“We just had one ourselves,” Bleys told me.
“Monster or storm?”
“Storm,” he replied. “Two hundred dead.”
“Keep the faith,” I said, “hold the fort, and talk to me later. Okay?”
He nodded, and there were lightnings at his back.
“Eric‘s got our number,” he added, before he cut off.
I had to agree.
It was three more hours before things let up, and many more later I learned that we had lost half of the fleet (and on my vessel—the flagship—we had lost forty of the crew of one hundred and twenty). It was a hard rain that fell.
Somehow, to the sea over Rebma, we made it.
I drew forth my cards and held Random‘s before me.
When he realized who was talking. the first thing he said was “Turn back,” and I asked him why.
“ ‘Cause, according to Llewella, Eric can cream you now. She says wait a while, till he relaxes, and hit him then—like a year from now, maybe.”
I shook my head.
“Sorry,” said I. “Can‘t. Too many losses involved in getting us this far. It‘s a now-or-never situation.”
He shrugged, wearing a “Like, I warned you” expression.
“Why. though?” I asked him.
“Mainly because I just learned he can control the weather around here,” he said.
“We‘ll still have to chance it.”
He shrugged again.
“Don‘t say I didn‘t tell you.”
“He definitely knows we‘re coming?”
“What do you think? Is he a cretin?”
“No.”
“Then he knows. If I could guess it in Rebma, then he knows in Amber—and I did guess, from a wavering of Shadow.”
“Unfortunately,” I said, “I have some misgivings about this expedition, but it‘s Bleys‘ show.”
“You cop out and let him get axed.”
“Sorry, but I can‘t take the chance. He might win. I‘m bringing in the fleet.”
“You‘ve spoken with Caine, with Gerard?”
“Yes.”
“Then you must think you have a chance upon the waters. But listen, Eric has figured a way to control the Jewel of Judgment, I gather, from court gossip about its double. He can use it to control the weather here. That‘s definite. God knows what else he might be able to do with it.”
“Pity,” I said. “We‘ll have to suffer it. Can‘t let a few storms demoralize us.”
“Corwin, I‘ll confess. I spoke with Eric himself three days ago.”
“Why?”
“He asked me. I spoke with him out of boredom. He went into great detail concerning his defenses.”
“That‘s because he learned from Julian that we came in together. He‘s sure it‘ll get back to me.”
“Probably,” he said. “But that doesn‘t change what he said.”
“No,” I agreed.
“Then let Bleys fight his own war,” he told me. “You can hit Eric later.”
“He‘s about to be crowned in Amber.”
“I know, I know. It‘s as easy to attack a king, though, as a prince. isn‘t it? What difference does it make what he calls himself at the time, so long as you take him? It‘ll still be Eric.”
“True,” I said, “but I‘ve committed myself.”
“Then uncommit yourself,” he said.
“ ‘Fraid I can‘t do that.”
“Then you‘re crazy, Charlie.”
“Probably.”
“Well, good luck, anyhow.”
“Thanks.”
“See you around.”
And that was that, and it troubled me.
Was I heading into a trap?
Eric was no fool. Perhaps he had a real death-gig lined up. Finally, I shrugged and leaned out over the rail, the cards once again behind my belt.
It is a proud and lonely thing to be a prince of Amber, incapable of trust. I wasn‘t real fond of it just then, but there I was.
Eric, of course, had controlled the storm we‘d just passed through, and it seemed in line with his being weather master in Amber, as Random had told me.
So I tried something myself.
I headed us toward an Amber lousy with snow. It was the most horrible blizzard I could conjure up.
The big flakes began to fall, out there on the ocean.
Let him stop them a normal enough Shadow offering, if he could.
And he did.
Within a half hour‘s time the blizzard had died, Amber was virtually impervious—and it was really the only city. I didn‘t want to go off course, so I let things be. Eric was master of the weather in Amber.