“How far is it from Arbor House?”
“About a league,” she replied. “An easy ride.”
She stayed by me in silence for a while, watching the coastline and the sea. It was the first time we had simply sat together, my hands unoccupied and my mind free. And my sorcerer’s sense was stirred in that interval. I felt as if I were in the presence of magic. Not some simple spell or the aura of some charmed object she might be bearing, but something very subtle. I summoned my vision and turned it upon her. There was nothing immediately obvious, but prudence suggested I check further. I extended my inquiry through the Logrus. . . .
“Please don’t do that;’ she said.
I had just committed a faux pas. It is generally considered somewhat gauche to probe a fellow practitioner in such a fashion.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t realize you were a student of the Art.”
“I am not,” she answered, “but I am sensitive to its operations.”
“In that case, you would probably make a good one.”
“My interests lie elsewhere,” she said.
“I thought perhaps someone had laid a spell upon you,” I stated. “I was only trying to-“
“Whatever you saw,” she said, “belongs. Let it be.”
“As you would. Sorry.”
She must have known I couldn’t let it rest at that, though, when unknown magic represents possible danger. So she went on, “It is nothing that can do you harm, I assure you. Quite the contrary.”
I waited, but she did not have anything further to say on the matter. So I had to let it drop, for the moment. I shifted my gaze back to the lighthouse. What was I getting into with her, anyhow? How had she even known that I was back in town, let alone that I would visit Death Alley when I did? She must have known that the question would occur to me, and if there was to be good faith on both our parts she should be willing to explain it.
I turned back toward her, and she was smiling again.
“The wind changes in the lee of the light,” she said, and she rose.
“Excuse me. I’ve work to do.”
“May I give you a hand?”
“In a bit. I’ll call you when I need you.”
I watched her move away, and as I did I had the eerie feeling that she was watching me also, no matter where she was looking. I realized, too, that this feeling had been with me for some time, like the sea.
By the time we had docked and put everything in order and headed up a hill along a wide cobbled way toward an inn with smoke snaking from its chimney, the sky was growing pale in the east. After a hearty breakfast, morning’s light lay full upon the world. We walked then to a livery stable where three quiet mounts were obtained for the ride to her father’s estate:
It was one of those clear crisp autumn days which become rarer and dearer as the year winds down. I finally felt somewhat rested, and the inn had had coffee-which is not that common in Amber, outside the palace -and I enjoy my morning cup. It was good to move through the countryside at a leisurely pace and to smell the land, to watch the moisture fade from sparkling fields and turning leaves, to feel the wind, to hear and watch a flock of birds southbound for the Isles of the Sun. We rode in silence, and nothing happened to break my mood. Memories of sorrow, betrayal, suffering and violence are strong but they do fade, whereas interludes such as this, when I close my eyes and regard the calendar of my days, somehow outlast them, as I see myself riding with Vinta Bayle under morning skies where the houses and fences are stone and stray seabirds call, there in the wine country to the east of Amber, and the scythe of Time has no power in this corner of the heart.
When we arrived at Arbor House we gave the horses into the care of Bayle’s grooms, who would see to their eventual return to town. Drew departed for his own quarters then, and I walked with Vinta to the huge hilltop manor house. It commanded far views of rocky valleys and hillsides where the grapes were grown. A great number of dogs approached and tried to be friendly as we made our way to the house, and once we had entered their voices still reached us on occasion. Wood and wrought iron, gray flagged floors, high beamed ceilings, clerestory windows, family portraits, a couple of small tapestries of salmon, brown, ivory and blue, a collection of old weapons showing a few touches of oxidation, soot smudges on the gray stone about the hearth. . . . We passed through the big front hall and up a stair.