Roger Zelazny: The Chronicles of Amber

I gave a double feint—one of our father's tricks with the sword—and my blade slipped under my double's guard. I put all my weight on my forefoot and lunged, gashing his right arm to the bone.

He punched me in the face with his left fist. I reeled back, stunned for a heartbeat, but he didn't follow up with an attack of his own.

I stared into his eyes. He made no sound, but I could tell he was in pain. He was losing a lot of blood fast. I must have hit an artery. His face went white.

“Yield,” I said.

“I cannot,” he replied.

“Why? Because of him ?” I jerked my head at Aber.

“No. Because there can only be one of us.”

He switched the sword to his left hand. As I watched, the wound on his arm closed up. It seemed we shared another talent—he could change shape as well as I could. And he'd done it to cover up his wound and stop the bleeding.

I would have done the same thing.

Unfortunately, he would have to use part of his strength and concentration to hold his new form. With all other things between us being equal, that gave me an edge.

My ring pulsed in warning. I dove to the side a moment before I heard the familiar snick of a crossbow being fired.

Of course it had to be Aber. And of course he had just fired it at my back.

Faster than I had ever moved before, I whirled and threw my sword at Aber. It struck his right shoulder and pinned him to the tree. He screamed in agony.

Unfortunately, that left me unarmed.

Grinning through his pain, my double stalked forward, sword ready. Quickly I drew a knife. Then I began to back up.

“Kneel,” he said to me. “Raise your head. I'll make it quick—a single blow. You fought well. You deserve that much.”

“Look behind you,” I said, focusing my attention over his shoulder. “You haven't won yet.”

He hesitated. There wasn't anything behind him, of course—but he had been behind me when Aber uttered those same words. Could he take the chance?

He knew he had me outmatched. It only took a second to check. When he glanced over his shoulder, I threw my knife at his head. He batted the knife away with his sword, but in that instant, with his arm up and out of position, I closed with him. So close, a sword would do him no good.

I drove him back with my fists. He fell, helmet flying off, and I landed on top. Then I hit him in the face as hard as I could, again and again. He did not scream, and he only flailed for a minute as I pounded. I stopped when the shattered bits of his skull began to shred my knuckles.

Panting, I rose unsteadily to my feet. I felt exhausted suddenly, like I'd been fighting for hours. Slowly, I turned.

Aber had managed to get the sword out of the tree and his shoulder. He couldn't hold it, though, much as he tried. It fell as his fingers spasmed open.

Standing there sullenly, dripping blood, a gaping wound in his shoulder, it struck me how pathetic he truly was. He had never matched our father's expectations. He had murdered King Uthor. And I knew now, without a doubt, that he had sent assassins after me at least twice.

And, despite all that, I still liked him. It wasn't a spell. I actually liked him—which made killing him all the harder.

He fell to his knees and grinned his slightly lopsided grin. “I suppose it's too late to explain?”

“Yes,” I said. I picked up my double's sword.

“I can still be useful,” he said. “You need me, Oberon.”

“What happened to Fenn?” I asked.

“The other Oberon was… a little rough in his questioning. Didn't believe Fenn's story about a slow poison.”

“He's dead, then.”

“Yes. See? I can be useful. You need me.”

“And Isadora? Leona? Davin?”

“I don't know. I can find out, though. If anyone can, it's me.”

“You're right,” I said slowly. “I do need you.”

He sighed with relief. “Good.”

“Unfortunately,” I went on, “I need to stay alive a lot more.”

With a single quick, clean blow, I parted my brother's head from his shoulders. His body flopped and lay still. The head rolled a few feet before coming to a stop facing me. The eyes blinked several times, then went glassy.

I sagged under the oak tree and wept. Of all my family, I had loved him the most. I would miss him. Not the traitorous Aber, but the Aber who had befriended me in Juniper. The Aber who had made me feel like part of the family. The Aber whom I had trusted and in whom I had believed… even if it had been due to a charm-spell.

Finally, after I finished mourning, I buried him in that unnamed Shadow, in an unmarked grave, alongside my double. Hopefully they would both find peace now.

Rising, finding new strength, I went to see what had become of my father, my brother Conner, and all the Shadows I was destined to rule.

THE END

JOHN GREGORY BETANCOURT is an editor, publisher, and bestselling author of science fiction and fantasy novels and short stories. He has had 37 books published, including the bestselling Star Trek novel, Infection , and three other Star Trek novels; a trilogy of mythic novels starring Hercules; the critically acclaimed Born of Elven Blood; Rememory; Johnny Zed; The Blind Archer , and many others. His fantasy novel The Dragon Sorcerer was released by ibooks. He is personally responsible for the revival of Weird Tales , the classic magazine of the fantastic, and has authored two critical works in conjunction with the Sci-Fi Channel: The Sci-Fi Channel Trivia Book and The Sci-Fi Channel Encyclopedia of TV Science Fiction .

ROGER ZELAZNY authored many science fiction and fantasy classics, and won three Nebula Awards and six Hugo Awards over the course of his long and distinguished career. While he is best known for his ten-volume Chronicles of Amber series of novels (beginning with 1970's Nine Princes in Amber) , Zelazny also wrote many other novels, short stories, and novellas, including Psychoshop (with Alfred Bester), Damnation Alley , the award-winning The Doors of His Face, The Lamps of His Mouth and Lord of Light , and the stories “24 Views of Mount Fuji, by Hokusai,” “Permafrost,” and “Home is the Hangman.” Zelazny died in Santa Fe, New Mexico, in June 1995.