The hand of Oberon (4 page)

“I do see the resemblance,” I said to Random, “and you may well be right about what happened.”

“Of course I am right.”

“It is the card that was pierced,” I said.

“Obviously. I don’t-“

“He was not brought through on the Trump, then. The person who did it therefore made contact, but was unable to persuade him to come across.”

“So? The contact had progressed to a point of sufficient solidity and proximity that he was able to stab him anyway. He was probably even able to achieve a mental lock and hold him where he was while he bled. The kid probably hadn’t had much experience with the Trumps.”

“Maybe yes, maybe no,” I said. “Llewella or Moire might be able to tell us how much he knew about the Trumps. But what I was getting at was the possibility that contact could have been broken before death. If he inherited your regenerative abilities he might have survived.”

“Might have? I don’t want guesses! I want answers!”

I commenced a balancing act within my mind. I believed I knew something that he did not, but then my source was not the best. Also, I wanted to keep quiet about the possibility because I had not had a chance to discuss it with Benedict. On the other hand, Martin was Random’s son, and I did want to direct his attention away from Brand.

“Random, I may have something,” I said.

“What?”

“Right after Brand was stabbed,” I said, “when we were talking together in the sitting room, do you remember when the conversation turned to the subject of Martin?”

“Yes. Nothing new came up.”

“I had something I might have added at that time, but I restrained myself because everyone was there. Also, because I wanted to pursue it in private with the party concerned.”

“Who?”

“Benedict.”

“Benedict? What has he to do with Martin?”

“I do not know. That is why I wanted to keep it quiet until I found out. And my source of information was a touchy one, at that”

“Go ahead.”

“Dara. Benedict gets mad as hell whenever I mention her name, but so far a number of things she told me have proved correct-things like the journey of Julian and Gerard along the black road, their injury, their stay in Avalon. Benedict admitted these things had happened.”

“What did she say about Martin?”

Indeed. How to phrase it without giving away the show on Brand . . . ? Dara had said that Brand had visited Benedict a number of times in Avalon, over a span of years. The time differential between Amber and Avalon is such that it seemed likely, now that I thought about it, that the visits fell into the period when Brand was so actively seeking information on Martin. I had wondered what kept drawing him back there, since he and Benedict had never been especially chummy.

“Only that Benedict had had a visitor named Martin, whom she thought was from Amber,” I lied.

“When?”

“Some while back. I’m not sure.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“It is not really very much-and besides, you had never seemed especially interested in Martin.”

Random shifted his gaze to the griffin, crouched and gurgling on my right, then nodded.

“I am now,” he said. “Things change. If he is still alive, I would like to get to know him. If he is not...”

“Okay,” I said. “The best way to be about either one is to start figuring a way to get home. I believe we have seen what we were supposed to see and I would like to clear out.”

“I was thinking about that,” he said, “and it occurred to me that we could probably use this Pattern for that purpose. Just head out to the center and transfer back.”

“Going in along the dark area?” I asked.

“Why not? Ganelon has already tried it and he’s okay.”

“A moment,” said Ganelon. “I did not say that it was easy, and I am positive you could not get the horses to go that route.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“Do you remember that place where we crossed the black road-back when we were fleeing Avalon?”

“Of course.”

“Well, the sensations I experienced in retrieving the card and the dagger were not unlike the upset that came over us at that time. It is one of the reasons I was running so fast. I would favor trying the Trumps again first, under the theory that this point is congruent with Amber.”

I nodded.

“All right. We might as well try making it as easy as we can. Let’s collect the horses first.”

We did this, learning the length of the griffin’s leash while we were about it. He was drawn up short about thirty meters from the cave mouth, and immediately set up a bleating complaint. This did not make the job of pacifying the horses any easier, but it did give rise to a peculiar notion which I decided to keep to myself.

Once we had things under control. Random located his Trumps and I brought out my own.

“Let’s try for Benedict,” he said.

“All right. Any time now.”

I noticed immediately that the cards felt cold again, a good sign. I shuffled out Benedict’s and began the preliminaries. Beside me, Random did the same. Contact came almost at once.

“What is the occasion?” Benedict asked, his eyes moving over Random, Ganelon, and the horses, then meeting with my own.

“Will you bring us through?” I said.

“Horses, too?”

“The works.”

“Come ahead.”

He extended his hand and I touched it. We all moved toward him. Moments later, we stood with him in a high, rocky place, a chill wind ruffling our garments, the sun of Amber past midday in a sky full of clouds. Benedict wore a stiff leather jacket and buckskin leggings. His shirt was a faded yellow. An orange cloak concealed the stump of his right arm. He tightened his long jaw and peered down at me.

“Interesting spot you hie from,” he said. “I glimpsed something of the background.”

I nodded.

“Interesting view from this height, also,” I said, noting the spyglass at his belt at the same time that I realized we stood on the wide ledge of rock from which Eric had commanded battle on the day of his death and my return. I moved to regard the dark swath through Garnath, far below and stretching off to the horizon.

“Yes,” he said. “The black road appears to have stabilized its boundaries at most points. At a few others though, it is still widening. It is almost as if it is nearing a final conformity with some-pattern. . . . Now tell me, from what point have you journeyed?”

“I spent last night in Tir-na Nog’th,” I said, “and this morning we went astray in crossing Kolvir.”

“Not an easy thing to do,” he said. “Getting lost on your own mountain. You keep heading east, you know. That is the direction from which the sun has been known to take its course.”

I felt my face flush.

“There was an accident,” I said, looking away. “We lost a horse.”

“What sort of accident?”

“A serious one-for the horse.”

“Benedict,” said Random, suddenly looking up from what I realized to be the pierced Trump, “what can you tell me concerning my son Martin?”

Benedict studied him for several moments before he spoke. Then, “Why the sudden interest?” he asked.

“Because I have reason to believe he may be dead,” he said. “If that is the case, I want to avenge it. If it is not the case-well, the thought that it might be has caused me some upset. If he is still living, I would like to meet him and talk with him.”

“What makes you think he might be dead?”

Random glanced at me. I nodded.

“Start with breakfast,” I said.

“While he is doing that, I’ll find us lunch,” said Ganelon, rummaging in one of the bags.

“The unicorn showed us the way . . .” Random began.

We sat in silence. Random had finished speaking and Benedict was staring skyward over Gamath. His face betrayed nothing. I had long ago learned to respect his silence.

At length, he nodded, once, sharply, and turned to regard Random.

“I have long suspected something of this order,” he stated, “from things that Dad and Dworkin let fall over the years. I had the impression there was a primal Pattern which they had either located or created, situating our Amber but a shadow away to draw upon its forces. I never obtained any notion as to how one might travel to that place, however.” He turned back toward Gamath, gesturing with his chin. “And that, you tell me, corresponds to what was done there?”

“It seems to,” Random replied.

“. . . Brought about by the shedding of Martin’s blood?”

“I think so”

Benedict raised the Trump Random had passed him during his narration. At that time, Benedict had made no comment.

“Yes,” he said now, “this is Martin. He came to me after he departed Rebma. He stayed with me a long while”

“Why did he go to you?” Random asked.

Benedict smiled faintly.

“He had to go somewhere, you know,” he said. “He was sick of his position in Rebma, ambivalent toward Amber, young, free, and just come into his power through the Pattern. He wanted to get away, see new things, travel in Shadow-as we all did. I had taken him to Avalon once when he was a small boy, to let him walk on dry land of a summer, to teach him to ride a horse, to have him see a crop harvested. When he was suddenly in a position to go anywhere he would in an instant, his choices were still restricted to the few places of which he had knowledge. True, he might have dreamed up a place in that instant and gone there-creating it, as it were. But he was also aware that he still had many things to learn, to ensure his safety in Shadow. So he elected to come to me, to ask me to teach him. And I did. He spent the better part of a year at my place. I taught him to fight, taught him of the ways of the Trumps and of Shadow, instructed him in those things an Amberite must know if he is to survive.”

“Why did you do all these things?” Random asked.

“Someone had to. It was me that he came to, so it was mine to do,” Benedict replied. “It was not as if I were not very fond of the boy, though,” he added. Random nodded.

“You say that he was with you for almost a year. What became of him after that?”

“That wanderlust you know as well as I. Once he had obtained some confidence in his abilities, he wanted to exercise them. In the course of instructing him, I had taken him on journeys in Shadow myself, had introduced him to people of my acquaintance at various places. But there came a time when he wanted to make his own way. One day then, he bade me good-by and fared forth.”

“Have you seen him since?” Random asked.

“Yes. He returned periodically, staying with me for a time, to tell me of his adventures, his discoveries. It was always clear that it was just a visit. After a time, he would get restless and depart again.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Several years ago, Avalon time, under the usual circumstances. He showed up one morning, stayed for perhaps two weeks, told me of the things he had seen and done, talked of the many things he wanted to do. Later, he set off once more.”

“And you never heard from him again?”

“On the contrary. There were messages left with mutual friends when he would pass their way. Occasionally, he would even contact me via my Trump-“

“He had a set of the Trumps?” I broke in.

“Yes, I made him a gift of one of my extra decks.”

“Did you have a Trump for him?” He shook his head.

“I was not even aware that such a Trump existed, until I saw this one,” he said, raising the card, glancing at it, and passing it back to Random. “I haven’t the art to prepare one. Random, have you tried reaching him with this Trump?”

“Yes, any number of times since we came across it. Just a few minutes ago, as a matter of fact. Nothing.”

“Of course that proves nothing. If everything occurred as you guessed and he did survive it, he may have resolved to block any future attempts at contact. He does know how to do that.”

“Did it occur as I guessed? Do you know more about it?”

“I have an idea,” Benedict said. “You see, he did show up injured at a friend’s place-off in Shadow some years ago. It was a body wound, caused by the thrust of a blade. They said he came to them in very bad shape and did not go into details as to what had occurred. He remained for a few days-until he was able to get around again-and departed before he was really fully recovered. That was the last they heard of him. The last that I did, also.”

“Weren’t you curious?” Random asked. “Didn’t you go looking for him?”

“Of course I was curious. I still am. But a man should have the right to lead his own life without the meddling of relatives, no matter how well-intentioned. He had pulled through the crisis and he did not attempt to contact me. He apparently knew what he wanted to do. He did leave a message for me with the Tecys, saying that when I learned of what had happened I was not to worry, that he knew what he was about.”

“The Tecys?” I said.