Roger Zelazny: The Chronicles of Amber

“I do, too,” I said. A strange calmness came over me. At a time like this, I would have expected to be at least a little nervous. But I wasn't. Everything was coming out better than I'd hoped.

We would field an army unmatched in the history of war. Half a million soldiers marching against Chaos, all under my banner… Swayvil could not prevail.

Freda always managed to surprise me. I expected news of King Swayvil's pending attack to come from Dad and the scouts he was scattering through Shadows. But it was my sister who came to me in the library and said simply:

“Swayvil's forces are marching now.”

“What! How do you know?”

“Great Aunt Eddarg.” She smiled. “We discuss dinner at the palace nearly every day. Apparently the king neglected to tell her that half the court wouldn't be at dinner last night because they had left on a military mission.”

“And you inferred from this that his men are marching on Amber.” I gave her a kiss on the forehead. “Brilliant!”

She smiled. “Tell Father and Conner.”

“What about Swayvil? Is he joining them?”

“No. By tradition, he will remain in the Courts of Chaos while his generals battle. And… Aber has also left the palace.”

“Why?” It didn't sound like him to pass up life in the palace for a military expedition.

“Great Aunt Eddarg did not know. Our brother is not a fighter; he would not take part in the actual battle. But I do fear another trick… something to remove you from the battlefield …”

“I will watch for him.”

Between the scouts and our father's knowledge of Shadows and the Pattern, they managed to spot the army of Chaos marching through Shadows. Our outriders paced them, keeping hidden, using Trumps to come and go quickly without being seen. I did not think Swayvil's men even knew they were being observed. Dad and I made sure none of the mistakes he and Locke had made in Juniper would be repeated here. We had all learned our lesson well.

Half a dozen times, I watched from cover on nearby mountainsides as the forces of Chaos marched past, heading down a black road conjured by the sorcerers of Chaos. Dad and Conner—and once even Freda—joined me.

Freda brought a large picnic lunch prepared by Great Aunt Eddarg. The irony of it was not lost on any of us. Although I tried not to look too closely at the food, and I did not ask what might be in the sandwiches, I ate six of them. They were quite tasty if you ignored the crunching and occasional squeals.

Below us, columns of soldiers—so small I could not tell whether they were hell-creatures, men, or something else entirely—marched down that black road in columns twenty abreast.

“Is that Aber?” I asked suddenly leaning forward and squinting.

“Where?” Freda asked. She raised herself up to see.

“Directly across from us now.” I pointed to an open carriage drawn by a team of eight slow-moving lizards. Someone sat in the back, high on a pile of golden pillows. Such decadence on the way to war—who else could it be but our brother?

“No…” Dad said, peering through a spyglass. “I believe that is General Droth. He must be in charge of this campaign.”

“A general? Waging war perched on pillows?” I asked incredulously.

Dad handed my his spyglass. I put it to one eye. On closer examination, it definitely wasn't my brother, but an older, more portly man with horns and a long red tail.

“Why not be comfortable?” Conner said with a small grin. “Maybe I should get us all pillows for the coming battle.”

“I could use one now,” Freda said. “I am not accustomed to sitting on the ground while I eat.”

“Is it worth our time to kill General Droth?” I asked. I tried to estimate the distance between us. A thousand yards… an impossible bowshot. But perhaps, using the Pattern…

“Patience, my boy…” Dad chuckled. “Our army is not so far away now.”

“Besides, it would tip them off that we know they're coming,” Conner said. “We do have plans, remember.”

“We should get back and prepare for our ambush,” I said, rising.

“Go on,” Freda said. “I will clean up and return to Amber. Good luck to you all.”

“Thanks,” I said. “We will celebrate our victory tonight.”

Dad pulled out a Trump he had drawn the week before. It showed a valley in the next Shadow, lush and green and surrounded by hills now filled with archers. Any of Swayvil's army who made it through the valley alive would find cavalry and foot soldiers waiting, along with more of Conner's “special forces.”

If all went as planned, it would be a devastating rout for General Droth and his men.

An hour later, I rode the cavalry line, reviewing the troops. General Aslom and his sons, with their golden war-chariots, would lead the Ceyoldar brigade. They looked splendid in their brightly polished armor. Next came the Mong, somber men, small and wiry, who fought on sturdy little ponies with all the fury of berserkers. They wore hardened leather armor and face-concealing helms. After them came forces from other nearby Shadows Dad and Conner had found: Tir-Na-Gath, Mulvia, Jarvoon, Zelloque, and so many more.

As I rode past, they stood up in their stirrups, swords and lances held high, cheering.

“Keep the banners up!” I cried. “We will sweep them away before us!”

My stallion danced and fought for his head, but I wouldn't let him go. He wanted the coming battle almost as much as I did.

I felt the beginnings of Trump contact and answered. It was Conner.

“The first of them are entering the valley,” he said softly. “Prepare yourself, brother. Keep your eyes on the black highway!”

The spikard-ring on my finger pulsed briefly—not so much a warning, I thought, as an acknowledgment.

I raised my hands for silence, and the tens of thousands of men before me grew still. A low wind whistled. Here and there a horse snorted or neighed, or the wheels of a war-chariot creaked as its occupant shifted his weight.

Suddenly, just visible over the top of the hill before us, flashed volley after volley of my army's arrows. A cloud of dust rose. Faintly, far in the distance, came a rumble of noise… the mingled stampeding of hundreds of thousands of soldiers who fought to escape the death-trap in which they found themselves… the shrieks of the dying and wounded… the battle-cries of those who drew their weapons and sought to fight.

“Wait… wait…” I murmured.

I turned my horse to face the hills. We would hold our position until the archers had done their worst, or Swayvil's men topped the rise—whichever came first.

One, then another, then another hell-creature in black armor appeared on the road before us. They drew up short when they saw the lines of horsemen and chariots waiting scarcely a hundred yards away. But more and more creatures of Chaos swarmed behind them, fleeing the valley, pushing them forward.

“Now!” I screamed, spurring my horse and giving him his head.

Like a demon, he raced for the hell-creatures, his hooves drumming. Around and behind me, I heard the thunder of an all-out cavalry charge.

Screaming in fear, the hell-creatures tried to turn and flee back down their black highway. But it was too late. There could be no flight to safely now. None would escape my wrath.

A bloodlust came over me, terrible and strong. The ring on my finger burned. A roar of blood filled my ears. I rode into the hell-creatures' midst, swinging my sword like a scythe. Heads rolled. Bodies fell. My horse reared and struck with its hooves, crushing skulls, then leaping forward to bite and rend with its teeth.

Together we cut a swath through the onrushing soldiers of Chaos. Those who sought to run were trampled or struck from behind. Those who stood and fought were slashed, stabbed, disemboweled, or beheaded—sometimes all at once.