body, and swung the

point into line with my target.

My left side was partly numbed by the blow, and I felt as if I had been

driven a foot into the ground.

Somehow I managed to remain upright. Yes, I had done everything perfectly.

The maneuver had gone exactly as I had hoped and planned.

Except for the beast's part. It wasn't cooperating by producing the

appropriate death throes. In fact, it was beginning to rise.

It took my blade with it, too. The hilt protruded from its left eye

socket, the point emerged like another bristle amid the mane on the back of

its head. I had a feeling that the offensive team had had it.

At that moment, figures began to emerge - slowly, cautiously - from an

opening at the base of the tower. They were armed and ugly-looking, and I had

a feeling that they were not on my side of the disagreement.

Okay. I know when it is time to fold and hope for a better hand another

day.

"Brand!" I shouted. "It's Random! I can't get through! Sorry!"

Then I turned, ran, and leaped back over the edge, down into the place

where the rocks did their unsettling things. I wondered whether I had chosen

the best time to descend.

Like so many things, the answer was yes and no.

It was not the sort of jump I would make for many reasons other than those

which prevailed. I came down alive, but that seemed the most that could be

said for it. I was stunned, and for a long while I thought I had broken my

ankle.

The thing that got me moving again was a rustling sound from above and the

rattle of gravel about me. When I readjusted the goggles and looked up, I saw

that the beast had decided to come down and finish the job. It was winding its

phantom way down the slope, the area about its head having darkened and

opaqued since I had skewered it upstairs.

I sat up. I got to my knees. I tried my ankle, couldn't use it. Nothing

around to serve as a crutch, either. Okay. I crawled then. Away. What else was

there to do? Gain as much ground as I could and think hard while I was about

it.

Salvation was a rock - one of the smaller, slower ones, only about the

size of a moving van. When I saw it approaching, it occurred to me that here

was transportation if I could make it aboard. Maybe some safety, too. The

faster, really massive ones appeared to get the most abuse.

This in mind, I watched the big ones that accompanied my own, estimated

their paths and velocities, tried to gauge the movement of the entire system,

readied myself for the moment, the effort. I also listened to the approach of

the beast, heard the cries of the troops from the edge of the bluff, wondered

whether anyone up there was giving odds on me and what they might be if they

were.

When the time came, I went. I got past the first big one without any

trouble, but had to wait for the next one to go by. I took a chance in

crossing the path of the final one. Had to, to make it in time.

I made it to the right spot at the right moment caught on to the holds I

had been eyeing, and was dragged maybe twenty feet before I could pull myself

up off the ground. Then I hauled my way to its uncomfortable top, sprawled

there, and looked back.

It had been close. Still was, for that matter, as the beast was pacing me,

its one good eye following the spinning big ones.

From overhead I heard a disappointed wail. Then the guys started down the

slope, shouting what I took to be encouragement to the creature. I commenced

massaging my ankle. I tried to relax. The brute crossed over, passing behind

the first big rock as it completed another orbit.

How far could I shift through Shadow before it reached me? I wondered.

True, there was constant movement, a changing of textures...

The thing waited for the second rock, slithered by behind it, paced me

again, drew nearer. Shadow, Shadow, on the wing -

The men were almost to the base of the slope by then. The beast was

waiting for its opening - the next time around - past the inner satellite. I

knew that it was capable of rearing high enough to snatch me from my perch.

- Come alive and smear that thing?

As I spun and glided I caught hold of the stuff of Shadow, sank into the

feel of it, worked with the textures, possible to probable to actual, felt it

coming with the finest twist, gave it that necessary flip at the appropriate

moment...

It came in from the beast's blind side, of course. A big mother of a rock,

careening along like a semi out of control...

It would have been more elegant to mash it between two of them. However, I

hadn't the time for finesse. I simply ran it over and left it there, thrashing

in the granite traffic.

Moments later, however, inexplicably, the mashed and mangled body rose

suddenly above the ground and drifted skyward, twisting. It kept going,

buffeted by the winds, dwindling, dwindling, gone.

My own rock bore me away, slowly, steadily. The entire pattern was

drifting. The guys from the tower then went into a huddle and decided to

pursue me. They moved away from the base of the slope, began to make their way

across the plain. But this was no real problem, I felt. I would ride my stony

mount through Shadow, leaving them worlds away. This was by far the easiest

course of action open to me. They would doubtless have been more difficult to

take by surprise than the beast. After all, this was their land; they were

wary and unmaimed.

I removed the goggles and tested my ankle again. I stood for a moment. It

was very sore, but it bore my weight. I reclined once more and tamed my

thoughts to what had occurred. I had lost my blade and I was now in less than

top shape. Rather than go on with the venture under these conditions, I knew

that I was doing the safest, wisest thing by getting the hell out. I had

gained enough knowledge of the layout and the conditions for my chances to be

better next time around. All right...

The sky brightened above me, the colors and shadings lost something of

their arbitrary, meandering habit. The flames began to subside about me. Good.

Clouds started to find their ways across the sky. Excellent. Soon a localized

glow began behind a cloudbank. Superb. When it went away, a sun would hang

once again in the heavens.

I looked back and was surprised to see that I was still being pursued.

However, it could easily be that I had not dealt properly with their analogues

for this slice of Shadow. It is never good to assume that you have taken care

of everything when you are in a hurry. So...

I shifted again. The rock gradually altered its course, shifted its shape,

lost its satellites, moved in a straight line toward what was to become the

west. Above me, the clouds dispersed and a pale sun shone down. We picked up

speed. That should have taken care of everything right there. I had positively

come into a different place.

But it had not. When I looked again, they were still coming. True, I had

gained some distance on them. But the party trooped right along after me.

Well, all right Things like that can sometimes happen. There were of

course two possibilities. My mind still being more than a little disturbed

from all that had just occurred, I had not performed ideally and had drawn

them along with me. Or, I had maintained a constant where I should have

suppressed a variable - that is, shifted into a place and unconsciously

required that the pursuit element be present. Different guys then, but still

chasing me.

I rubbed my ankle some more. The sun brightened toward orange. A wind out

of the north raised a screen of dust and sand and hung it at my back, removing

the gang from my sight. I raced on into the west, where a line of mountains

had now grown up. Time was in a distortion phase. My ankle felt a little

better.

I rested a while. Mine was reasonably comfortable, as rocks go. No sense

turning it into a hellride when everything seemed to be proceeding smoothly. I

stretched out, hands behind my head, and watched the mountains draw nearer. I

thought about Brand and the tower. That was the place all right. Everything

was just as it had been in the glimpse he had given me. Except for the guards,

of course. I decided that I would cut through the proper piece of Shadow,

recruit a cohort of my own, then go back and give them hell. Yes, then

everything would be fine...

After a time, I stretched, rolled over onto my stomach, and looked back.

Damned if they weren't still following me! They had even gained some.

Naturally, I got angry. To hell with flight! They were asking for it, and

it was time they got it

I rose to my feet. My ankle was only half sore, a little numb. I raised my

arms and looked for the shadows I wanted. I found them.

Slowly the rock swung out from its straight course into an arc, turning

off to the right. The curve tightened. I swung through a parabola and headed

back toward them, my velocity gradually increasing as I went. No time to raise

a storm at my back, though I thought that would have been a nice touch if I

could have managed it.

As I swept down upon them - there were maybe two dozen - they prudently

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TheSignoftheUnicornChapter1IignoredthequestionsintheeyesofthegroomasIloweredthegrislyparcelandturnedthehorseinforcareandmaintenance.MycloakcouldnotreallyconcealthenatureofitscontentsasIslungthegutsovermyshoulderandstampedofftowardtherearentrancetothepalace.Hellwouldsoonbedemandingitspaycheck.Iskirte...

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Roger Zelazny - Amber 03 - The Sign of the Unicorn

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