Good enough. I tugged gently on the reins and the horses got the idea and halted. I put on the brake, as we were still on an incline, and located a water bottle.
“Here!” said Ganelon, as I drank. “Leave a drop for me!” I passed the bottle back to him.
“You are taking over now,” I told him. “I have to get some sleep.”
He drank for half a minute, then let out an explosive exhalation.
“Right,” he said, swinging himself over the edge of the wagon and down. “But bide a moment. Nature summons.”
He stepped off the road, and I crawled back onto the bed of the wagon and stretched out where he had lain, folding my cloak into a pillow.
Moments later, I heard him climb onto the driver's seat, and there was a jolt as he released the brake. I heard him cluck his tongue and snap the reins lightly.
“Is it morning?” he called back to me.
“Yes.”
“God! I've slept all day and all night!”
I chuckled.
“No. I did a little shadow-shifting,” I said. “You only slept six or seven hours.”
“I don't understand. But never mind, I believe you. Where are we now?”
“Still heading northeast,” I said, “around twenty miles out of the city and maybe a dozen or so from Benedict's place. We have moved through Shadow, also.”
“What am I to do now?”
“Just keep following the road. We need the distance.”
“Could Benedict still reach us?”
“I think so. That's why we can't give the horses their rest yet.”
“All right. Is there anything special I should be alert for?”
“No.”
“When should I raise you?”
“Never.”
He was silent then, and as I waited for my consciouness to be consumed, I thought of Dara, of course. I had been thinking of her on and off all day.
The thing had been quite unpremeditated on my part. I had not even thought of her as a woman until she came into my arms and revised my thinking on the subject. A moment later, and my spinal nerves took over, reducing much of what passes for cerebration down to its basics, as Freud had once said to me. I could not blame it on the alcohol, as I had not had that much and it had not affected me especially. Why did I want to blame it on anything? Because I felt somewhat guilty, that was why. She was too distant a relation for me to really think of her as one. That was not it. I did not feel I had taken unfair advantage of her, for she had known what she was doing when she came looking for me. It was the circumstances that made me question my own motives, even in the midst of things. I had wanted to do more than simply win her confidence and a measure of friendship when I had first spoken with her and taken her on that walk into Shadow. I was trying to alienate some of her loyalty, trust, and affection from Benedict and transfer it to myself. I had wanted her on my side, as a possible ally in what might become an enemy camp. I had hoped to be able to use her, should the need arise when the going got rough. All this was true. But I did not want to believe that I had had her as I did just to further this end. I suspected there was some truth to it, though, and it made me feel uncomfortable and more than a little ignoble. Why? I had done plenty of things in my time that many would consider much worse, and I was not especially troubled by these. I wrestled with it, not liking to admit it but already knowing the answer. I cared for the girl. It was as simple as that. It was different from the friendship I had felt for Lorraine, with its element of world-weary understanding between two veterans about it, or the air of casual sensuality that had existed briefly between Moire and myself back before I had taken the Pattern for the second time. It was quite different. I had known her so briefly that it was most illogical. I was a man with centuries behind me. Yet... I had not felt this way in centuries. I had forgotten the feeling, until now. I did not want to be in love with her. Not now. Later, perhaps. Better yet, not at all. She was all wrong for me. She was a child. Everything that she would want to do, everything that she would find new and fascinating, I had already done. No, it was all wrong. I had no business falling in love with her. I should not let myself...
Ganelon hummed some bawdy tune, badly. The wagon jounced and creaked, took a turn uphill. The sun fell upon my face, and I covered my eyes with my forearm. Somewhere thereabout, oblivion fixed its grip and squeezed.
When I awoke, it was past noon and I was feeling grimy. I took a long drink of water, poured some in the palm of my hand, and rubbed it in my eyes. I combed my hair with my fingers. I took a look at our surroundings.
There was greenery about us, small stands of trees and open spaces where tall grasses grew. It was still a dirt road that we traveled, hard-packed and fairly smooth. The sky was clear, but for a few small clouds, and shade alternated with sunlight fairly regularly. There was a light breeze.
“Back among the living. Good!” said Ganelon, as I climbed over the front wall and took a seat beside him.
“The horses are getting tired, Corwin, and I'd like to stretch my legs a bit,” he said. “I'm also getting very hungry. Aren't you?”
“Yes. Pull off into that shady place to the left and we'll stop awhile.”
“I would like to go on a bit farther than that,” he said.
“For any special reason?”
“Yes. I want to show you something.”
“Go ahead.”
We clopped along for perhaps a half a mile, then came to a bend in the road that took us in a more northerly direction. Before very long we came to a hill, and when we had mounted it there was another hill, leading even higher.
“How much farther do you want to go?” I said.
“Let's take this next hill,” he replied. “We might be able to see it from up there.”
“All right.”
The horses strained against the steepness of that second hill, and I got out and pushed from behind. When we finally reached the top, I felt even grimier from the mixture of sweat and dust, but I was fully awake once more. Ganelon reined in the horses and put on the brake. He climbed back in the wagon and up onto a crate then. He stood, facing to the left, and shaded his eyes.
“Come up here, Corwin,” he called.
I climbed over the tailgate and he squatted and extended a hand. I took it, and he helped me up onto the crate, where I stood beside him. He pointed, and I followed the gesture.
Perhaps three-quarters of a mile distant, running from left to right for as far as I could see, was a wide, black band. We were several hundred yards higher than the thing and had a decent view of, I would say, half a mile of its length. It was several hundred feet across, and though it curved and turned twice that I could see, its width appeared to remain constant. There were trees within it, and they were totally black. There seemed to be some movement. I could not say what it was. Perhaps it was only the wind rippling the black grassses near its edge. But there was also a definite sensation of flowing within it, like currents in a flat, dark river.
“What is it?” I said.
“I thought perhaps you could tell me,” Ganelon replied. “I had thought it a part of your shadow-sorceries.”
I shook my head slowly.
“I was quite drowsy, but I would remember if I had arranged for anything that strange to occur. How did you know it was there?”
“We skirted it several times as you slept, then edged away again. I did not like the feeling at all. It was a very familiar one. Does it not remind you of something?”
“Yes. Yes, it does. Unfortunately.”
He nodded.
“It's like that damned Circle back in Lorraine. That's what it's like.”
“The black road...” I said.
“What?”
“The black road,” I repeated. “I did not know what she was referring to when she mentioned it, but now I begin to understand. This is not good at all.”