Free The Guns of Avalon by Roger Zelazny Page B

I desired would be similarly involved. I could lay my course for one which did not possess such involvement, but in reaching it I would have achieved the wrong place. That which I desired would not be available there. If the forays of chaos kept occurring on my desire-walk through Shadow, then they were bound up with the nature of the desire and would have to be dealt with, one way or another, sooner or later. They could not be avoided. Such was the nature of the game, and I could not complain because I had laid down the rules.
    “We go on,” I said. “It is the place of my desire.”
    The youth let out a brief cry, and then-perhaps from some feeling of indebtedness for my having prevented Ganelon from poking holes in him-warned, “Do not go to Avalon, sirl There is nothing there that you could desire! You will be slain!”
    I smiled to him and thanked him. Ganelon chuckled then and said, “Let us take him back with us to stand a deserter’s trial.”
    At this, the youth scrambled to his feet and began running.
    Still laughing, Ganelon drew his dagger and cocked his arm to throw it. I struck his arm and his cast went wide of its mark. The youth vanished within the wood and Ganelon continued to laugh.
    He retrieved the dagger from where it had fallen and said, “You should have let me kill him, you know.”
    “I decided against it.” He shrugged.
    “If he returns and cuts our throats tonight you may find yourself feeling somewhat different.”
    “I should imagine. But he will not, you know that.”
    He shrugged again, skewering a piece of meat and warming it over the flames.
    “Well, war has taught him to show a good pair of heels,” he acknowledged. “Perhaps we will awaken in the morning.”
    He took a bite and began to chew. It seemed like a good idea and I fetched some for myself.
    Much later, I was awakened from a troubled sleep to stare at stars through a screen of leaves. Some omen making portion of my mind had seized upon the youth and used us both badly. It was a long while before I could get back to sleep.
    In the morning we kicked dirt over the ashes and rode on. We made it into the mountains that afternoon and passed through them the following day. There were occasional signs of recent passage on the trail we followed, but we encountered no one.
    The following day we passed several farmhouses and cottages, not pausing at any of them. I had opted against the wild, demonic route I had followed when I had exiled Ganelon. While quite brief, I knew that he would have found it massively disconcerting. I had wanted this time to think, so much a journeying was not called for. Now, however, the long rente was nearing its end. We achieved Amber’s sky that afternoon, and I admired it in silence. It might almost be the Forest of Arden through which we rode. There were no horn notes, however, no Julian, no Morgenstern, no stormhounds to harry us, as there had been in Arden when last I passed that way. There were only the bird notes in the great-boled trees, the complaint of a squirrel, the bark of a fox, the plash of a waterfall, the whites and blues and pinks of flowers in the shade.
    The breezes of the afternoon were gentle and cool; they lulled me so that I was unprepared for the row of fresh graves beside the trail that came into sight when we rounded a bend. Near by, there was a torn and trampled glen. We tarried there briefly but learned nothing more than had been immediately apparent.
    We passed another such place farther along, and several fire-charred groves. The trail was well worn by then and the side brush trampled and broken, as by the passage of many men and beasts. The smell of ashes was occasionally upon the air, and we hurried past the partly eaten carcass of a horse now well ripened where it lay.
    The sky of Amber no longer heartened me, though the way was clear for a long while after that.
    The day was running to evening and the forest had thinned considerably when Ganelon noted the smoke