The four figures stooped slightly, presumably taking hold of the casket's handles. They straightened then and moved toward the Rim. An assistant advanced and stood beside the candle just as they passed it, ready to snuff the final flame as Swayvill's remains were consigned to Chaos.
A half dozen paces remained... Three. Two... Bances and Tubble knelt at the verge, positioning the casket within a groove in the stone floor, Bances intoning a final bit of ritual the while, Dara and Mandor remaining standing.
The prayer finished, I heard a curse. Mandor seemed jerked forward. Dara stumbled away to the side. I heard a clank as the casket hit the floor. The assistant's hand had already been moving, and the candle went out at that moment. There followed a skidding sound as the casket moved forward, more curses, a shadowy figure retreating from the Rim...
Then came a wail. A bulky outline fell and was gone. The wail diminished, diminished, diminished...
I raised my left fist, caused the spikard to create a globe of white light as a bubble pipe does a bubble. It was about three feet in diameter when I released it to drift overhead. Suddenly, the place was filled with babbling. Others of sorcerous background having exercised their favorite illumination spells at about the same time I had, the temple was now over-illuminated from dozens of point-sources.
Squinting, I saw Bances, Mandor, and Dara in converse near the Rim. Tubble and the remains of Swayvill were no longer with us.
My fellow mourners were already moving. I did, too, realizing that my time here was now extremely limited. I stepped down over the empty row, moved to the
right, touched Gilva's still humanized shoulder. “Merlin!” she said, turning quickly. “Tubble-went over-didn't he?”
“Sure looked that way,” I said.
“What will happen now?”
“I've got to leave,” I said, “fast!”
“Why?”
“Somebody's going to start thinking about the suc
cession in a few moments, and I'm going to be smothered with protection,” I told her. “I can't have that, not just now.”
“Why not?”
“No time to go into that. But I'd wanted to talk to you. May I borrow you now?”
There were milling bodies all about us.
“Of course-sir,” she said, apparently having just thought about the succession.
“Cut that out,” I said, spikard spiraling the energies that caught us and took us away.
I brought us to the forest of metal trees, and Gilva kept hold of my arm and looked about her.
“Lord, what is this place?” she asked.
“I'd rather not say,” I replied, “for reasons that will become apparent in a moment. I only had one question for you the last time I spoke with you. But now I have two, and this place figures in one of them, in a way, besides being fairly deserted most of the time.”
“Ask,” she said, moving to face me. “I'll try to help. If it's important, though, I may not be the best person—”
“Yes, it's important. But I haven't time to make an appointment with Belissa. It concerns my father, Corwin.”
“Yes?”
“It was he who slew Borel of Hendrake in the war at Patternfall.”
“So I understand,” she said.
“After the war, he joined the royal party that came here to the Courts to work out the Treaty.”
“Yes,” she said. “I know that.”
“He disappeared shortly thereafter, and no one
seemed to know where he'd gotten off to. For a time, I thought he might be dead. Later, however, I received indications that he was not, but rather was imprisoned somewhere. Can you tell me anything about this?”
She turned away suddenly.
“I am offended,” she said, “by what I believe you imply.”
“I'm sorry,” I said, “but I had to ask.”
“Ours is an honorable House,” she said. “We accept the fortunes of war. When the fighting is ended, we put it all behind us.”
“I apologize,” I said. “We're even related, you know, on my mother's side.”
“Yes, I know,” she said, turning away. “Will that be all, Prince Merlin?”
“Yes,” I answered. “Where shall I send you?”
She was silent for a moment, then, “You said there were two questions,” she stated.
“Forget it. I changed my mind about the second one.”
She turned back.
“Why? Why should I forget it? Because I maintain my family's honor?”
“No, because I believe you.” “And?”
“I'll trouble someone else for an opinion.”
“Do you mean it's dangerous, and you've decided against asking me?”
“I don't understand it, so it could be dangerous.”
“Do you want to offend me again?”
“Heaven forbid!”
“Ask me your question.”
“I'll have to show you.”
“Do it.”
“Even if it means climbing a tree?” “Whatever it means.”
“Follow me.”
So I led her to the tree and climbed it, an enormously simple feat in my present form. She was right behind me.
“There's a way up here,” I said. “I'm about to let it take me. Give me a few seconds to move aside.”
I moved a little farther upward and was transported. Stepping aside, I surveyed the chapel quickly. Nothing seemed changed.
Then Gilva was at my side. I heard a sharp intake of breath.
“Oh, my! “ she said.
“I know what I'm looking at,” I said, “but I don't know what I'm seeing, if you follow me.”
“It is a shrine,” she said, “dedicated to the spirit of a member of the royal house of Amber.”
“Yes, it's my father Corwin,” I agreed. “That's what I'm looking at. But what am I seeing? Why should there be such a thing here in the Courts, anyway?”
She moved forward slowly, studying Dad's altar.
“I might as well tell you,” I added, “that this is not the only such shrine I've seen since my return.”
She reached out and touched the hilt of Grayswandir. Searching beneath the altar, she found a supply of candles. Removing a silver one and screwing it into the socket of one of a numlxr of holders, she lit it from one of the others and placed it near Grayswandir. She muttered something while she was about it, but I did not make out the words.
When she turned back to me again she was smiling. “We both grew up here,” I said. “How is it that you seem to know all about this when I don't?”
“The answer is fairly simple, Lord,” she told me. “You departed right after the war, to seek an education in other lands. This is a sign of something that came to pass in your absence.”
She reached out, took hold of my arm, led me to a bench.
“Nobody thought we would actually lose that war,” she said, “though it had long been argued that Amber would be a formidable adversary.” We seated ourselves. “Afterward, there was considerable unrest,” she continued, “over the policies that had led to it and the treaty that followed it. No single house or grouping could hope for a deposition against the royal coalition, though. You know the conservatism of the Rim Lords. It would take much, much more to unite a majority against the Crown. Instead, their discontent took another form. There grew up a brisk trade in Amber memorabilia from the war. People became fascinated by our conquerors. Biographical studies of Amber's royal family sold very well. Something like a cult began to take shape. Private chapels such as this began to appear, dedicated to a particular Amberite whose virtues appealed to someone.”
She paused, studying my face.
“It smacked too much of a religion,” she went on w' then, “and for time out of mind the Way of the Serpent had been the only significant religion in the Courts. So Swayvill outlawed the Amber cult as heretical, for obvious political reasons. That proved a mistake. Had he done nothing it might have passed quickly. I don't really know, of course. But outlawing it drove it underground, made people take it more seriously as a rebellious thing. I've no idea how many cult chapels there are among the Houses, but that's obviously what this is.”