His eyes tightened, flickered, opened. His face remained without expression as his eyes focused on mine. I wondered whether he even recognized me.
But he said my name, and then, “I knew that it would be you.” He paused for a couple of breaths and went on, “They saved you some trouble, didn’t they?” I did not reply. He already knew the answer.
“Your turn will come one day,” he continued. “Then we will be peers.” He chuckled and realized too late that he should not have. He went into an unpleasant spasm of moist coughing. When it passed, he glared at me.
“I could feel your curse,” he said. “All around me. The whole time. You didn’t even have to die to make it stick.”
Then, as if reading my thoughts, he smiled faintly and said, “No I’m not going to give you my death curse. I’ve reserved that for the enemies of Amber-out there.” He gestured with his eyes. He pronounced it then, in a whisper, and I shuddered to overhear it.
He returned his gaze to my face and stared for a moment. Then he plucked at the chain about his neck.
“The Jewel . . .” he said. “You take it with you to the center of the Pattern. Hold it up. Very close-to an eye. Stare into it-and consider it a place. Try to project yourself-inside. You don’t go. But there is-experience. . . . Afterward, you know how to use it. . . .”
“How-?” I began, but stopped. He had already told me how to attune to it. Why ask him to waste his breath on how he had figured it out?
But he caught it and managed, “Dworkin’s notes . . . under fireplace. . . my-“
Then he was taken with another coughing spell and the blood came out of his nose and his mouth. He sucked in a deep breath and heaved himself into a sitting position, eyes rolling wildly.
“Acquit yourself as well as I have-bastard!” he said, then fell into my arms and heaved out his final, bloody breath.
I held him for several moments, then lowered him into his former position. His eyes were still open, and I reached out and closed them. Almost automatically, I put his hands together atop the now lifeless gem. I had no stomach to take it from him at that moment. I stood then, removed my cloak, and covered him with it.
Turning, I saw that all of them were staring at me. Familiar faces, many of them. Some strange ones mixed in. So many who had been there that night when I had come to dinner in chains. . . .
No. It was not the time to think of that. I pushed it from my mind. The shooting had stopped, and Ganelon was calling the troops back and ordering some sort of formation.
I walked forward.
I passed among the Amberites. I passed among the dead. I walked by my own troops and moved to the edge of the cliff.
In the valley below me, the fighting continued, the cavalry flowing like turbulent waters, merging, eddying, receding, the infantry still swarming like insects.
I drew forth the cards I had taken from Benedict. I removed his own from the deck. It shimmered before me, and after a time there was contact.
He was mounted on the same red and black horse on which he had pursued me. He was in motion and there was fighting all about him. Seeing that he confronted another horseman, I remained still. He spoke but a single word. “Bide,” he said.
He dispatched his opponent with two quick movements of his blade. Then he wheeled his mount and began to withdraw from the fray. I saw that his horse’s reins had been lengthened and were looped and tied loosely about the remainder of his right arm. It took him over ten minutes to remove himself to a place of relative calm. When he had, he regarded me, and I could tell that he was also studying the prospect that lay at my back.
“Yes, I am on the heights,” I told him. “We have won. Eric died in the battle.”