I was heading north, and the terrain was foreign to me. I followed a clearly marked trail, which bore the signs of two riders' recent passage. I followed all that day, through dusk and into evening, dismounting periodically to inspect the way. Finally, my eyes played too many tricks on me, so I located a small glen– several hundred yards to the left of the trail-and there I camped for the night. It was the pains in my neck, doubtless, that made me dream of the horned one and relive that battle. “Help us now, and we will restore to you that which is yours,” it said. I awoke suddenly at that point, with a curse on my lips.
When morning paled the sky, I mounted and continued on. It had been a cold night, and the day still held me in hands out of the north. The grasses sparkled with a light frost and my cloak was damp from having been used as a bedroll.
By noon, something of warmth had returned to the world and the trail was fresher. I was gaining on them.
When I found her, I leaped down from my mount and ran to where she lay, beneath a wild rosebush without flowers, the thorns of which had scratched her cheek and shoulder. Dead, she had not been so for long, for the blood was still damp upon her breast where the blade had entered, and her flesh yet warm.
There were no rocks with which to build her a cairn, so I cut away the sod with Grayswandir and laid her there to rest He had removed her bracelets, her rings, and her jeweled combs, which had held all she possessed of fortune. I had to close her eyes before I covered her over with my cloak, and here my hand faltered and my own eyes grew dim. It took me a long while.
I rode on, and it was not long before I overtook him, riding as though he were pursued by the Devil, which he was. I spoke not a word when I unhorsed him, nor afterward, and I did not use my blade, though he drew his own. I hurled his broken body into a high oak tree, and when I looked back it was dark with birds.
I replaced her rings, her bracelets, her combs, before I closed the grave, and that was Lorraine. All that she had ever been or wanted to be had come to this, and that is the whole story of how we met and how we parted, Lorraine and I, in the land called Lorraine, and it is like onto my life, I guess, for a Prince of Amber is part and party to all the rottenness that is in the world, which is why whenever I do speak of my conscience, something else within me must answer, “Ha!” In the mirrors of the many judgments, my hands are the color of blood. I am a part of the evil that exists in the world and in Shadow. I sometime fancy myself an evil which exists to oppose other evils. I destroy Melkins when I find them, and on that Great Day of which prophets speak but in which they do not truly believe, on that day when the world is completely cleansed of evil, then I, too, will go down into darkness, swallowing curses. Perhaps even sooner than that, I now judge. But whatever... Until that time, I shall not wash my hands nor let them hang uesless.
Turning, I rode back to the Keep of Ganelon, who knew but would never understand.
CHAPTER 4
Riding, riding, through the wild, weird ways that led to Avalon, we went, Ganelon and I, down alleys of dream and of nightmare, beneath the brass bark of the sun and the hot, white isles of night, till these were gold and diamond chips and the moon swam like a swan. Day belled forth the green of spring, we crossed a mighty river and the mountains before as were frosted by night. I unleashed an arrow of my desire into the midnight and it took fire overhead, burned its way like a meteor into the north. The only dragon we encountered was lame and limped away quickly to hide, singeing daisies as it panted and wheezed. Migrations of bright birds arrowed our destination, and crystalline voices from lakes echoed our words as we passed. I sang as we rode, and after a time, Ganelon joined me. We had been traveling for over a week, and the land and the sky and the breezes told me we were near to Avalon now.
We camped in a wood near a lake as the sun slid bebind stone and the day died down and ceased. I went off to the lake to bathe while Ganelon unpacked our gear. The water was cold and bracing. I splashed about in it for a long while.
I thought I heard several cries as I bathed, but I could not be certain. It was a weird wood and I was not overly concerned. However, I dressed quickly and hurried back to the camp.
As I walked, I heard it again: a whine, a plea. Drawing nearer, I realized that a conversation was in progress.
Then I entered the small clearing we had chosen. Our gear was spread about and the beginnings of a campfire had been laid.
Ganelon squatted on his haunches beneath an oak tree. The man hung from it.
He was young and fair of hair and complexion. Beyond that, it was hard to say at a glance. It is difficult, I discovered, to obtain a clear initial impression as to a man's features and size when he is hanging upside down several feet above the ground.
His hands had been tied behind bis back and he hung from a low bough by a rope that had been knotted about his right ankle.
He was talking-brief, rapid phrases in response to Ganelon's questions-and his face was moist with spittle and sweat. He did not hang limply, but swung back and forth. There was an abrasion on his cheek and several spots of blood on his shirt front.
Halting, I restrained myself from interrupting for a moment and watched. Ganelon would not have put him where he was without a reason, so I was not immediately overwhelmed with sympathy for the fellow. Whatever it was that had prompted Ganelon to question him thus, I knew that I, too, would be interested in the information. I was also interested in whatever the session would show me concerning Ganelon, who was now something of an ally. And a few more minutes upside down could not do that much additional damage...
As his body slowed, Ganelon prodded him in the sternum with the tip of his blade and set him to swinging violently once again. This broke the skin lightly and another red spot appeared. At this, the boy cried out. From his complexion, I could see now that he was a youth. Ganelon extended his blade and held its point several inches beyond the place the boy's throat would come to on the backswing. At the last moment, he snatched it back and chuckled as the boy writhed and cried out, “Please!”
“The rest,” said Ganelon. “Tell me everything.”
“That's all!” said the other. “I know no more!”
“Why not?”
“They swept on by me then! I could not seel”
“Why did you not follow?”
“They were mounted. I was on foot.”
“Why did you not follow on foot then?”
“I was dazed.”
“Dazed? You were afraid! You deserted!”
“No!”
Ganelon held his blade forth, snapped it away again at the final moment.
“No!” cried the youth.
Ganelon moved the blade again.
“Yes!” the boy screamed. “I was afraid!”
“And you fled then?”
“Yes! I kept running! I've been fleeing ever since...”
“And you know nothing of how things went after that?”
“No.”
“You lie!” He moved the blade again.
“No!” said the boy. “Please...”
I stepped forward then. “Ganelon,” I said.
He glanced at me and grinned, lowering the blade. The boy sought my eyes.
“What have we here?” I asked.
“Hal” he said, slapping the inside of the youth's thigh so that he cried out. “A thief, a deserter-with an interesting tale to tell.”
“Then cut him down and let me hear it,” I said.
Ganelon turned and cut through the cord with one swipe of his blade. The boy fell to the ground and began sobbing.
“I caught him trying to steal our supplies and thought to question him about the area,” Ganelon said. “He's come from Avalon-quickly.”