“How can we get in touch with the Tecys?” he asked Benedict.
“No way,” said Benedict, “except to go and see them.”
Random turned to me.
“Corwin, I need a horse. You say that Star’s been through a number of hellrides…”
“He’s had a busy morning.”
“It wasn’t that strenuous. It was mostly fright, and he seems okay now. May I borrow him?”
Before I could answer, he turned toward Benedict.
“You’ll take me, won’t you?” he said.
Benedict hesitated.
“I do not know what more there is to learn —” he began.
“Anything! Anything at all they might remember-possibly something that did not really seem important at the time but is now, knowing what we know.”
Benedict looked to me. I nodded.
“He can ride Star, if you are willing to take him.”
“All right,” Benedict said, getting to his feet. “I’ll fetch my mount.”
He turned and headed off toward the place where the great striped beast was tethered.
“Thanks, Corwin,” Random said.
“I’ll let you do me a favor in return.”
“What?”
“Let me borrow Martin’s Trump.”
“What for?”
“An idea just hit me. It is too complicated to get into if you want to get moving. No harm should come of it, though.”
He chewed his lip.
“Okay. I want it back when you are done with it.”
“Of course.”
“Will it help find him?”
“Maybe.”
He passed me the card.
“You heading back to the palace now?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Would you tell Vialle what has happened and where I have gone? She worries.”
“Sure. I’ll do that.”
“I’ll take good care of Star.”
“I know that. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
I rode Firedrake. Ganelon walked. He had insisted. We followed the route I had taken in pursuing Dara on the day of the battle. Along with recent developments, that is probably what made me think of her again. I dusted off my feelings and examined them carefully. I realized then that despite the games she had played with me, the killings she had doubtless been privy or party to, and her stated designs upon the realm, I was still attracted to her by something more than curiosity. I was not really surprised to discover this. Things had looked pretty much the same the last time I had pulled a surprise inspection in the emotional barracks. I wondered then how much of truth there might have been to my final vision of the previous night, wherein her possible line of descent from Benedict had been stated. There was indeed a physical resemblance, and I was more than half-convinced. In the ghost city, of course, the shade of Benedict had conceded as much, raising his new, strange arm in her defense…
“What’s funny?” Ganelon asked, from where he strode to my left.
“The arm,” I said, “that came to me from Tir-na Nog’th — I had worried over some hidden import, some unforeseen force of destiny to the thing, coming as it had into our world from that place of mystery and dream. Yet it did not even last the day. Nothing remained when the Pattern destroyed Iago. The entire evening’s visions come to nothing.”
Ganelon cleared his throat.
“Well, it wasn’t exactly the way you seem to think,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“That arm device was not in Iago’s saddlebag. Random stowed it in your bag. That’s where the food was, and after we had eaten he returned the utensils to where they had been in his own bag, but not the arm. There was no space.”
“Oh,” I said. “Then —”
Ganelon nodded. “— So he has it with him now,” he finished.
“The arm and Benedict both. Damn! I’ve small liking for that thing. It tried to kill me. No one has ever been attacked in Tir-na Nog’th before.”
“But Benedict, Benedict’s okay. He’s on our side, even if you have some differences at the moment. Right?”
I did not answer him.
He reached up and took Firedrake’s reins, drawing him to a halt. He stared up then, studying my face.
“Corwin, what happened up there, anyway? What did you learn?”
I hesitated. In truth, what had I learned in the city in the sky? No one was certain as to the mechanism behind the visions of Tir-na Nog’th. It could well be, as we have sometimes suspected, that the place simply served to objectify one’s unspoken fears and desires, mixing them perhaps with unconscious guesswork. Sharing conclusions and reasonably based conjectures was one thing. Suspicions engendered by something unknown were likely better retained than given currency. Still, that arm was solid enough…
“I told you,” I said, “that I had knocked that arm off the ghost of Benedict. Obviously, we were fighting.”
“You see it then as an omen that you and Benedict will eventually be in conflict?”
“Perhaps.”
“You were shown a reason for it, weren’t you?”
“Okay,” I said, finding a sigh without trying. “Yes. It was indicated that Dara was indeed related to Benedict — a thing which may well be correct. It is also quite possible, if it is true, that he is unaware of it. Therefore, we keep quiet about it until we can verify it or discount it. Understood?”
“Of course. But how could this thing be?”
“Just as she said.”
“Great-granddaughter?”
I nodded.
“By whom?”
“The hellmaid we knew only by reputation — Lintra, the lady who cost him his arm.”
“But that battle was only a recent thing.”
“Time flows differently in different realms of Shadow, Ganelon. In the farther reaches — It would not be impossible.”
He shook his head and relaxed his grip on the reins.
“Corwin, I really think Benedict should know aboat this,” he said. “If it is true, you ought to give him a chance to prepare himself rather than let him discover it of a sudden. You people are such an infertile lot that paternity seems to hit you harder than it does others. Look at Random. For years, he had disowned his son, and now — I’ve a feeling he’d risk his life for him.”
“So do I,” I said. “Now forget the first part but carry the second one a step farther in the case of Benedict.”
“You think he would take Dara’s side against Amber?”
“I would rather avoid presenting him with the choice by not letting him know that it exists — if it exists.”
“I think you do him a disservice. He is hardly an emotional infant. Get hold of him on the Trump and tell him your suspicions. That way, at least, he can be thinking about it, rather than have him risk some sudden confrontation unprepared.”
“He would not believe me. You have seen how he gets whenever I mention Dara.”
“That in itself may say something. Possibly he suspects what might have happened and rejects it so vehemently because he would have it otherwise.”
“Right now it would just widen a rift I am trying to heal.”
“Your holding back on him now may serve to rupture it completely when he finds out.”
“No. I believe I know my brother better than you do.”
He released the reins.
“Very well,” he said. “I hope you are right.”
I did not answer, but started Firedrake to moving once more. There was an unspoken understanding between us that Ganelon could ask me anything he wanted, and it also went without saying that I would listen to any advice he had to offer me. This was partly because his position was unique. We were not related. He was no Amberite. The struggles and problems of Amber were his only by choice. We had been friends and then enemies long ago, and finally, more recently, friends again and allies in a battle in his adopted land. That matter concluded, he had asked to come with me, to help me deal with my own affairs and those of Amber. As I saw it, he owed me nothing now, nor I him — if one keeps a scoreboard tally on such matters. Therefore, it was friendship alone that bound us, a stronger thing than bygone debts and points of honor: in other words, a thing which gave him the right to bug me on matters such as this, where I might have told even Random to go to hell once I had made up my mind. I realized I should not be irritated when everything that he said was tendered in good faith. Most likely it was an old military feeling, going back to our earliest relationship as well as being tied in with the present state of affairs: I do not like having my decisions and orders questioned. Probably, I decided, I was irritated even more by the fact that he had made some shrewd guesses of late, and some fairly sound suggestions based upon them — things I felt I ought to have caught myself. No one likes to admit to a resentment based on something like that. Still… was that all? A simple projection of dissatisfaction over a few instances of personal inadequacy? An old army reflex as to the sanctity of my decisions? Or was it something deeper that had been bothering me and was just now coming to the surface?