“Why do you wear this mask?”
I reached for it and she jerked her head back.
This did not seem especially important, though. While some cold, logical part of me knew that the passion was irrational, I was as powerless as the gods of the Epicureans. I wanted her and I was ready to have her.
Then I heard Ganelon cry out my name and I tried to turn in that direction.
But she restrained me. I was amazed at her strength.
“Child of Amber,” came her half-familiar voice. “We owe you this for what you have given us, and we will have all of you now.”
Ganelon's voice came to me again, a steady stream of profanities.
I exerted all my strength against that grip and it weakened. My hand shot forward and I tore away the mask.
There came a brief cry of anger as I freed myself, and four final, fading words as the mask came away:
“Amber must be destroyed!”
There was no face behind the mask. There was nothing there at all.
Her garment collapsed and hung limply over my arm. She-or it-had vanished.
Turning quickly, I saw that Ganelon was sprawled at the edge of the black, his legs twisted unnaturally. His blade rose and fell slowly, but I could not see at what he was striking. I ran toward him.
The black grasses, over which I had leaped, were twined about his ankles and legs. Even as he hacked at them, others lashed about as though seeking to capture his sword arm. He had succeeded in partly freeing his right leg, and I leaned far forward and managed to finish the job.
I moved to a position behind him, out of reach of the grasses, and tossed away the mask, which I just then realized I was still clutching. It fell to earth beyond the edge of the black and immediately began to smolder.
Catching him under the arms, I strove to drag Ganelon back. The stuff resisted fiercely, but at last I tore him free. I carried him then, leaping over the remaining dark grasses that separated us from the more docile, green variety beyond the road.
He regained his footing and continued to lean heavily against me, bending forward and slapping at his leggings.
“They're numb,” he said. “My legs are asleep.” I helped him back to the wagon. He transferred his grip to its side and began stamping his feet.
“They're tingling,” he announced. “It's starting to come back... Oow!”
Finally, he limped to the front of the wagon. I helped him climb onto the seat and followed him up. He sighed.
“That's better,” he said. “They're coming along now. That stuff just sucked the strength out of them. Out of the rest of me, too. What happened?”
“Our bad omen made good on its promise.”
“What now?” I picked up the reins and released the brake.
“We go across,” I said. “I have to find out more about this thing. Keep your blade handy.”
He granted and laid the weapon across his knees. The horses did not like the idea of going on, but I flicked their flanks lightly with the whip and they began to move.
We entered the black area, and it was like riding into a World War II newsreel. Remote though near at hand, stark, depressing, grim. Even the creaking and the hoof falls were somehow muffled, made to seem more distant. A faint, persistent ringing began in my ears. The grasses beside the road stirred as we passed, though I kept well away from them. We passed through several patches of mist. They were odorless, but our breathing grew labored on each occasion. As we neared the first hill, I began the shift that would take us through Shadow.
We rounded the hill.
Nothing.
The dark, miasmal prospect was unaltered.
I grew angry then. I drew the Pattern from memory and held it blazing before my mind's eye. I essayed the shift once more.
Immediately, my head began to ache. A pain shot from my forehead to the back of my skull and hung there like a hot wire. But this only fanned my anger and caused me to try even harder to shift the black road into nothingness.
Things wavered. The mists thickened, rolled across the road in billows. Outlines grew indistinct. I shook the reins. The horses moved faster. My head began to throb, felt as if it were about to come apart. Instead, momentarily, everything else did...
The ground shook, cracking in places, but it was more than just that. Everything seemed to undergo a spasmodic shudder, and the cracking was more than mere fracture lines in the ground.
It was as though someone had suddenly kicked the leg of a table on which a loosely assembled jigsaw puzzle lay. Gaps appeared in the entire prospect: here, a green bough; there, a sparkle of water, a glimpse of blue sky, absolute blackness, white nothingness, the front of a brick building, faces behind a window, fire, a piece of star-filled sky...
The horses were galloping by then, and I had all I could do to keep from screaming for the pain.
A babble of mixed noises-animal, human, mechanical-washed over us. It seemed that I could hear Ganelon cursing, but I could not be certain.
I thought that I would pass out from the pain, but I determined, out of sheer stubbornness and anger, to persist until I did. I concentrated on the Pattern as a dying man might cry out to his God, and I threw my entire will against the existence of the black road.
Then the pressure was off and the horses were plunging wildly, dragging us into a green field. Ganelon snatched at the reins, but I drew on them myself and shouted to the horses until they halted. We had crossed the black road.
I turned immediately and looked back. The scene had the wavering quality of something seen through troubled waters. Our path through it stood clean and steady, however, like a bridge or a dam, and the grasses at its edge were green.
“That was worse,” Ganelon said, “than the ride you took me on when you exiled me.”
“I think so, too,” I said, and I spoke to the horses, gently, finally persuading them to return to the dirt road and continue on along it.
The world was brighter here, and the trees that we soon moved among were great pines. The air was fresh with their fragrance. Squirrels and birds moved within them. The soil was darker, richer. We seemed to be at a higher altitude than we had been before the crossing. It pleased me that we had indeed shifted-and in the direction I had desired.
Our way curved, ran back a bit, straightened. Every now and then we caught a glimpse of the black road. It was not too far off to our right. We were still running roughly parallel to it. The thing definitely cut through Shadow. From what we saw of it, it appeared to have settled back down to being its normal, sinister self once more.
My headache faded and my heart grew somewhat lighter. We achieved higher ground and a pleasant view over a large area of hills and forest, reminding me of parts of Pennsylvania I had-enjoyed driving through years earlier.
I stretched; then, “How are your legs now?” I asked.
“All right,” Ganelon said, looking back along our trail. “I can see for a great distance, Corwin...”
“Yes?”
“I see a horseman, coming very fast.”
I stood and turned. I think I might have groaned as I dropped back into the seat and shook the reins.
He was still too far off to tell for certain-on the other side of the black road. But who else could it be, pushing along at that speed on our trail? I cursed then.
We were nearing the crest of the rise. I turned to Ganelon and said, “Get ready for another hellride.”
“It's Benedict?”
“I think so. We lost too much time back there. He can move awfully fast-especially through Shadow-all alone like that.”
“Do you think you can still lose him?”
“We'll find out,” I said. “Real soon now.”
I clucked to the horses and shook the reins again. We reached the top and a blast of icy air struck us. We leveled off and the shadow of a boulder to our left darkened the sky. When we had passed it, the darkness remained and crystals of fine-textured snow stung our faces and hands.
Within a few moments, we were heading downward once more and the snowfall became a blinding blizzard. The wind screamed in our ears and the wagon rattled and skidded. I leveled us quickly. There were drifts all about by then and the road was white. Our breath fumed and ice glistened on trees and rocks.