It had led us through a kaleidoscopic series of changes, until finally we arrived at this pace, where it abandoned us to our present devices.
Now, with this entire sequence of events tumbling through my head, my mind moved about the peripheries, pushed its way forward, returned to the words Random had just spoken. I felt that I was slightly ahead of him once more. For how long this state of affairs might last, I did not know, but I realized where I had seen work by the same hand which had executed the pierced Trump.
Brand had often painted when he was entering one of his melancholy periods, and his favorite techniques came to mind as I recalled canvas after canvas he had brightened or darkened. Add to this his campaign of years before to obtain recollections and descriptions from everyone who had known Martin. While Random had not recognized his style, I wondered how long it might be before he began thinking as I just had about the possible ends of Brand’s information gathering. Even if his hand had not actually propelled the blade, Brand was party to the act by providing the means. I knew Random well enough to know that he meant what he had said. He would try to kill Brand as soon as he saw the connection. This was going to be more than awkward.
It had nothing to do with the fact that Brand had probably saved my life. I figured I had squared accounts with him by getting him out of that damned tower. No. It was neither indebtedness nor sentiment that caused me to cast about for ways to mislead Random or slow him down. It was the naked, frigid fact that I needed Brand. He had seen to that. My reason for saving him was no more altruistic than his had been in dragging me out of the lake. He possessed something I needed now: information. He had realized this immediately and he was rationing it — his life’s union dues.
“I do see the resemblance,” I said to Random, “and you may well be right about what happened.”
“Of course I am right.”
“It is the card that was pierced,” I said.
“Obviously. I don’t —”
“He was not brought through on the Trump, then. The person who did it therefore made contact, but was unable to persuade him to come across.”
“So? The contact had progressed to a point of sufficient solidity and proximity that he was able to stab him anyway. He was probably even able to achieve a mental lock and hold him where he was while he bled. The kid probably hadn’t had much experience with the Trumps.”
“Maybe yes, maybe no,” I said. “Llewella or Moire might be able to tell us how much he knew about the Trumps. But what I was getting at was the possibility that contact could have been broken before death. If he inherited your regenerative abilities he might have survived.”
“Might have? I don’t want guesses! I want answers!”
I commenced a balancing act within my mind. I believed I knew something that he did not, but then my source was not the best. Also, I wanted to keep quiet about the possibility because I had not had a chance to discuss it with Benedict. On the other hand, Martin was Random’s son, and I did want to direct his attention away from Brand.
“Random, I may have something,” I said.
“What?”
“Right after Brand was stabbed,” I said, “when we were talking together in the sitting room, do you remember when the conversation turned to the subject of Martin?”
“Yes. Nothing new came up.”
“I had something I might have added at that time, but I restrained myself because everyone was there. Also, because I wanted to pursue it in private with the party concerned.”
“Who?”
“Benedict.”
“Benedict? What has he to do with Martin?”
“I do not know. That is why I wanted to keep it quiet until I found out. And my source of information was a touchy one, at that.”
“Go ahead.”
“Dara. Benedict gets mad as hell whenever I mention her name, but so far a number of things she told me have proved correct — things like the journey of Julian and Gerard along the black road, their injury, their stay in Avalon. Benedict admitted these things had happened.”
“What did she say about Martin?”
Indeed. How to phrase it without giving away the show on Brand…? Dara had said that Brand had visited Benedict a number of times in Avalon, over a span of years. The time differential between Amber and Avalon is such that it seemed likely, now that I thought about it, that the visits fell into the period when Brand was so actively seeking information on Martin. I had wondered what kept drawing him back there, since he and Benedict had never been especially chummy.
“Only that Benedict had had a vistor named Martin, whom she thought was from Amber,” I lied.
“When?”
“Some while back. I’m not sure.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“It is not really very much — and besides, you had never seemed especially interested in Martin.”
Random shifted his gaze to the griffin, crouched and gurgling on my right, then nodded.
“I am now,” he said. “Things change. If he is still alive, I would like to get to know him. If he is not…”
“Okay,” I said. “The best way to be about either one is to start figuring a way to get home. I believe we have seen what we were supposed to see and I would like to clear out.”
“I was thinking about that,” he said, “and it occurred to me that we could probably use this Pattern for that purpose. Just head out to the center and transfer back.”
“Going in along the dark area?” I asked.
“Why not? Ganelon has already tried it and he’s okay.”
“A moment,” said Ganelon. “I did not say that it was easy, and I am positive you could not get the horses to go that route.”
“What do you mean?” I said.
“Do you remember that place where we crossed the black road — back when we were fleeing Avalon?”
“Of course.”
“Well, the sensations I experienced in retrieving the card and the dagger were not unlike the upset that came over us at that time. It is one of the reasons I was running so fast. I would favor trying the Trumps again first, under the theory that this point is congruent with Amber.”
I nodded.
“All right. We might as well try making it as easy as we can. Let’s collect the horses first.”
We did this, learning the length of the griffin’s leash while we were about it. He was drawn up short about thirty meters from the cave mouth, and immediately set up a bieating complaint. This did not make the job of pacifying the horses any easier, but it did give rise to a peculiar notion which I decided to keep to myself.
Once we had things under control. Random located his Trumps and I brought out my own.
“Let’s try for Benedict,” he said.
“All right. Any time now.”
I noticed immediately that the cards felt cold again, a good sign. I shuffled out Benedict’s and began the preliminaries. Beside me, Random did the same. Contact came almost at once.
“What is the occasion?” Benedict asked, his eyes moving over Random, Ganelon, and the horses, then meeting with my own.
“Will you bring us through?” I said.
“Horses, too?”
“The works.”
“Come ahead.”
He extended his hand and I touched it. We all moved toward him. Moments later, we stood with him in a high, rocky place, a chill wind ruffling our garments, the sun of Amber past midday in a sky full of clouds. Benedict wore a stiff leather jacket and buckskin leggings. His shirt was a faded yellow. An orange cloak concealed the stump of his right arm. He tightened his long jaw and peered down at me.
“Interesting spot you hie from,” he said. “I glimpsed something of the background.”
I nodded.
“Interesting view from this height, also,” I said, noting the spyglass at his belt at the same time that I realized we stood on the wide ledge of rock from which Eric had commanded battle on the day of his death and my return. I moved to regard the dark swath through Garnath, far below and stretching off to the horizon.