I nodded.
“Possibly,” I said. “I asked Brand just those things. He admitted their possibility, but he disavowed any knowledge as to whether Bleys was still living. Personally, I think he was lying.”
“Why?”
“It is possible that he wishes to combine revenge for his imprisonment and the attempt on his life with the removal of the one impediment, save for myself, to his own succession. I think he feels that I will be expended in a scheme he is evolving to deal with the black road. The destruction of his own cabal and the removal of the road could make him look pretty decent, especially after all the penance he has had thrust upon him. Then, maybe then, he would have a chance — or thinks that he would.”
“Then you think Bleys is still living, too?”
“Just a feeling,” I said. “But yes, I do.”
“What is their strength, anyway?”
“An endorsement of higher education,” I said. “Fiona and Brand paid attention to Dworkin while the rest of us were off indulging our assorted passions in Shadow. Consequently, they seem to have obtained a better grasp of principles than we possess. They know more about Shadow and what lies beyond it, more about the Pattern, more about the Trumps than we do. That is why Brand was able to send you his message.”
“An interesting thought…” Random mused. “Do you think they might have disposed of Dworkin after they felt they had learned enough from him? It would certainly help to keep things exclusive, if anything happened to Dad.”
“That thought had not occurred to me,” I said.
And I wondered, could they have done something that had affected his mind? Something that left him as he was when last I had seen him? If so, were they aware that he was possibly still living, somewhere? Or might they have assumed his total destruction?
“Yes, an interesting thought,” I said. “I suppose that it is possible.”
The sun inched its way upward, and the food restored me. No trace of Tir-na Nog’th remained in the morning’s light. My memories of it had already taken on the quality of images in a dim mirror. Ganelon fetched its only other token, the arm, and Random packed it away along with the dishes. By daylight, the first three steps looked less like stairs and more like jumbled rock.
Random gestured with his head. “Take the same way back?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, and we mounted.
We had come by way of a trail that wound about Kolvir to the south. It was longer but less rugged than the route across the crest. I’d a humor to pamper myself so long as my side protested.
So we bore to the right, moving single file. Random in the lead, Ganelon to the rear. The trail ran gently upward, then cut back down again. The air was cool, and it bore the aromas of verdure and moist earth, a thing quite unusual in that stark place, at that altitude. Straying air currents, I reasoned, from the forest far below.
We let the horses pick their own casual pace down through the dip and up the next rise. As we neared its crest, Random’s horse whinnied and began to rear. He controlled it immediately, and I glanced about but saw nothing that might have startled it.
When he reached its summit, Random slowed and called back, “Take a look at that sunrise now, will you?”
It would have been rather difficult to avoid doing so, though I did not remark on the fact. Random was seldom given to sentimentality over vegetation, geology, or illumination.
I almost drew rein myself as I topped the rise, for the sun was a fantastic golden ball. It seemed half again its normal size, and its peculiar coloration was unlike anything I remembered having seen before. It did marvelous things to the band of ocean that had come into view above the next rise, and the tints of cloud and sky were indeed singular. I did not halt, though, for the sudden brightness was almost painful.
“You’re right,” I called out, following him down into the next declivity. Behind me, Ganelon snorted an appreciative oath.
When I had blinked away the aftereffects of that display I noticed that the vegetation was heavier than I had remembered in this little pocket in the sky. I had thought there were several scrubby trees and some patches of lichen, but there were actually several dozen trees, larger than I recalled, and greener, with a clutch of grasses here and there and a vine or two softening the outlines of the rocks. However, since my return I had only passed this way after dark. And now that I thought of it, it was probably the source of the aromas that had come to me earlier.
Passing through, it seemed that the little hollow was also wider than I recalled it. By the time we had crossed and were ascending once more, I was certain of it.
“Random,” I called out, “has this place changed recently?”
“Hard to say,” he answered. “Eric didn’t let me out much. It seems to have grown up a bit.”
“It seems bigger-wider.”
“Yes, it does. I had thought that that was just my imagination.”
When we reached the next crest I was not dazzled again because the sun was blocked by foliage. The area ahead of us contained many more trees than the one we had just departed — and they were larger and closer together. We drew rein.
“I don’t remember this,” he said. “Even passing through at night, it would have registered. We must have taken a wrong turn.”
“I don’t see how. Still, we know about where we are. I would rather go ahead than go back and start again. We should keep aware of conditions around Amber, anyway.”
“True.”
He headed down toward the wood. We followed.
“It’s kind of unusual, at this altitude — a growth like this,” he called back. “There also seems to be a lot more soil than I recall.”
“I believe you are right.”
The trail curved to the left as we entered among the trees. I could see no reason for this deviation from the direct route. We stayed with it, however, and it added to the illusion of distance. After a few moments it swung suddenly to the right again. The prospect on cutting back was peculiar. The trees seemed even taller and were now so dense as to puzzle the eye that sought their penetration. When it turned once more it broadened, and the way was straight for a great distance ahead. Too great, in fact. Our little dell just wasn’t that wide. Random halted again.
“Damn it, Corwin! This is ridiculous!” he said. “You are not playing games, are you?”
“I couldn’t if I would,” I said. “I have never been able to manipulate Shadow anywhere on Kolvir. There isn’t supposed to be any to work with here.”
“That has always been my understanding, too. Amber casts Shadow but is not of it. I don’t like this at all. What do you say we turn back?”
“I’ve a feeling we might not be able to retrace our way,” I said. “There has to be a reason for this, and I want to know it.”
“It occurs to me that it might be some sort of a trap.”
“Even so,” I said.
He nodded and we rode on, down that shaded way, under trees now grown statelier. The wood was silent about us. The ground remained level, the trail straight. Half consciously, we pushed the horses to a greater pace.
About five minutes passed before we spoke again. Then Random said, “Corwin, this can’t be Shadow.”
“Why not?”
“I have been trying to influence it and nothing happens. Have you tried?”
“No.”
“Why don’t you?”
“All right.”
A rock could jut beyond the coming tree, a morning glory twine and bell within that shrubby stand… There ought a patch of sky come clear, a wispy cloud upon it… Then let there be a fallen limb, a stair of fungus up its side… A scummed-over puddle… A frog… Falling feather, drifting seed… A limb that twists just so… Another trail upon our way, fresh-cut, deep-marked, past the place the feather should have fallen…