The Courts Of Chaos

“Dad..?” Julian said softly.

“He wanted to be taken beyond the Courts of Chaos and into the final darkness when his time came at last,” Bleys said. “So Dworkin once told me. Beyond Chaos and Amber, to a place where none reigned.”

“And so it is,” Fiona said. “But is there order somewhere beyond that wall they come through? Or does the storm go on forever? If he succeeded, it is but a passing matter and we are in no danger. But if he did not...”

“It does not matter,” I said, “whether or not he succeeded, because I did.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I believe that he failed,” I said, “that he was destroyed before he could repair the old Pattern. When I saw this storm coming-actually, I experienced a part of it-I realized that I could not possibly make it here in time with the Jewel, which he had sent to me after his efforts. Brand had been trying to get it from me all along the way-to create a new Pattern, he said. Later, that gave me the idea. When I saw that all else was failing, I used the Jewel to create a new Pattern. It was the most difficult thing I ever did, but I succeeded. Things should hold together after this wave passes, whether we survive it or not. Brand stole the Jewel from me just as I completed it. When I recovered from his attack I was able to use the new Pattern to project me here. So there is still a Pattern, no matter what else happens.”

“But Corwin,” she said, “what if Dad succeeded?”

“I do not know.”

“It is my understanding,” Bleys said, “from things that Dworkin told me, that two distinct Patterns could not exist in the same universe. Those in Rebma and Tir-na Nog'th do not count, being but reflections of our own...”

“What would happen?” I said.

“I think there would be a splitting off, the founding of a new existence-somewhere.”

“Then what would its effect be upon our own?”

“Either total catastrophe or no effect whatsoever,” Fiona said. “I can make a case for its going either way.”

“Then we are right back Where we started,” I said. “Either things are going to fall apart shortly or they are going to hold.”

“So it would seem,” Bleys said.

“It does not matter, if we are not going to be around after that wave gets to us,” I said. “And it will.”

I turned my attention back to the funeral cortege. More horsemen had emerged behind the wagon, followed by marching drummers. Then pe

...I hated you for so long, blamed you for so many things. Now it is over, and none of these feelings remain. Instead, you had even wanted me to be king, a job for which-I see now-I am not fitted. I see that I must have meant something to you after all. I will never tell the others. It is enough to know it myself. But I can never think of you in the same fashion again. Already your image blurs. I see Ganelon's face where yours should be. He was my companion. He risked his neck for me. He was you, but a different you-a you that I had not known. How many wives and enemies had you outlived? Were there many friends? I think not. But there were so many things about you of which we knew nothing. I never thought that I would see your passing. Ganelon-Father-old friend and enemy, I bid you farewell. You join Deirdre, whom I have loved. You have preserved your mystery. Rest in peace, if that be your will. I give you this withered rose I have borne through hell, casting it into the abyss. I leave you the rose and the twisted colors in the sky. I will miss you...

Finally, the long line came to an end. The last marchers emerged from the curtain and moved away. The lightning still flared, the rain still poured and the thunder rumbled. No member of the procession that I could recall had seemed wet, however. I had been standing at the edge of the abyss, watching them pass. There was a hand on my arm. How long it had been there, I could not tell. Now that the passage was complete, I realized that the stormfront was advancing again.

The rotation of the sky seemed to be bringing more darkness upon us. There were voices off to my left. It seemed they had been talking for a long while, but I had not been hearing their words. I realized that I was shaking, that I ached all over, that I could barely stand.

“Come and lie down,” Fiona said. “The family has shrunken enough for one day.”

I let her lead me away from the edge.

“Would it really make any difference?” I asked. “How much longer do you think we have?”

“We do not have to stay here and wait for it,” she said. “We will cross the dark bridge into the Courts. We have already broken their defense. The storm may not reach that far. It may be stopped here by the abyss. We ought to see Dad off, anyway.”

I nodded.

“It would seem we have small choice but to be dutiful unto the end.”

I eased myself down and sighed. If anything, I felt even weaker now.

“Your boots...” she said.

“Yes.”

She pulled them off. My feet throbbed.

“Thanks.”

“I'll get you some rations.”

I closed my eyes. I dozed. Too many images played within my head to make for a coherent dream. How long this lasted. I do not know, but an old reflex drew me to wakefulness at the sound of an approaching horse. Then a shadow passed over my eyelids.

I looked up and beheld a muffled rider, silent, still. I was regarded.

I looked back. No threatening gesture had been made, but there was a feeling of antipathy in that cold gaze.

“There lies the hero,” said a soft voice.

I said nothing.

“I could slay you easily now.”

I recognized the voice then, though I had no idea as to the reason behind the sentiment.

“I came upon Borel before he died,” she said. “He told me how ignobly you had bested him.”

I could not help it, I could not control it. A dry chuckle rose in my throat. Of all the stupid things to get upset about. I might have told her that Borel had been far better equipped and far fresher than I, and that he had come to me looking for a fight. I might have told her that I do not recognize rules when my life is at stake, or that I do not consider war a game. I could have said a great number of things, but if she did not know them already or did not choose to understand them, they would not have made a bit of difference. Besides, her feelings were already plain.

So I simply said one of the great trite truths: “There is generally more than one side to a story.”

“I will settle for the one I have,” she told me.

I thought about shrugging, but my shoulders were too sore.

“You have cost me two of the most important persons in my life,” she said then.

“Oh?” I said. “I'm sorry, for you.”

“You are not what I was led to believe. I had seen you as a truly noble figure-strong, yet understanding and sometimes gentle. Honorable...”

The storm, much closer now, was flaring at her back. I thought of something vulgar and said it. She let it pass as if she had not heard me.

“I am going now,” she said, “back to my own people. You have won the day thus far-but that way lay Amber.” She gestured toward the storm. I could only stare. Not at the raging elements. At her. “I doubt there is anything of my new allegiance left for me to renounce,” she continued.

“What about Benedict?” I asked softly.

“Don't...” she said, and she turned away. There was a silence. Then, “I do not believe that we will ever meet again,” she said, and her horse carried her off to my left, in the direction of the black road.

A cynic might have decided that she had simply chosen to toss in her lot with what she now saw as the wi