The Hand Of Oberon

«I picked up a pack from the case in the library a while back. Thought it a good idea to have a way of getting in touch with you in a hurry. As for using them, I just did what you and the others seem to do - study the Trump, think about it, concentrate on getting in touch with the person.»

«I should have gotten you a pack long ago,» I said. «It was an oversight on my part which I am glad you've remedied. Are you just testing them now, or did something come up?»

«Something,» he said. «Where are you?»

«As chance would have it, I am on my way down to see you.»

«You are all right?»

«Yes.»

«Fine. Come ahead then. I'd rather not try bringing you through this thing, the way you people do. It is not that urgent. I will see you by and by.»

«Yes.»

He broke the contact and I rustled the reins and continued on. For a moment, I had been irritated that he had not simply asked me for a deck. Then I recalled that I had been away for over a week, by Amber's time. He had probably been getting worried, didn't trust any of the others to do it for him. Perhaps rightly so.

The descent went quickly, as did the balance of the journey to the camp. The horse - whose name, by the way, was Drum - seemed happy to be going somewhere and had a tendency to pull away at the least excuse. I gave him his head at one point to tire him a bit, and it was not too long afterward that I sighted the camp. I realized at about that time that I missed Star.

I was the subject of stares and salutes as I rode into camp. A silence followed me and all activity ceased as I passed. I wondered whether they believed I had come to deliver a battle order.

Ganelon emerged from his tent before I had dismounted.

«Fast,» he observed, clasping my hand as I came down. «Pretty horse, that.»

«Yes,» I agreed, turning the reins over to his orderly. «What news have you?»

«Well…» he said. «I've been talking to Benedict…»

«Something stirring on the black road?»

«No, no. Nothing like that. He came to see me after he returned from those friends of his - the Tecys - to tell me that Random was all right, that he was following a lead as to Martin's whereabouts. We got to talking of other matters after that, and finally he asked me to tell him everything I knew about Dara. Random had told him about her walking the Pattern, and he had decided then that too many people other than yourself were aware of her existence.»

«So what did you tell him?»

«Everything.»

«Including the guesswork, the speculation after Tir-na Nog'th?»

«Just so.»

«I see. How did he take this?»

«He seemed excited about it. Happy, I'd even say. Come talk with him yourself.»

I nodded and he turned toward his tent. He pushed back the flap and stepped aside. I entered.

Benedict was seated on a low stool beside a foot locker atop which a map had been spread. He was tracing something on the map with the long metal finger of the glinting, skeletal hand attached to the deadly, silver-cabled, firepinned mechanical arm I had brought back from the city in the sky, the entire device now attached to the stump of his right arm a little below the point where the sleeve had been cut away from his brown shirt, a transformation which halted me with a momentary shudder, so much did he resemble the ghost I had encountered. His eyes rose to meet my own and he raised the hand in greeting, a casual, perfectly executed gesture, and he smiled the broadest smile I had ever seen crease his face.

«Corwin!» he said, and then he rose and extended that hand.

I had to force myself to clasp the device which had almost killed me. But Benedict looked more kindly disposed toward me than he had in a long while. I shook the new hand and its pressures were perfect. I tried to disregard its coldness and angularity and almost succeeded, in my amazement at the control he had acquired over it in such a brief time.

«I owe you an apology,» he said. «I have wronged you. I am very sorry.»

«It's all right,» I said. «I understand.»

He clasped me for a moment, and my belief that things had apparently been set right between us was darkened only by the grip of those precise and deadly fingers on my shoulder.

Ganelon chuckled and brought up another stool, which he set at the other end of the locker. My irritation at his having aired the subject I had not wanted mentioned, whatever the circumstances, was submerged by the sight of its effects. I could not remember having seen Benedict in better spirits; Ganelon was obviously pleased at having effected the resolution of our differences.

I smiled myself and accepted a seat, unbuckling my sword belt and hanging Grayswandir on the tent pole. Ganelon produced three glasses and a bottle of wine. As he set the glasses before us and poured, he remarked, «To return the hospitality of your tent, that night, back in Avalon.»

Benedict took up his glass with but the faintest of clicks.

«There is more ease in this tent,» he said. «Is that not so, Corwin?»

I nodded and raised my glass.

«To that ease. May it always prevail.»