“He returned in the middle of the night, bringing both of them with him. Gerard was barely conscious. His left leg was broken, and the entire left side of his body was badly bruised. Julian was quite battered also, but-he had no broken bones. They remained with us for the better part of a month, and they healed quickly. Then they borrowed two horses and departed. I have not seen them since.”
“What did they say as to how they had been injured?”
“Only that they had been in an accident They would not discuss it with me.”
“Where? Where did it happen?”
“On the black road. I overheard them talking about it several times.”
“Where is this black road?”
“I do not know.”
“What did they say about it?”
“They cursed it a lot. That was all.”
Looking down, I saw that there was some wine left in the bottle. I stooped and poured two final drinks, passed her one.
“To the reunion,” I said, and smiled.
“...The reunion,” she agreed, and we drank.
She began cleaning the area and I assisted her, my earlier sense of urgency upon me once again.
“How long should I wait before I try to reach you?” she asked.
“Three months. Give me three months.”
“Where will you be then?”
“In Amber, I hope.”
“How long will you be staying here?”
“Not very. In fact, I have to take a little trip right now. I should be back tomorrow, though. I will probably only be staying for a few days after that.”
“I wish you would stay longer.”
“I wish that I could. I would like to, now that I have met you.”
She reddened and turned what seemed all of her attention to repacking the basket. I gathered up the fencing gear.
“Are you going back to the manor now?” she said.
“To the stables. I'll be leaving immediately.”
She picked up the basket.
“We will go together then. My horse is this way.” I nodded and followed her toward a footpath to our right.
“I suppose,” she said, “that it would be best for me not to mention any of this to anybody. Grandpa in particular?”
“That would be prudent.”
The splash and gurgle of the stream, as it flowed to the river, on its way to the sea, faded, faded, was gone, and only the creak of the land-locked wheel that cut it as it went, remained for a time in the air.
CHAPTER 6
Steady movement is more important than speed, much of the time. So long as there is a regular progression of stimuli to get your mental hooks into, there is room for lateral movement. Once this begins, its rate is a matter of discretion.
So I moved slowly, but steadily, using my discretion. No sense in tiring Star unnecessarily. Rapid shifts are hard enough on people. Animals, who are not so good at lying to themselves, have a rougher time of it, sometimes going completely berserk.
I crossed the stream at a small wooden bridge and moved parallel to it for a time. My intention was to skirt the town itself, but to follow the general direction of the watercourse until I reached the vicinity of the coast. It was midaftemoon. My way was shaded, cool. Grayswandir hung at my side.
I bore west, coming at length to the hills that rose there. I refrained from beginning the shift until after I had reached a point that looked down upon the city that represented the largest concentration of population in this realm that was like my Avalon.
The city bore the same name, and several thousand people lived there, worked there. Several of the silver towers were missing, and the stream cut the city at a somewhat different angle farther south, having widened or been widened eightfold by then. There was some smoke from the smithies and the public houses, stirred lightly by breezes from the south; people, mounted, afoot, driving wagons, driving coaches, moved through the narrow streets, entered and departed shops, hostels, residences; flocks of birds wheeled, descended, rose about the places where horses were tethered; a few bright pennons and banners stirred listlessly; the water sparkled and there was a haze in the air. I was too far away to hear the sounds of voices, and of clanking, hammering, sawing, rattling, and creaking as anything other than a generalized hum. While I could distinguish no individual odors, had I still been blind I would have known by sniffing the air that a city was near.
Seeing it from up there, a certain nostalgia came over me, a wistful rag-tail of a dream accompanied by a faint longing for the place that was this place's namesake to me in a vanished shadowland of long ago, where life had been just as simple and I happier than I was at that moment.
But one does not live as long as I have lived without achieving that quality of consciousness which strips naive feelings as they occur and is generally loathe to participate in the creation of sentimentality.
Those days were passed, that thing done with, and it was Amber now that held me completely. I turned and continued southward, confirmed in my desire to succeed. Amber, I do not forget...
The sun became a dazzling, bright blister above my head and the winds began to scream about me. The sky grew more and more yellow and glaring as I rode, until it was as if a desert stretched from horizon to horizon overhead. The hills grew rockier as I descended toward the lowlands, exhibiting wind-sculpted forms of grotesque shape and somber coloration. A dust storm struck me as I emerged from the foothills, so that I had to muffle my face with my cloak and narrow my eyes to slits. Star whinnied, snuffled repeatedly, plodded on. Sand, stone, winds, and the sky more orange then, a slate-like crop of clouds toward which the sun was heading...
Then long shadows, the dying of the wind, stillness... Only the click of hoof on rock and the sounds of breathing... Dimness, as they rushed together and the sun is foiled by clouds... The walls of the day shaken by thunder... An unnatural clarity of distant objects... A cool, blue, and electric feeling in the air... Thunder again...
Now, a rippling, glassy curtain to my right as the rain advances... Blue fracture lines within the clouds... The temperature plummeting, our pace steady, the world a monochromatic backdrop now...
Gouging thunder, flashing white, the curtain flaring toward us now... Two hundred meters... One-fifty... Enough!
Its bottommost edge plowing, furrowing, frothing... The moist smell of the earth... Star's whinny... A burst of speed...
Small rivulets of water creeping outward, sinking, staining the ground... Now bubbling muddily, now trickling... Now a steady flow... Streamlets all about us, splashing...
High ground ahead, and Star's muscles bunching and relaxing, bunching and relaxing beneath me, as he leaps the rills and freshets, plunges through a racing, roiling sheet, and strikes the slope, hoofs sparkling against stones as we mount higher, the voice of the gurgling, eddying flow beneath us deepening to a steady roar...
Higher, then, and dry, pausing to wring out the corners of my cloak... Below, behind, and to the right a gray, storm-tossed sea laps at the foot of the cliff we hold...
Inland now, toward clover fields and evening, the boom of the surf at my back...
Pursuing falling stars into the darkening east and eventual silence and night...