A Secret of Amber

'It was starting to end,' the book – THE book – began.
Mildly interested (my father's study was chock-full of all sorts of books, and each new opening of pages might reveal just about anything), I read on.
By 'Where the hell was I?' I was hooked.
Let thirty-some years blow past, and come to a standstill now.
On a height, looking down into Arden, with a silver blade in one hand and the cold tingling of Trumps in the other.
I'm still hooked.
I think I always will be.
I want to believe that Amber is real, and that this place is just a Shadow.
Over those years, I read and re-read Nine Princes In Amber – and as each new novel came out, I and my best friend Dave devoured it, walked the parks near our homes for hours speculating as to who among the Royals was behind what attack, and making untrustworthy alliance with whom.
I wrote my own books.
I dared to travel to sf conventions.
There came a day when a man with glasses as severe as my own sat at a table, signing the books a long line of fans thrust eagerly at him.
I was one of them, and the book was my father's precious copy ofNine Princes .
And he swung it open at my bookmark.
My bookmark, foolishly left inside.
‘Foolishly' because it bore these words of mine:

She raised an eyebrow.
'I thought better of you, brother.
It seems Iwas wrong.
'I sipped my wine.
'It seems you were.
Again.
'Silence.
She raised the other brow.
I gave her more silence.
'Well.
Corwin?''Disappointment,' I observed, over the rim of my glass, 'is a beastthat runs in packs.
'And the Lord of Amber looked up from my scribbles and smiled.
'Fiona,' he said.
It was not a question, but I nodded and grinned like an idiot.
He flashed me a grin just aswide, and wrote:

'Whereas wit is a bird that eludes the hand of rather toomany princes.
'I shrugged.
'Your disapproval concerns me even less thanusual, Fi.
All things considered.
'She tossed her head, red hair like a fall of flame.
'Yet perhapsit should.
All things considered.
'I did things with my own eyebrows, emptied my glass, swungmy boots down from the table, and headed for the door.
She chuckled, behind me.
I stopped, refrained from turning, and waited.
Fiona couldnever resist showing the rest of us that she was a step ahead.
Orpretending to be.
'You are wearing your blade,' she said.
'Good.
'I went out, uttering no clever comments.
With at least threemurderous ghosts stalking Castle Amber, the time for such thingswas past.
He looked up from hand book and bookmark back to me, and laughed when hesaw my badge, and my name on it.
'Yes,' I mumbled, 'I'd been meaning to speak to you about that.
The hospital –''Let you out for the day.
Glad you came.
' Again the smile.
'Well, uh, thanks.
See you next year,' I said, and meant it.
He never signed the book, I realized later, but I had that precious bookmark – andan idea.
I thought long and hard, and then carefully wrote under Roger's words:

Lightning struck Kolvir, somewhere outside the windows, as I mademy way back to my room.
I saw no one.
There was a fire going on the grate, and everything was as I hadleft it.
Which meant drink of my choosing was handy.
I chose generously.
Full of good spirits, I cracked a better book and waited forwhatever spirits might come.
Let a year blow by, more than one, but in time there was another con, and anothertable, and Roger's latest, glossy and new.
I handed it to him open, with the bookmark init.
He looked up at me with an almost fierce grin, looked down again to read what I'dwritten, and then wrote under it:

It was very late, or rather early, before one of the wallsopened in a place where it should not have done, and somethingthat was both silver and shadow joined me.
Grayswandir felt good in my hand as I put down what I wasfinished drinking anyway, and waited.
Patience, they say, is chiefly a virtue for statues, but I'dmade more than my share of mistakes, thus far, and blood is hellto get out of good rugs.
Came a whisper, out of darkness:

'Corwin.
Is it time?'Another year, another new Amber book, and by then I'd penned my feeble fewunder Roger's:

So it knew me.
You have the advantage, and all that.
Time forwhat?'No,' I said very firmly.
'Go away.
'A stirring of silver, rising before me.
'I fear not, Prince of Amber.
Imust have the blood I came for.
' The whisper was close, and hungry, andutterly unfamiliar.
I stepped back, slicing the air before me with my blade.
'Supposeyou tell me why.
And your name, while you're at it.
'The reply was a chuckle that did seem familiar, somehow, in themoment before the shadows boiled up into half a dozen stabbing,slashing blades, and Grayswandir rang in protest, sparks flying aroundme.
I considered some obscenities and then discarded them all.
Fiona had been ahead of me.
Again.
'The Fool Prince,' she'd called me once.
And would again, if I waslucky enough in these next few panting minutes.
Or swift enough.
Lightning struck the Castle, somewhere nearby.
Which itself shouldnot have happened, what with the enchantments –A swordpoint melted back into shadow, and then another, and myblade bit into nothing beyond.
A nothing that spilled silver out across my floor, scorching the rugswith sudden plumes of smoke.
'Prince of Amber!' my visitor hissed in pain.
'You fight well!'I struck again.
A handful of years, and another con, both of us visibly older now, but the grin assharp as ever.
Roger sat back to read the whole thing through, this time, then reached out andshook my hand.
Then without a pause he wrote:

And shadows fled before me, and I was alone.
My book was on the floor, blackened.
Damn.
I watchedlightning flicker and wondered if I would ever know what Ifought, or why.
Family politics seemed as tiresome as ever.
Three ghosts, Benedict had said, and had been on the brink ofsaying more ere his face had smoothed and he'd turned away.
Which meant he'd recognized the one he'd seen.
So had the lamplighter, before the ghost that slew him caughtup with him and burned his skull bare, from within.
Coln had died, before that, and one of the cooks.
Seven maids,or more by now, since.
Then they'd started on us.
Flora had almost fallen to one, andthen Julian.
Almost.
We're tough meat, we of Amber.
I laughed at that, and so did he.
I went home and pondered for some monthsbefore I wrote:My wall was as solid as ever, so I got out a lantern, and wentlooking for trouble.
Something Princes of Amber never do, according toone of Droppa's little ditties.
Ho ho.
'Do not be too hasty,' Dad had told me once, when I'd brokensomething in a rage at Eric.
But then, a lot had changed since Dad'sdisappearance.
A lot, indeed.
I was descending a stair when shadows and silverspun up again.
Below me and above me, to the accompaniment ofghostly laughter.
I sighed.
It was going to be one of those nights.
And when next our paths seemed fated to cross, it was to be at a GenCon whereRoger Zelazny was to be Guest of Honor, and I'd be on my usual panels, plus one withhim.
I was looking forward to a pleasant hour or so of passing that bookmark – twopanels long, now, and I planned to bring more with me – back and forth along the table aswe answered questions and held gentle debate, and really getting into the tale.
Our own little foray into Amber.
May I have this dance, please? Yes, I'll have thesame again, thanks!But whatever gods there be had other ideas.
Roger never made it into the summer,and now I'll never know how it would have turned out.
Damn it all.
But thank you, Roger.
Thank you.
Thank you, Lord of Amber.

Ed Greenwood

Ed Greenwood is known to the world as an incredibly prolific and talented writer,creator of the ‘Forgotten Realms,' and lots of other stuff (google his name for morecomplete lists).
Ed is known to Phage Press as a tremendous fan and morale booster, sureto show up at our booth at every Gencon, with a ready smile and epic words ofencouragement.
Thanks, Ed, for sharing your treasured Zelazny experiences!