IV

Sometimes you hear an unlikely thing and that’s all it is.  Other times, you hear something improbable and it strikes an echo.  There is an immediate feeling of having known it, or known something very like it, all along, and just not having bothered to pick it up and examine it.  By rights, I should have choked at Mandor’s pronouncement, then snorted something such as “Preposterous!” Yet, I’d a peculiar feeling about this business-whether his conclusion was right or wrong-as if there were something more than conjecture involved, as if there just might be some overall plan moving me toward the circle of power in the Courts.

I took a long, slow drink of coffee.  Then, “Really?” I said.

I felt myself smiling as he sought my eyes, studied my face.

“Are you consciously party to the effort?”

I raised my coffee cup again.  I had been about to say, “No, of course not.  This is the first I’ve heard of the notion.” Then I recalled my father’s telling me how he had duped Aunt Flora into giving him vital information his amnesia had washed away.  It was not the cleverness with which he had done it that had impressed me so much as the fact that his mistrust of relatives transcended consciousness, existed as a pure existential reflex.  Not having been through all the family rivalries Corwin had, I lacked responses of such intensity.  And Mandor and I had always gotten along particularly well, even though he was a few centuries older and had very different tastes in some areas.  But, suddenly, discussing such a high-stakes matter as we were, that small voice Corwin referred to as his worse-if-wiser self suggested, “Why not? You could use the practice, kid,” and as I lowered the cup again I decided to try it out, just to see how it felt, for a few minutes.

“I don’t know whether we both have the same thing in mind,” I said.  “Why don’t you tell me about the middle game-or perhaps even the opening-for what you see rushing to conclusion now.”

“Both the Pattern and the Logrus are sentient,” he said.  “We’ve both seen evidence of that.  Whether they are manifestations of the Unicorn and the Serpent or the other way around makes no real difference.  Either way, we are talking about a pair of greater-than-human intelligences with vast powers at their disposal.  Whichever came first is also one of those useless theological points.  We need only concern ourselves with the present situation, as it affects us.”

I nodded.

“A fair assessment,” I agreed.

“The forces they represent have been opposed but fairly evenly matched for ages,” he went on, “and thus a kind of balance has been maintained.  They have constantly sought small victories over each other, each attempting to add to its own domain at the expense of the other.  It appears to be a zero-sum game.  Both Oberon and Swayvill were their agents for a long while, with Dworkin and Suhuy as their intermediaries with the powers themselves.”

“So?” I said as he took a sip of juice.

“I believe that Dworkin had touched the Pattern too closely,” he continued, “and so became subject to manipulation.  He was sufficiently sophisticated, however, that he realized this and resisted.  This resulted in his madness, with a reciprocal damaging effect on the Pattem itself because of their close connection.  This, in turn, caused the Pattern to leave him alone, rather than risk further trauma.  The damage was done, though, and the Logrus gained a small edge.  This allowed it to act in the realm of order when Prince Brand began his experiments to increase his personal abilities.  I believe he laid himself open to control and became an unwitting agent of the Logrus.”

“That’s a lot of supposition,” I said.

“Consider,” he responded, “that his aims seemingly became those of a madman.  They make much more sense when seen as the goal of something wanting to destroy all order, to restore the universe to chaos.”

“Continue,” I said.

“At some point, the Pattern discovered-or perhaps possessed all along-the ability to create ‘ghosts,’ short-lived simulacra of those who had negotiated it.  Fascinating concept, that.  I was very interested to learn of it.  It provided a major mechanism, supporting my thesis of the Pattern’s and possibly the Logrus’s, direct action in the promotion of physical events.  Might they have figured in the setting up of your father as the Pattern’s champion against Brand? I wonder.”

“I don’t follow,” I said.  “Setting him up, you say?”

“I’ve a feeling he was really the Pattern’s choice as the next King of Amber, easy to promote, too, as it seemed to coincide with his own wishes.  I’ve wondered about his sudden recovery in that Shadow Earth clinic, and particularly about the circumstances surrounding the accident that put him there, when even with differing time streams it seemed possible that Brand might have had to be in two places at the same time-imprisoned and looking down the sights of a rifle.  Of course, Brand is no longer available to clarify the matter.”

“More supposition,” I said, finishing my omelet.  “But not uninteresting.  Please continue.”

“Your father had second thoughts about the throne, however.  Still, he was Amber’s champion.  Amber did win the war.  The Pattern was repaired.  The balance was restored.  Random was the second choice as monarch-a good maintainer of the status quo-and that choice was made by the Unicorn, not by the Amberites following any of their versions of the Rules of Succession.”

“I never looked at it all that way,” I said.

“And your father-inadvertently, I believe-provided a bonus.  Afraid that the Pattern had not been repaired, he drew another.  Only, it had been repaired.  Thus, there were two artifacts of order, rather than one.  Though, as a separate entity; it probably did not add to the Pattern’s strength, it added to order, as such, diminishing the effects of the Logrus.  So your father set the balance right, then proceeded to tip it again-in the other direction.”

“This is your conclusion from the investigations you and Fiona made of the new Pattern?”

He nodded slowly, took a sip of juice.

“Hence, more Shadow storms than usual, as a mundane effect,” he said, “bringing us up to present times.”

“Yes, present times,” I said, pouring more coffee.  “We’ve noted they’ve grown interesting.”

“Indeed.  Your story of the girl Coral, asking the Pattern to send her to an appropriate place, is a case in point.  What did it immediately do? It sent her to a Shadow Pattern and turned out the lights.  Then it sent you to rescue her, repairing that edition of itself in the process.  Once it was repaired it was no longer a Shadow Pattern, but another version of itself that it was then able to absorb.  It probably absorbed that entire shadow as well, adding considerably to its own energies.  Its edge over the Logrus increased even more.  The Logrus would need a big gain to restore the balance after that.  So it risked an incursion into the Pattern’s domain, in a desperate effort to obtain the Eye of Chaos.  That ended in a stalemate, though, because of the intervention of that bizarre entity you call Ghostwheel.  So the balance remains tipped in the Pattern’s favor, an unhealthy state of affairs.”

“For the Logrus.”

“For everybody, I’d say.  The Powers will be at odds, the shadows in turmoil and disorder in both realms till things have been righted.”

“So something should be done to benefit the Logrus.”

“You already know that.”

“I suppose I do.”

“It communicated with you directly, didn’t it?”

I recalled my night in the chapel in the place between shadows, where I had been faced with a choice between the Serpent and the Unicorn, the Logrus and the Pattern.  Resenting the bullying in such a forced format, I had refused to choose either.

“Yes, it did,” I answered.

“It wanted you for its champion, didn’t it?”

“I suppose it did,” I said.

“And ...  ?”

“...  And here we are,” I replied.

“Did it indicate anything that might support my thesis?”

I thought about that trek through the Undershadow, mixing menace with ghosts-Pattern, Logrus, or both.  “I suppose it did,” I repeated.

But, ultimately, it had been the Pattern I had served at the end of that journey, albeit unwittingly.

“You are prepared to execute its design for the good of the Courts?”

“I’m prepared to seek resolution of this matter. For everybody’s peace of mind.”

He smiled.

“Is that a qualification or an agreement?”

“It’s a statement of intent,” I said.

“If the Logrus has chosen you, it has its reasons.”

“I daresay.”

“It almost goes without saying that having you on the throne would strengthen the House of Sawall immensely.”

“The thought had occurred to me, now you mention it.”

“For one with your background, of course, it would become necessary to determine where your ultimate loyalty lies-with Amber or with the Courts.”

“Do you foresee another war?”

“No, of course not.  But anything you do to strengthen the Logrus will arouse the Pattern and provoke some response from Amber.  Hardly to the point of war, but possibly to that of retaliation.”

“Could you be more specific as to what you have in mind?”

“I’m only dealing in generalities at the moment, to give you opportunity to assess your reactions.”

I nodded.

“Since we’re talking generalities I’ll just repeat my statement: I’m prepared to seek a resolution-“

“All right,” he said.  “We understand each other to this extent.  In the event you make it to the throne, you want the same thing we do-“

“ ‘We’?” I interrupted.

“The House of Sawall, of course.  -But you don’t want anyone dictating specifics to you.”

“That says it nicely,” I replied.

“But of course we’re speaking hypothetically, there being a couple of others about with stronger claims.”

“So why argue contingencies?”

“If the House were able to see you crowned, however, do you acknowledge you would owe consideration for this?”

“Brother,” I said, “you are the House, for all major purposes.  If you’re asking for a commitment before taking out Tmer and Tubble, forget it, I’m not all that eager to sit on a throne.”

“Your wishes are not paramount in this,” he said.  “There is no reason for squeamishness when you consider that we’ve long been at odds with Jesby, and Chanicut’s always been a troublemaker.”

“Squeamishness has nothing to do with it,” I said.  “I never said I wanted the throne.  And, frankly, I think either Tmer or Tubble would probably do a better job.”

“They are not designates of the Logrus.”

“And if I am, I should make it without any help.”

“Brother, there is a big gap between its world of principles and ours of flesh, stone, and steel.”

“And supposing I have my own agenda and it does not include your plan?”

“What is it, then?”

“We’re speaking hypothetically, remember?”

“Merlin, you’re being obstinate.  You’ve a duty in this, to the House as well as to the Courts and the Logrus.”

“I can assess my own duties, Mandor, and I have-so far.”

“If you’ve a plan to set things right, and it’s a good one, we’ll help you to effectuate it.  What have you in mind?”

“I do not require help at this point,” I said, “but I’ll remember that.”

“What do you require right now?”

“Information,” I said.

“Ask me.  I have a lot.”

“All right.  What can you tell me about my mother’s maternal side, the House of Hendrake?”

He pursed his lips.

“They’re into soldiering, professionally,” he said.  “You know they’re always off fighting in Shadow wars.  They love it.  Belissa Minobee’s been in charge since General Larsus’s death.  Hm.” He paused.  Then, “Do you ask because of their rather odd fixation involving Amber?”

“Amber?” I said.  “What do you mean?”

“I recall a social visit to the Ways of Hendrake one time,” he said, “when I wandered into a small, chapel-like room.  In a niche in one wall there hung a portrait of General Benedict, in full battle regalia.  There was an altar-like shelf below it bearing several weapons, and upon which a number of candles were burning.  Your mother’s picture was there, too.”

“Really?” I said.  “I wonder whether Benedict knows? Dara once told my father she was descended from Benedict.  Later, he figured this an out-and-out lie.  ...  Do you think people like that would hold a grudge against my father?”

“For what?”

“Corwin slew Borel of Hendrake at the time of the Patternfall War.”

“They tend to take such things philosophically.”

“Still, I gather it was a somewhat less than kosher engagement from the way he described it-though I don’t believe there were any witnesses.”

“So let sleeping wyverns lie.”

“I’ve no intention of rousing them.  But what I was wondering was that if they had somehow heard details they might have been out to clear some debt of honor on his behalf.  Do you think they could have been behind his disappearance?”

“I just don’t know,” he replied, “how that would fit in with their code.  I suppose you could ask them.”

“Just come out and say, ‘Hey, are you responsible for whatever happened to my dad?’ “

“There are more subtle ways of learning a person’s attitudes,” he responded.  “As I recall, you had a few lessons in them in your youth.”

“But I don’t even know these people.  I mean, I might have met one of the sisters at a party, now I think of it-and I recall having seen Larsus and his wife in the distance a few times-but that’s it.”

“Hendrake will have a representative at the funeral,” he said.  “If I were to introduce you, perhaps you could apply a little glamour to obtain an informal audience.”

“You know, that may be the way to go,” I told him.

“Probably the only way.  Yes, do that, please.”

“Very well.”

He cleared the table with a gesture, filled it with another.  This time, paper-thin crepes with a variety of fillings and toppings appeared before us; and fresh rolls, variously spiced.  We ate for a time in silence, appreciating the balminess and the birds, the breezes.

“I wish I could have seen something of Amber,” he said at length, “under less restricted circumstances.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” I replied.  “I’d like to show you around.  I know a great restaurant in Death Alley.”

“That wouldn’t be Bloody Eddies, would it?”

“It would, though the name gets changed periodically.”

“I’ve heard of it, and long been curious.”

“We’ll do that one day.”

“Excellent.”

He clapped his hands and bowls of fruit appeared.  I‘ freshened my coffee and swirled a Kadota fig in a bowl of whipped cream.

“I’ll be dining with my mother later,” I remarked.

“Yes.  I overheard.”

“Have you seen much of her recently? How’s sher been?”

“As she said, rather reclusive,” he replied.

“Do you think she’s up to something?”

“Probably,” he said.  “I can’t recall a time when she hasn’t been.”

“Any idea what?”

“Why should I guess when she’ll probably tell you outright?”

“You really think she will?”

“You have an advantage over everyone else, in being her son.”

“Also a drawback, for the same reason.”

“Still, she’s more likely to tell you things than she would anyone else.”

“Except, perhaps, Jurt.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She always liked him better.”

“Funny, I’ve heard him say the same thing about you.”

“You see him often?”

“Often? No.”

“When was the last time?”

“About two cycles ago.”

“Where is he?”

“Here, in the Courts.”

“At Sawall?” I had visions of him joining us for lunch.  I wouldn’t put something like that past Dara either.

“One of its byways, I think.  He’s rather reticent concerning his comings and goings-and stayings.”

There being something like eight byway residences to Sawall that I knew of, it would be difficult to run him down through byways that could lead well into Shadow.  Not that I’d any desire to, at the moment.

“What brings him home?” I asked.

“The same thing as yourself, the funeral,” he said, “and all that goes with it.”

All that goes with it, indeed! If there were a genuine plot to put me on the throne, I could never forget that-willing or unwilling, successful or unsuccessful-Jurt would be a step or two behind me all the way.

“I may have to kill him,” I said.  “I don’t want to.  But he’s not giving me a whole lot of choice.  Sooner or later, he’s going to force us into a position where it has to be one or the other.”

“Why do you tell me this?”

“So you’ll know how I feel about it, and so that you might use whatever influence you may still have to persuade him to find a different hobby.”

He shook his head.

“He moved beyond my influence a long time ago,” he said.  “Dara’s about the only one he’ll listen to-though I suspect he’s still afraid of Suhuy.  You might speak to her concerning this matter, soon.”

“It’s the one thing neither of us can discuss with her-the other.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just the way it is.  She always misunderstands.”

“I’m certain she’s not going to want her sons killing each other.”

“Of course not, but I don’t know how to put the matter to her.”

“I suggest you make an effort to find a way.  In the meantime, I would contrive not to be alone with Jurt should your paths cross.  And if it were me, in the presence of witnesses, I would make certain that the first blow was not mine.”

“Well taken, Mandor,” I said.

We sat for a time in silence.  Then, “You will think about my proposal,” he said.

“As I understand it,” I replied.

He frowned.

“If you have any questions...”

“No.  I’ll be thinking.”

He rose.  I got to my feet, also.  With a gesture, he cleared the table.

Then he turned away and I followed him out of the gazebo and across its yard to the trail.

We emerged after a stroll in his external study cum receiving room.  He squeezed my shoulder as we headed for the exit.

“I’ll see you at the funeral then,” he remarked.

“Yes,” I said.  “Thanks for the breakfast.”

“By the way, how well do you like that lady, Coral?” he asked.

“Oh, pretty well,” I said.  “She’s quite-nice.

Why?”

He shrugged.

“Just curious.  I was concerned about her, having been present at the

time of her misadventure, and I wondered how much she meant to you.”

“Enough that it bothers me a lot,” I said.

“I see.  Well, give her my good wishes if you should talk to her.”

“Thanks, I will.”

“We’ll talk again later.”

“Yes.”

I strode into the way, making no haste.  I still had considerable time before I was due by the Ways of Sawall.

I paused when I came to a gibbet-shaped tree.  A moment’s reflection and I turned left, following an ascending trail among dark rocks.  Near its top, I walked directly into a mossy boulder, emerging from a sandbank into a light rain.  I ran across the field before me, till I came to the fairy circle beneath the ancient tree.  I stepped to its middle, made up a couplet with my name for the rhyme, and sank into the ground.  When I was halted and the moment’s darkness went away, I found myself beside a damp stone wall, looking downhill across a prospect of headstones and monuments.  The sky was fully overcast and a cool breeze wandered by.  It felt to be one of the ends of a day, but whether morning or twilight lay near, I could not tell.  The place looked exactly as I remembered it-cracked mausoleums hung with ivy, falling stone fences, wandering paths beneath high, dark trees.  I moved down familiar trails.

As a child, this had been a favored playground of mine, for a time.  I met here almost daily, for dozens of cycles, with a little shadow girl named Rhanda.  Kicking through boneheaps, brushing by damp shrubbery, I came at length to the damaged mausoleum where we had played house.  Pushing aside the sagging gate, I entered.

Nothing had changed, and I found myself chuckling.  The cracked cups and saucers, tarnished utensils, were still stacked in the corner, heavy with dust, stained with seepage.  I brushed off the catafalque we’d used as a table, seated myself upon it.  One day Rhanda had simply stopped corning, and after a time I had, too.  I’d often wondered what sari of woman she had become.  I’d left her a note in our hiding place, beneath a loose floor stone, I recalled.  I wondered whether she’d ever found it.

I raised the stone.  My filthy envelope still lay there, unsealed.  I took it out, shook it off, slid out my folded sheet.

I unfolded it, read my faded childish scrawl: What happened Rhanda? 1 waited and you didn’t come.  Beneath it, in a far neater hand, was written: I can’t come anymore because my folks say you are a demon or a vampire.  I’m sorry because you are the nicest demon or vampire I know.  I’d never thought of that possibility.  Amazing, the ways one can be misunderstood.

I sat there for a time, remembering growing up.  I’d taught Rhanda the bonedance game in here.  I snapped my fingers then, and our old ensorcelled heap of them across the way made a sound like stirring leaves.  My juvenile spell was still in place; the bones rolled forward, arranged themselves into a pair of manikins, began their small, awkward dance.  They circled each other, barely holding their shapes, pieces flaking away, cobwebs trailing; loose ones-spares-began to bounce about them.  They made tiny clicking sounds as they touched.  I moved them faster.

A shadow crossed the doorway, and I heard a chuckle.  “I’ll be damned!  All you need’s a tin roof.  So this is how they spend their time in Chaos.”

“Luke!” I exclaimed as he stepped inside, my manikins collapsing as my attention left them, into little gray, sticklike heaps.  “What are you doing here?”

“Could say I was selling cemetery lots,” he observed.  “You interested in one?”

He had on a red shirt and brown khakis tucked into his brown suede boots.  A tan cloak hung about his shoulders.  He was grinning.

“Why aren’t you off ruling?”

His smile went away, to be replaced by a moment of puzzlement, returned almost instantly.

“Oh, felt I needed a break.  What about you? There’s a funeral soon, isn’t there?”

I nodded.

“Later on,” I said.  “I’m just taking a break myself.  How’d you get here, anyway?”

“Followed my nose,” he said.  “Needed some intelligent conversation.”

“Be serious.  Nobody knew I was coming here.  I didn’t even know it till the last minute.  I-“

I groped about in my pockets.

“You didn’t plant another of those blue stones on me, did you?”

“No, nothing that simple,” he replied.  “I seem to have some sort of message for you.”

I got to my feet, approached him, studying his face.

“Are you okay, Luke?”

“Sure.  As okay as I ever am, that is.”

“It’s no mean stunt, finding your way this near to the Courts.  Especially if you’ve never been here before.  How’d you manage it?”

“Well, the Courts and I go back a long ways, old buddy.  You might say it’s in my blood.”

He moved aside from the doorway and I stepped outside.  Almost automatically, we began walking.

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” I told him.

“Well, my dad spent some time here, back in his plotting days,” he said.  “It’s where he met my mother.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“It never came up.  We never talked family, remember?”

“Yeah,” I said, “and no one I asked seemed to know where Jasra came from.  Still, the Courts...  She’s a long way from home.”

“Actually, she was recruited from a nearby shadow,” he explained, “like this one.”

“Recruited?”

“Yes, she worked as a servant for a number of years-I think she was fairly young when she started-at the Ways of Helgram.”

“Helgram? That’s my mother’s House!”

“Right.  She was a maid-companion to the lady Dara.  That’s where she learned the Arts.”

“Jasra got her instruction in sorcery from my mother? And she met Brand at Helgram? That would make it seem Helgram had something to do with Brand’s plot, the Black Road, the war-“

“-and the Lady Dara going looking for your father? I guess so.”

“Because she wanted to be a Pattern initiate as well as one of the Logrus?”

“Maybe,” he said.  “I wasn’t present.”

We moved down a gravelly trail, fumed at a huge cluster of dark shrubbery, passing through a forest of stone and over a bridge that crossed a slow black stream that reflected high branches and sky, monochrome.  A few leaves rustled in a stray breeze.

“How come you never mentioned any of this later?” I asked.

“I intended to, but it never seemed urgent,” he said, “whereas a lot of other things did.”

“True,” I said.  “The pace did seem to keep picking up each time our trails crossed.  But now- Are you saying it’s urgent now, that I suddenly need to know this?”

“Oh, not exactly.” He halted.  He reached out and leaned upon a headstone.  His hand began to grip it, growing white about the knuckles, across the back.  The stone at his fingertips was ground to powder, fell snowlike to the earth.  “Not exactly,” he repeated.  “That part was my idea, just because I wanted you to know.  Maybe it’ll do you some good, maybe it won’t.  Information is like that.  You never know.” With a crunching, cracking sound, the top of the headstone suddenly gave way.  Luke hardly seemed to notice this, and his hand kept on squeezing.  Small pieces fell from the larger one he now held.

“So you came all this way to tell me that?”

“No,” he answered, as we turned and began walking back the way we had come.  “I was sent to tell you something else, and it’s been pretty hard holding off.  But I figured if I talked about this first, it couldn’t let me go, would keep feeding me till I got around to the message.  “

There came a huge crunch, and the stone he held turned to gravel, falling to mix with that on the trail.  “Let me see your hand.”

He brushed it off and held it out.  A tiny flame flickered near the base of his index finger.  He ran his thumb over it and it went out.  I increased my pace, and he matched it.

“Luke, you know what you are?”

“Something in me seems to, but I don’t, man.  I just feel-I’m not right.  I’d probably better tell you what I feel I should pretty quick now.”

“No.  Hold off,” I said, hurrying even more.

Something dark passed overhead, too quick for me to make out its shape, vanishing among the trees.  We were buffeted by a sudden gust of wind.

“You know what’s going on, Merle?” he asked.

“I think so,” I said, “and I want you to do exactly what I tell you, no matter how weird it might seem.  Okay?”

“Sure thing.  If I can’t trust a Lord of Chaos, who can I trust, eh?”

We hurried past the clump of shrubs.  My mausoleum was just up ahead. “You know, there really is something I feel obliged to tell you right now, though,” he said.

“Hold it.  Please.”

“It is important, though.”

I ran on ahead of him.  He began running, too, to keep up.

“It’s about your being here at the Courts, just now.”

I extended my hands, used them to brake myself when I came up against the wall of the stone building.  I swung myself through the doorway and inside.  Three big steps, and I was kneeling in the corner, snatching up an old cup, using the corner of my cloak to wipe it out.

“Merle, what the hell are you doing?” Luke asked, entering behind me.

“Just a minute and I’ll show you,” I told him, drawing my dagger.

Placing the cup upon the stone where I had been seated earlier, I held my hand above it and used the dagger to cut my wrist.

Instead of blood, flame came forth from the incision.

“No! Damn it!” I cried.

And I reached into the spikard, located the proper line, and found the flowing channel of a cooling spell that I laid upon the wound.  Immediately, the flames died and it was blood that flowed from me.  However, as it fell into the cup it began to smoke.  Cursing, I extended the spell to control its liquidity there, also.

“Yeah, it’s weird, Merle.  I’ll give you that,” Luke observed.

I laid the dagger aside and used my right hand to squeeze my arm above the wound.  The blood flowed faster.  The spikard throbbed.  I glanced at Luke.  There was a look of strain upon his face.  I pumped my fist.  The cup was more than half-full.

“You said you trust me,” I stated.

“Afraid so,” he answered.

Three-quarters...

“You’ve got to drink this, Luke,” I said.  “I mean it.”

“Somehow, I suspected you were leading up to this,” he said, “and, really, it doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.  I’ve a feeling I need a lot of help just now.”

He reached out and took the cup, raised it to his lips.  I pressed the palm of my hand against the wound.  Outside, the winds were gusting regularly.

“When you’ve finished, put it back,” I said.  “You’re going to need more.”

I could hear the sounds of his swallowing.

“Better than a slug of Jameson,” he said then.  “Don’t know why.” He replaced the cup on the stone.

“A little salty, though,” he added.

I removed my hand from the incision, held the wrist above it again, pumped my fist.

“Hey, man.  You’re losing a lot of blood there.  I feel okay now.  Was just a little dizzy, that’s all.  I don’t need any more.”

“Yes, you do,” I said.  “Believe me.  I gave a lot more than this in a blood drive once and ran in a meet the next day.  It’s okay.”

The wind rose to a gale, moaning past us now.

“Mind telling me what’s going on?” he asked. 

“Luke, you’re a Pattern ghost,” I told him.

“What do you mean?”

“The Pattern can duplicate anybody who ever walked it.  You’ve got all the signs.  I know them.”

“Hey, I feel real.  I didn’t even do the Pattern in Amber.  I did it in Tir-na Nog’th.”

“Apparently, it controls the two images as well, since they’re true copies.  Do you remember your coronation in Kashfa?”

“Coronation? Hell no! You mean I made it to the throne?”

“Yep.  Rinaldo the First.”

“God damn! Bet Mom’s happy.”

“I’m sure.”

“This is kind of awkward then, there being two of me.  You seem familiar with the phenomenon.  How does the Pattern handle it?”

“You guys tend not to last very long.  It seems the closer you are to the Pattern itself the stronger you are, too.  It must have taken a lot of juice to project you this far.  Here, drink this.”

“Sure.”

He tossed off a half cupful and handed the cup back.

“So what’s with the precious bodily fluids?” he asked.

“The blood of Amber seems to have a sustaining effect on Pattern ghosts.”

“You mean I’m some kind of vampire?”

“I suppose you could put it that way, in a sort of technical sense.”

“I’m not sure I like that-especially such a specialized one.”

“It does seem to have certain drawbacks.  But one thing at a time.  Let’s get you stabilized before we start looking for angles.”

“All right.  You’ve got a captive audience.”

There came a rattle, as of a rolled stone, from outside, followed by a small clanking noise.

Luke turned his head.

“I don’t think that’s just the wind,” he stated.

“Take the last sip,” I said, moving away from the cup and groping after my handkerchief.  “It’ll have to hold you.”

He tossed it off as I wrapped my wrist.  He knotted it in place for me.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said.  “The vibes are getting bad.”

“Fine with me,” he replied as a figure appeared at the doorway.  It was backlighted, its features lost in shadow.

“You’re not going anywhere, Pattern ghost,” came an almost-familiar voice.

I willed the spikard to about 150 watts illumination.  It was Borel, showing his teeth in an unfriendly fashion.

“You are about to become a very large candle, Patterner,” he said to Luke.

“You’re wrong, Borel,” I said, raising the spikard.

Suddenly, the Sign of the Logrus swam between us.

“Borel? The master swordsman?” Luke inquired. 

“The same,” I answered.

“Oh, shit!” Luke said.

V

As I probed forward with two of the more lethal energies of the spikard the Logrus image intercepted them and turned them off.

“I didn’t save him for you to take him out this easily,” I said, and just then something like the image of the Pattern but not really the same flashed into existence nearby.

The Sign of the Logrus slid to my left.  The new thing-whatever it was-kept pace with it, both of them passing silently through the wall.  Almost immediately, there followed a thunderclap that shook the building.  Even Borel, who was reaching for his blade, paused in mid-gesture, then moved his hand to catch hold of the doorway.  As he did this, another figure appeared at his back and a familiar voice addressed him: “Please excuse me.  You’re blocking my way.”

“Corwin!” I cried.  “Dad!”

Borel turned his head.

“Corwin, Prince of Amber?” he said.

“Indeed,” came the reply, “though I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.”

“I am Borel, Duke of Hendrake, Master of Arms of the Ways of Hendrake.”

“You speak with a lot of capitals, sir, and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,” Corwin said.  “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get through here to see my son.”

Borel’s hand moved to the hilt of his blade as he turned.  I was already moving forward by then, and so was Luke.  But there was a movement beyond Borel-a kick, it seemed, low-causing him to expel a lot of air and double forward.  Then a fist descended upon the back of his neck and he fell.

“Come on,” Corwin called, gesturing.  “I think we’d better get out of here.”

Luke and I emerged, stepping over the fallen Master of Arms of the Ways of Hendrake.  The ground off to the left was blackened, as if from a recent brushfire, and a light rain had begun to fall.  There were other human figures in the distance now, moving toward us.

“I don’t know whether the force that brought me here can get me out again,” Corwin said, looking about.  “It may be otherwise occupied.” Several moments passed, then, “I guess it is,” he said.  “Okay, it’s up to you.  How do we flee?”

“This way,” I told him, turning and breaking into a run.

They followed me up the trails that had brought me to this place.  I looked back and saw that six dark figures pursued us.

I headed uphill, past the markers and monuments, coming at last to the place beside the old stone wall.  By then, there were shouts from behind us.  Ignoring them, I drew my companions to me and came up with an impromptu couplet that described the situation and my desire in somewhat less than perfect meter.  Still, the charm held, and a hurled cobble only missed me because we were already sinking into the earth.

We emerged from the fairy ring, coming up like mushrooms, and I led my companions across the field, jogging; to the sandbank.  As we entered there I heard another shout.  We exited the boulder and descended the rocky trail to the gibbet tree.  Turning left on the trail, I began to run.

“Hold up!” Corwin called.  “I feel it around here somewhere.  There!”

He left the trail to the right and began running toward the base of a small hill.  Luke and I followed.  From behind us came the sounds of our pursuers’ emergence from the way at the boulder.

Ahead, I saw something flickering between two trees.  We seemed to be heading toward it.  As we drew nearer, its outline became clearer, and I realized that it possessed the contours of that Pattern-like image I had beheld back in the mausoleum.

Dad did not break stride as he approached, but charged right into the thing.  And vanished.  Another cry rose up behind us.  Luke was next through the shimmering screen, and I was close on his heels.

We were running through a straight, glowing, pearly tunnel now, and when I glanced back I saw that it seemed to be closing in behind me.

“They can’t follow,” Corwin shouted.  “That end’s already closed.”

“Then why are we running?” I asked.

“We’re still not safe,” he replied.  “We’re cutting through the Logrus’s domain.  If we’re spotted there could still be trouble.”

We raced on through that strange tunnel, and, “We’re running through Shadow?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Then it would seem that the farther we go, the better-“

The whole thing shook, and I had to put out a hand to keep from being thrown down.

“Oh-oh,” Luke said.

“Yes,” I agreed as the tunnel began to come apart.  Big chunks seemed to be torn out of the walls, the floor.  There was only murk behind these rents.  We kept going, leaping the openings.  Then something struck again, soundlessly, completely shattering the entire passage around us, behind us, before us.

We fell.

Well, we didn’t exactly fall.  We sort of drifted in a twilit fog.  There didn’t seem to be anything underfoot, or in any other direction either.  It was a free-fall sensation, with nothing to measure possible movement against.

“Damn!” I heard Corwin say.

We hovered, fell, drifted-whatever-for a time, and, “So close,” I heard him mutter.

“Something that way,” Luke suddenly announced, gesturing to his right.

A big shape loomed grayly.  I moved my mind into the spikard and probed in that direction.  Whatever it was, it was inanimate, and I commanded the spike that had touched it to guide us to it.

I did not feel myself moving, but the thing loomed larger, took on familiar outlines, began to show a reddish complexion.  When the fins became apparent, I knew for certain.

“Looks like that Polly Jackson you have,” Luke remarked.  “Even has the snow on it.”

Yes, it was my red and white ‘57 Chevy that we were approaching, there in Limbo.

“It’s a construct.  It’s been pulled from my mind before,” I told him.  “Probably because it’s vivid, I’ve studied it so often.  Also, it seems very appropriate just now.”

I reached toward the door handle.  We were coming up on the driver’s side.  I caught hold and pushed the button.  It was, of course, unlocked.  The others touched the vehicle in various places and drew themselves along to the other side.  I opened the door, slid in behind the’ wheel, closed the door.  Luke and Corwin were entering by then.  The keys were in the ignition, as I’d expected

When everyone was aboard I tried starting it.  The engine caught immediately.  I stared out across the bright hood into nothingness.  I switched on the headlights and that didn’t help.

“What now?” Luke asked.

I shifted into first, released the emergency brake, and let out the clutch.  As I gave it the gas, it seemed the wheels were turning.  After a few moments I shifted into second.  A bit later I put it into third.

Was there the tiniest feeling of traction, or was it only the power of suggestion?

I fed it more gas.  The foggy prospect seemed to brighten slightly, far ahead, though I supposed this could simply be some effect of my staring in that direction.

There was no particular feedback from the steering wheel.  I pushed harder on the accelerator.

Luke reached out suddenly and turned on the radio.  “-hazardous driving conditions,” came an announcer’s voice.  “So keep your speed to a minimum.” There immediately followed Wynton Marsalis playing “Caravan.”

Taking it as a personal message, I eased up on the gas.  This produced a definite feeling of light traction, as if, perhaps, we were gliding on ice.

A sensation of forward movement followed, and there did seem a brightening in the distance.  Also, it seemed as if I had acquired some weight, was settling more deeply into the seat.  Moments later the sensation of a real surface beneath the car became more pronounced.  I wondered what would happen if I turned the wheel.  I decided not to try it.

The sound from beneath the tires became more gritty.  Dim outlines occurred at either hand, increasing the feeling of movement and direction as we passed them.  Far ahead, the world was indeed brighter now.

I slowed even more because it began feeling as if I were negotiating a real road, with very poor visibility.  Shortly thereafter, the headlights did seem to be operating with some effect, as they struck a few of the passing shapes, giving them the momentary appearance of trees and embankments, shrub clusters, rocks.  The rearview mirror continued to reflect nothingness, however.

“Just like old times,” Luke said.  “Goin’ out for pizza on a bad evening.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“I hope the other me has someone open a pizza parlor in Kashfa.  Could use one there, you know?”

“I’ll come by and try it, if he does.”

“Where do you think this whole business is going to leave me, anyway?”

“I don’t know, Luke.”

“I mean, I can’t keep drinking your blood.  And what about the other me?”

“I think I can offer you a job that will take care of the problem,” Corwin said to him.  “For a while, anyway.”

The trees were definitely trees now, the fog-real fog-moving about a bit.  Beads of moisture began to form on the windshield.

“What do you mean?” Luke asked.

“In a minute.”

There were breaks in the fog now, real landscape visible through them.

Abruptly, I became aware that it was not a real road surface on which I was driving, but rather a fairly level piece of ground.  I slowed even more to accommodate this.

A big section of haze dissolved or blew away then revealing the presence of an enormous tree.  Also, a sec- lion of the ground seemed to be glowing.  There was a familiar feeling to this partial tableau...

“This is the place of your Pattern, isn’t it?” I asked, as our way grew even clearer.  “Fiona brought me here once.”

“Yes;” came the reply.

“And its image-that’s the thing I saw confronting the Sign of the Logrus back in the graveyard-the same thing that led us into the tunnel.”

“Yes.”

“Then- it’s sentient, too.  Like Amber’s, like the Logrus-”

“True.  Park it over there, in that clear area by the tree.  I turned the wheel and headed toward the level spot he had indicated.

Fog still hung about the place, but nowhere near as heavy and all-encompassing as on the trail we had taken.  It might have been twilight, from the shading of the mist, but the glow from that eccentric Pattern brightened our cup-shaped world beyond a day’s end dimness.

As we climbed out Corwin said to Luke, ‘ ‘Pattern ghosts tend not to last long.”

“So I understand,” Luke replied.  “You know any tricks for someone in this position?”

“I know them all, sir.  It takes one to know, as they say.”

“Oh?”

“Dad ...?” I said.  “You mean ...”

“Yes,” he replied.  “I do not know where the first version of myself might be.”

“You are the one I encountered a while back? The one who might have been present in Amber recently, also?”

“Yes.”

“I see.  Yet, you don’t seem exactly like others I’ve encountered.”

He reached out and clasped my shoulder.

“I’m not,” he said, and he glanced toward the Pattern.  “I drew that thing,” he went on, a little later, “and I’m the only person ever to have walked it.  Consequently, I’m the only ghost it can summon.  Also, it seems to regard me with something other than utilitarian attention.  We can communicate, in a way, and it seems to have been willing to devote the energy needed to keep me stable-for a long while now.  We have our own plans, and our relationship seems almost symbiotic.  I gather that those of Amber’s Pattern and those of the Logrus are more in the nature of ephemera.”

“That’s been my experience,” I said.

“-except for one, to whom you ministered, for which I am grateful.  She is under my protection now, for so long as it shall last.”

He released my shoulder.

“I haven’t been properly introduced to your friend yet,” he said then.

“Excuse me.  A bit of extenuation there,” I said.  “Luke, I’d like you to meet my father, Corwin of Amber.  Sir, Luke is properly known as Rinaldo, son of your brother Brand.”

Corwin’s eyes widened for an instant, then narrowed as he extended his hand, studying Luke’s face.

“Good to meet a friend of my son’s, as well as a relative,” he said.

“Glad to know you, too, sir.”

“I’d wondered what it was that seemed so familiar about you.”

“It kind of slows down with appearances, if that’s what you’re getting at.  Maybe even stops there.”

Dad laughed.

“Where’d you two meet?”

“In school,” Luke replied.  “Berkeley.”

“Where else might a pair of us come together? Not in Amber, of course,” he said, turning away then to face his Pattern fully.  “I’ll get your story yet.  But come with me now.  I want to do an introduction myself.”

He headed off toward the shining design and we fol lowed him, a few wisps of fog drifting past us.  Save for our short footfalls, the place was silent.

When we came up to the edge of his Pattern we halted and stared out across it.  It was a graceful design, too big to take in at a glance; and a feeling of power seemed to pulse outward from it.

“Hi,” he said.  “I want you to meet my son and my nephew, Merlin and Rinaldo-though I believe you met Merlin once before.  Rinaldo has a problem.” There followed a long silence.  Then he said, “Yes, that’s right,” and after a time, “You really think so?” and, “Okay.  Sure, I’ll tell them.”

He stretched and sighed and took a few paces away from the Pattern’s edge.  Then he extended his arms and put them around both our shoulders.

“Men,” he said then, “I’ve got an answer of sorts.  But it means we’re all going to have to walk this Pattern, for different reasons.”

“I’m game,” Luke said.  “But what’s the reason?”

“It’s going to adopt you,” Corwin said, “and sustain you as it does me.  There’s a price, though.  The time’s getting nearer when it will want to be guarded full-time.  We can spell each other.”

“Sounds fine,” Luke said.  “This place is kind of peaceful.  And I didn’t really want to go back to Kashfa and try to depose myself.”

“Okay.  I’ll lead, and you hold on to my shoulder in case there are any funny vibes to deal with.  Merlin, you come last and maintain contact with Luke, for the same reason.  All right?”

“Sure,” I said.  “Let’s go.”

He released us and moved to the place where the line of the design began.  We followed, and Luke’s hand was on his shoulder as he took the first step.  Soon we were all of us on the Pattern, struggling the familiar struggle.  Even when the sparks began to rise, though, this one seemed a little easier than I recalled from Pattern walks in the past, possibly because someone else was leading the way.

Images of avenues lined with ancient chestnut trees filled my mind as we trudged along and fought our way through the First Veil.  By then, the sparks came higher about us and I felt the forces of the Pattern beating about me, penetrating me, body and mind.  I recalled my days in school, remembered my greatest efforts on the athletic field.  The resistance continued to rise, and we leaned into it.  Moving my feet became a great effort, and I realized that-somehow-the effort was more important than the movement.  I felt my hair beginning to rise as a current passed entirely through my body.  Still, this had not to it the maddening quality of the Logrus the time I had negotiated it, nor the adversarial feeling I had felt upon Amber’s Pattern.  It was almost as if I traversed the interior of a mind, one not unkindly disposed toward me.  There was a feeling-of encouragement, almost-as I struggled along a curve, executed a turn.  The resistance was as strong, the sparks came as high as on the other at about this point, yet I somehow knew that this Pattern held me in a different fashion.  We pushed our way along the lines.  We fumed, we burned...  Penetrating the Second Veil was a slow-motion exercise in stamina and will.  Our way eased for a time after that, and images from all over my life came to frighten and console me.

Walking.  One, two...  Three.  I felt that if I were able to take ten more steps I would have a chance to win through.  Four...  I was drenched with perspiration.  Five.  The resistance was awful.  It took all the effort of running a hundred meters just to inch my foot ahead..  My lungs were working like a bellows.  Six.  The sparks reached my face, passed my eyes, enveloped me completely.  I felt as if I had been transformed into an immortal blue flame and that I must, somehow, burn my way through a block of marble.  I burned and I burned and the stone remained unchanged.  I could spend all of eternity this way.  Perhaps I already had.  Seven.  And the images were gone.  All of memory had fled.  Even my identity was on vacation.  I was stripped to a thing of pure will.  I was an act, an act of striving against resistance.  Eight...  I no longer felt my body.  Time was an alien concept.  The striving was no longer striving, but a form of elemental movement now, beside which glaciers rushed.  Nine.  Now I was only movement-infinitesimal, a constant....

Ten.

There came an easing.  It would become difficult again at the center end, but I knew that the rest of the walk was anticlimax.  Something like a slow, low music buoyed me as I trudged ahead, turned, trudged.  It was with me through the Final Veil, and as I passed the midpoint of that final stride, it became something like “Caravan.”

We stood there at the center, silent for a long while, breathing deeply.  Exactly what I had achieved, I was uncertain.  I did feel, though, that, in some way, I knew my father better as a result.  Strands of mist still drifted, across the Pattern, across the valley.

“I feel-stronger,” Luke announced later.  “Yes, I’ll help guard this place.  It seems a good way to spend some time.”

“By the way, Luke, what was your message for me?” I asked.

“Oh, to tell you to clear out of the Courts,” he replied, “that things were getting dangerous.”

“I already knew the danger part,” I said.  “But there are still things I must do.”

He shrugged.  “Well, that’s the message,” he said.  “No place really seems safe just now.”

“There won’t be any problems here yet,” Corwin said.  “Neither Power knows exactly how to approach this place or what to do with it.  It’s too strong for Amber’s Pattern to absorb, and the Logrus doesn’t know how to destroy it.”

“Sounds pretty easy, then.”

“There will probably come a time later, though, when they will try to move against it.”

“Until then, we wait and watch.  Okay.  If some things do come, what might they be?”

“Probably ghosts-like ourselves-seeking to learn more about it, to test.  You any good with that blade?”

“In all modesty, yes.  If that’s not good enough, I’ve studied the Arts, as well.”

“They’ll fall to steel, though it’s fire they’ll bleed-not blood.  You can have the Pattern transport you outside now, if you wish.  I’ll join you in a few moments to show you where the weapons are cached, and the other supplies.  I’d like to take a little trip and leave you in charge for a while.”

“Sure thing,” Luke said.  “What about you, Merle?”

“I’ve got to get back to the Courts.  I’ve a luncheon engagement with my mother, and then Swayvill’s funeral to attend.”

“It may not be able to send you all the way to the Courts,” Corwin said.  “That’s getting awfully near the Logrus.  But you’ll work something out with it, or vice versa.  How is Dara?”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her for more than a few moments,” I answered.  “She is still peremptory, arrogant, and over-solicitous when it comes to me.  I get the impression, too, that she may be involved in local political scheming as well as aspects of the larger relationship between the Courts and Amber.”

Luke closed his eyes for a moment and vanished.  Shortly afterward, I saw him beside the Polly Jackson car.  He opened the door, slid onto the passenger seat, leaned and fiddled with something inside.  A little Later I could hear the radio playing music across the distance.

“It’s likely,” Corwin said.  “I never understood her, you know.  She came to me out of nowhere at a strange time in my life, she lied to me, we became lovers, she walked the Pattern in Amber, and she vanished.  It was like a bizarre dream.  It was obvious that she used me.  For years I thought that it was only to get knowledge of the Pattern and access to it.  But I’ve had a lot of time for reflection recently, and I’m no longer certain that that was the case.”

“Oh?” I said.  “What, then?”

“You,” he replied.  “More and more I’m coming to think, what she really wanted was to bear a son or daughter of Amber.”

I felt myself grow cold.  Could the reason for my own existence have been such a calculated thing? Had there been no affection there at all? Had I been intentionally conceived to serve some special purpose? I did not at all like the notion.  It made me feel the way Ghostwheel must; carefully structured product of my imagination and intellect, built to test design ideas only an Amberite could have come up with.  Yet he called me “Dad.” He actually seemed to care about me.  Oddly, I had begun feeling an irrational affection for him myself.  Was it partly because we were even more alike than I had consciously realized?

“Why?” I asked.  “Why would it have been so important to her that I be born?”

“I can only remember her final words when she had completed the Pattern, turning into a demon in the process.  ‘Amber,’ she said, ‘will be destroyed.’ Then she was gone.”

I was shaking now.  The implications were so unsettling that I wanted to cry, sleep, or get drunk.  Anything, for a moment’s respite.

“You think that my existence might be part of a long-term plan for the destruction of Amber?” I asked.

“ ‘Might,”’ he said.  “I could be wrong, kid.  I could be very wrong, and if that’s the case I apologize for troubling you this much.  On the other hand, it would also be wrong of me not to let you know what the possibility is.”

I massaged my temples, my brow, my eyes.

“What should I do?” I said then.  “I don’t want to help destroy Amber.”

He clasped me to his breast for a moment and said, “No matter what you are and no matter what’s been done to you, there will have to be some element of choice for you, sooner or later.  You are greater than the sum of your parts, Merlin.  No matter what went into your birth and your life up to now, you’ve got eyes and a brain and a set of values.  Don’t let anybody bullshit you, not even me.  And when the time comes, if it comes, make damn sure the choice is your own.  Nothing that’s gone before will matter then.”

His words, general as they had to be, drew me back from the place in my spirit where I had retreated.  “Thanks,” I said.

He nodded.  Then, “While your first impulse may be to force a confrontation on this matter,” he said, “I would advise against it.  It would achieve nothing other than making her aware of your suspicions.  It would be prudent to play a more careful game and see what you can learn.”

I sighed.

“You’re right, of course,” I said.  “You came after me as much to tell me this as to help me escape, didn’t you?”

He smiled.

“Only worry about important things,” he said.  “We’ll meet again.” And then he was gone.

I saw him, suddenly, over near the car, talking to Luke.  I watched as he showed him where the caches were located.  I wondered what time it was back in the Courts.  After a while, they both waved to me.  Then Corwin shook hands with Luke and turned and walked off into the fog.  I could hear the radio playing “Lili Marlene.”

I focused my mind on the Pattern’s transporting me to the Ways of Sawall.  There was a momentary swirling of blackness.  When it cleared I was still standing at the center of the Pattern.  I tried again, this time for Suhuy’s castle.  Again, it refused to punch my ticket.

“How close can you send me?” I finally asked.

There was another swirling, but this one was bright.  It delivered me to a high promontory of white stone beneath a black sky, beside a black sea.  Two semicircles of pale flame parenthesized my position.  Okay, I could live with that.  I was at Fire Gate, a way-exchange in Shadow near to the Courts.  I faced the sea and counted.  When I’d located the fourteenth flickering tower on my left, I walked toward it.

I emerged before a fallen tower beneath a pink sky.  Walking toward it, I was transported to a glassy cavern through which a green river flowed.  I paced beside the river till I found the stepping-stones that took me to a trail through an autumn wood.  I followed this for almost a mile till I felt the presence of a way near the base of an evergreen.  This took me to the side of a mountain, whence three more ways and two filmies had me on the nail to lunch with my mother.  According to the sky, I had no time to change clothes.

I halted near a crossroads to dust myself off, straighten my apparel, comb my hair.  I wondered, as I was about the business, who might receive my calling were I to try to reach Luke via his Trump-Luke himself, his ghost, both? Could the ghosts receive Trump calls? I found myself wondering what was going on back in Amber, too.  And I thought of Coral, and Nayda...  Hell.

I wanted to be somewhere else.  I wanted to be far away.  The Pattern’s warning, via Luke, was well taken.  Corwin had given me too much to think about, and I hadn’t had time to sort it through properly.  I did not want to be involved in whatever was going on here in the Courts.  I did not like all of the implications involving my mother.  I did not feel like attending a funeral.  I felt somehow, also, uninformed.  You’d think that if somebody wanted something from me-something very important-they’d at least take the time to explain the situation and ask for my cooperation.  If it were a relative, there was a strong possibility I’d go along with it.  Getting my cooperation would seem a lot less dicey than any trickery intended to control my actions.  I wanted to be away from those who would control me, as well as the games they were playing.

I could turn and head back into Shadow, probably lose myself there.  I could head back to Amber, tell Random everything I knew, everything I suspected, and he would protect me against the Courts.  I could go back to the Shadow Earth, come up with a new identity, get back into computer design...

Then, of course, I would never know what was going on and what had gone before.  As for my father’s real whereabouts-I’d been able to reach him from the Courts, never from anywhere else.  In this sense, he was nearby.  And there was no one else around here likely to help him.

I walked ahead and turned right.  I made my way toward a purpling sky.  I would be on time.

And so I came, again, into the Ways of Sawall.  I had emerged from the red and yellow starburst design painted high upon the gateside wall of the front courtyard, descended the Invisible Stair, and peered for long moments down into the great central pit, with its view of black turbulence beyond the Rim.  A falling star burned its way down the purple sky as I turned away, headed for the copper-chased door and the low Maze of Art beyond it.

Within, I recalled the many times I had been lost in that maze as a child.  The House of Sawall had been a serious collector of art for ages, and the collection was so vast that there were several ways into which one was cast within the maze itself, leading one through tunnels, a huge spiral, and what seemed an old train station before being shunted back to miss the next turn.  I had been lost in it for days on one occasion, and was finally found crying before an assemblage of blue shoes nailed to a board.  I walked it now, slowly, looking at old monstrosities, and some newer ones.  There were also strikingly lovely pieces mixed in, such as the huge vase that looked as if it had been carved from a single fire opal, and a set of odd enameled tablets from a distant shadow whose meaning and function no one in the family could be found to recall.  I had to stop and see both again, rather than shortcutting the gallery, the tablets being a particular favorite of mine.

I was humming an old tune Gryll had taught me as I came up to the fiery vase and regarded it.  I seemed to hear a small chafing noise, but glances up and down the corridor revealed no one else in the vicinity.  The almost sensual curves of the vase begged to be touched.  I could remember all of the times I had been forbidden to do so as a child.  I put my left hand forward slowly, rested it upon it.  It was warmer than I’d thought it might be.  I slid my hand along its side.  It was like a frozen flame.

“Hello,” I muttered, remembering an adventure we’d shared.  “It’s been a long time...”

“Merlin?” came a small voice.

I withdrew my hand immediately.  It was as if the vase had spoken.

“Yes,” I said then.  “Yes.”

Again, the chafing sound, and a bit of shadow stirred within the creamy opening, above the fire.

“Ss,” said the shadow, rising.  “Glait?” I asked.

“Yess.”

“It can’t be.  You’ve been dead for years.”

“Not dead.  Ssleeping.”

“I haven’t seen you since I was a kid.  You were injured.  You disappeared.  I thought you’d died.”

“I ssleep.  I ssleep to heal.  I ssleep to forget.  I ssleep to renew mysself.”

I extended my arm.  The shaggy snake head rose higher, extended itself, fell upon my forearm, climbed, wrapped itself.

“You certainly chose elegant sleeping quarters.”

“I knew the jug to be a favorite of yourss.  If I waited long enough I knew you would come by again, sstop to admire it.  And I would know and rise up in my ssplendor to greet you.  My, you have grown!”

“You look pretty much the same.  A little thin, perhaps...”

I stroked her head gently.

“It is good to know you are with us still, like some honored family spirit.  You and Gryll and Kergma made my childhood a better thing than it might have been.”

She raised her head high, stroked my cheek with her nose.

“It warmss my cold blood to ssee you again, dear boy.  You’ve traveled far?”

“I have.  Very.”

“One night we shall eat mice and lie besside a fire.  You will warm me a ssaucer of milk and tell me of your adventuress ssince you left the Wayss of Ssawall.  We will find ssome marrow boness for Gryll, if he be sstill about-“

“He seems to serve my uncle Suhuy these days.  What of Kergma?”

“I do not know.  It hass been sso long.”

I held her close to warm her.

“Thank you for waiting here for me in your great drowse, to greet me-“

“Iss more than friendliess, helloss.”

“More? What then, Glait? What is it?”

“A thing to show.  Walk that way.”

She gestured with her head.  I moved in the direction she indicated-the way I had been heading anyhow, to where the corridors widened.  I could feel her vibrating against my arm with the barely audible purring sound she sometimes made.

Suddenly, she stiffened and her head rose, swaying slightly.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Mi-ice,” she said.  “Mi-ice nearby.  I musst go hunting-after I show you-the thing.  Breakfasst...”

“If you would dine first, I will wait.”

“No, Merlin.  You musst not be late for whatever brought you here.  There is importance in the air.  Later-feasst-vermin...”

We came into a wide, high, skylighted section of the gallery.  Four large pieces of metal statuary-bronze and copper, mostly-stood in an asymmetrical arrangement about us.

“Onward,” Glait said.  “Not here.”

I turned right at the next corner and plunged ahead.  Shortly, we came to another display-this one resembling a metal forest.

“Sslow now.  Sslow, dear demon child.”

I halted and studied the trees, bright, dark, shiny, dull.  Iron, aluminum, brass, it was most impressive.  It was also a display that had not been present the last time I had passed this way, years before.  Nothing odd about that, of course.  There had also been changes in other areas I had passed through.

“Now.  Here.  Turn in.  Go back.”

I moved on into the forest.

“Bear right.  The tall one.”

I halted when I came to the curved trunk of the tallest tree to my right.

“This one?”

“Yess.  Negotiate it-upward-pleasse.”

“You mean climb it?”

“Yess.”

“Right.”

One nice thing about a stylized tree-or, at least, this stylized tree-was that it spiraled, swelled, and twisted in such a fashion as to provide better handholds and footholds than at first seemed apparent.  I caught hold, drew myself up, found a place for my foot, pulled again, pushed.

Higher.  Higher, still.  When I was perhaps ten feet above the floor I halted.

“Uh, what do I do now that I’m here?” I asked.

“Climb higher.” ‘

“Why”

“Ssoon.  Ssoon.  You’ll know.”

I drew myself about a foot higher, and then I felt it.

It is not so much a tingling as it is a kind of pressure; only feel a tingling, too, sometimes, if they lead someplace risky.

“There’s a way up there,” I said.

“Yess.  I wass coiled about a branch of the blue tree when a shadowmasster opened it.  They sslew him afterwardss.”

“It must lead to something very important.”

“I ssuppose.  I am not a good judge-of people thingss.”

“You have been through?”

“Yess.”

“Then it is safe?”

“Yess.”

“All right.”

I climbed higher, resisting the force of the way until I’d brought both feet to the same level.  Then I relaxed into the tugging and let it take me through. I extended both hands, too, in case the surface was uneven.  But it wasn’t.  The floor was beautifully tiled in black, silver, gray, and white.  To the right was a geometric design, to the left a representation of the Pit of Chaos.

My eyes were directed downward for only a few moments, though.

“Good Lord!” I said.

“Wass I right? It iss important?” Glait said.

“It is important,” I replied.

VI

There were candles all about the chapel, many of them as tall as I am, and nearly as big around.  Some were silver, some were gray; a few were white, a few black.  They stood at various heights, in artful disposition, on banks, ledges, pattern points on the floor.  They did not provide the main illumination, however.  This obtained from overhead, and I first assumed it to proceed from a skylight.  When I glanced upward to gauge the height of the vault, though, I saw that the light emanated from a large blue-white globe confined behind a dark metal grate.

I took a step forward.  The nearest candle flame flickered.

I faced a stone altar that filled a niche across the way.  Black candles burned at either hand before it, smaller silver ones upon it.  For a moment, I simply regarded it.

“Lookss like you,” Glait remarked.

“I thought your eyes didn’t register two-dimensional representations.”

“I’ve lived a long time in a musseum.  Why hide your picture up a ssecret way?”

I moved forward, my gaze on the painting.

“It’s not me,” I said.  “It’s my father, Corwin of Amber.”

A silver rose stood within a bud vase before the portrait.  Whether it was a real rose or the product of art or magic, I could not tell.

And Grayswandir lay there before it, drawn a few inches from the scabbard.  I’d a feeling this was the real thing, that the version worn by the Pattern ghost of my father was itself a reconstruction.

I reached forward, raised it, drew it.

There was a feeling of power as I held it, swung it, struck an en garde, lunged, advanced.  The spikard came alive, center of a web of forces.

I looked down, suddenly self-conscious.

“ .  And this is my father’s blade,” I said, returning to the altar, where I sheathed it.  Reluctantly, I left it there.

As I backed away, Glait asked, “Thiss iss important?”

“Very,” I said as the way caught hold of me and sent me back to the treetop.

“What now, Masster Merlin?”

“I must get on to lunch with my mother.”

“In that case, you’d besst drop me here.”

“I could return you to the vase.”

“No.  I haven’t lurked in a tree for a time.  Thiss will be fine.”

I extended my arm.  She unwound herself and flowed away across gleaming branches.

“Good luck, Merlin.  Vissit me.”

And I was down the tree, snagging my trousers only once, and off up the corridor at a quick pace.

Two turns later I came to a way to the main hall and decided I’d better take it.  I popped through beside the massive fireplace-high flames braiding themselves within it-and turned slowly to survey the huge chamber, trying to seem as if I had been there a long while, waiting.

I seemed the only person present.  Which, on reflection, struck me as a bit odd, with the fire roaring that way.  I adjusted my shirtfront, brushed myself off, ran my comb through my hair.  I was inspecting my fingernails when I became aware of a flash of movement at the head of the great staircase to my left.

She was a blizzard within a ten-foot tower.  Lightnings danced at its center, crackling; particles of ice clicked and rattled upon the stair; the banister grew frosted where she passed.  My mother.  She seemed to see me at about the same time I saw her, for she halted.  Then she made the turn onto the stair and began her descent.

As she descended, she shifted smoothly, her appearance changing almost from step to step.  As soon as I realized what was occurring I relaxed my own efforts and reversed their small effects.  I had commenced changing the moment I had seen her, and presumably she had done the same on viewing me.  I hadn’t thought she’d go to that extent to humor me, a second time, here on her own turf.

The shift was completed just as she reached the bottommost stair, becoming a lovely woman in black trousers and red shirt with flared sleeves.  She looked at me again and smiled, moved toward me, embraced me.

It would have been gauche to say that I’d intended shifting but had forgotten.  Or any other remark on the matter.

She pushed me out to arm’s distance, lowered her gaze and raised it, shook her head.

“Do you sleep in your clothes before or after violent exercise?” she asked me.

“That’s unkind,” I said.  “I stopped to sightsee on the way over and ran into a few problems.” ‘

“That is why you are late?”

“No.  I’m late because I stopped in our gallery and took longer than I’d intended.  And I’m not very late.” She took hold of my arm and turned me.

“I will forgive you,” she said, steering me toward the rose and green and gold-flecked pillar of ways, set in the mirrored alcove across the room to the right.

I didn’t feel that called for a response, so I didn’t make one.  I watched with interest as we entered the alcove, to see whether she would conduct me in a clock- wise direction or its opposite about the pillar.

The opposite, it turned out.  Interesting.

We were reflected and re-reflected from the three sides.  So was the room we had quitted.  And with each circuit we made of the pillar it became a different room.

I watched it change, kaleidoscopically, until she halted me before the crystal grotto beside the underground sea.  “It’s been a long time since I thought of this place,”

I said, stepping forth upon the pure white sand into the crystal-cast light, variously reminiscent of bonfires, solar reflections, candelabra, and LED displays, functions of size and distancing perhaps, laying occasional pieces of rainbow upon the shore, the walls, the black water.

She took my hand and led me toward a raised and railed platform some small distance off to the right.  A table stood full set upon it.  A collection of covered trays occupied a larger serving table inland of it.  We mounted a small stair, and I seated her and moved to check out the goodies next door.

“Do sit down, Merlin,” she said.  “I’ll serve you.”

“That’s all right,” I answered, raising a lid.  “I’m already here.  I’ll do the first round.”

She was on her feet.

“Buffet style then,” she said.

“Sure.”

We filled our plates and moved to the table.  Seconds after we had seated ourselves a brilliant flash of light came to us across the water, illuminating the arching dome of the cavern vault like the ribbed interior of some massive beast that was digesting us.

“You needn’t look so apprehensive.  You know they can’t come in this far.”

“Waiting for a thunderclap puts my appetite on hold,” I said.

She laughed just as a distant roll of thunder reached us.

“And that makes everything all right?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied, raising my fork.

“Strange, the relatives life gives us,” she said.

I looked at her, tried to read her expression, couldn’t.

So, “Yes,” I said.

She studied me for a moment, but I wasn’t giving anything away either.

So, “When you were a child you went monosyllabic as a sign of petulance,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

We began eating.  There were more flashes out over the still, dark sea.

By light of the last one I thought I caught sight of a distant ship, black sails full-rigged and bellied.

“You kept your engagement with Mandor earlier?”

“Yes.”

“How is he?”

“Fine.”

“Something bothering you, Merlin?”

“Many things.”

“Tell Mother?”

“What if she’s a part of it?”

“I would be disappointed if I were not.  Still, how long will you hold the business of the ty’iga against me? I did what I thought was right.  I still think it was.”

I nodded and continued chewing.  After a time, “You made that clear last cycle,” I said.

The waters gave a small sloshing sound.  A spectrum drifted across our table, her face.

“Is there something else?” she asked.

“Why don’t you tell me?” I said.

I felt her gaze.  I met it.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she answered.

“Are you aware that the Logrus is sentient? And the Pattern?” I said.

“Did Mandor tell you that?” she asked.

“Yes.  But I already knew it before he did.”

“How?”

“We’ve been in touch.”

“You and the Pattern? You and the Logrus?”

“Both.”

“To what end?”

“Manipulation, I’d say.  They’re engaged in a power struggle.  They were asking me to choose sides.”

“Which did you choose?”

“Neither.  Why?”

“You should have told me.”

“Why?”

“For counsel.  Possibly for assistance.”

“Against the Powers of the universe? How well connected are you, Mother?”

She smiled.

“It is possible that one such as myself may possess special knowledge of their workings.”

“One such as yourself...  ?”

“A sorceress of my skills.”

“Just how good are you, Mother?”

“I don’t think they come much better, Merlin.”

“Family is always the last to know, I guess.  So why didn’t you train me yourself, instead of sending me off to Suhuy?”

“I’m not a good teacher.  I dislike training people.”

“You trained Jasra.”

She tilted her head to the right and narrowed her eyes.

“Did Mandor tell you that, also?” she asked.

“No.

“Who, then?”

“What difference does it make?”

“Considerable,” she replied.  “Because I don’t believe you knew it the last time we met.”

I recalled suddenly that she had said something about Jasra back at Suhuy’s, something implying her familiarity with her, something to which I would ordinarily have risen save that I was driving a load of animus in a different direction at the time and heading downhill in a thunderstorm with the brakes making funny noises.  I was about to ask her why it mattered when I learned it, when I realized that she was really asking from whom I’d learned it, because she was concerned with whom I might have been speaking on such matters since last we’d met.  Mentioning Luke’s Pattern ghost did not seem politic, so, “Okay, Mandor let it slip,” I said, “and then asked me to forget it.”

“In other words,” she said, “he expected it to get back to me.  Why did he do it just that way? I wonder.  The man is damnably subtle.”

“Maybe he did just let it slip.”

“Mandor lets nothing slip.  Never make him an enemy, son.”

“Are we talking about the same person?”

She snapped her fingers.

“Of course,” she said.  “It was only as a child that you knew him.  You went away after that.  You have seen him but a few times since.  Yes, he is subtle, insidious, dangerous.”

“We’ve always gotten along well.”

“Of course.  He never antagonizes without a good reason.”

I shrugged and went on eating.

After a time she said, “I daresay he has made similar comments about me.”

“I am unable to recall any,” I answered.

“Has he been giving you lessons in circumspection, too?”

“No, though I’ve felt a need to teach myself, of late.”

“Surely, you obtained a few in Amber.”

“If I did, they were so subtle I didn’t notice.”

“Well, well.  Can it be I need despair of you no more?”

“I doubt it.”

“So, what might the Pattern or the Logrus want of you?”

“I already told you-a choice of sides.”

“It is that difficult to decide which you prefer?”

“It is that difficult to decide which I dislike less.”

“Because they are, as you say, manipulative of people in their struggle for power?”

“Just so.”

She laughed.  Then, “While it shows the gods as no better than the rest of us,” she said, “at least, it shows them as no worse.  See here the sources of human morality.  It is still better than none at all.  If these grounds be insufficient for the choosing of sides, then let other considerations rule.  You are, after all, a son of Chaos.”

“And Amber,” I said.

“You grew up in the Courts.”

“And I have dwelled in Amber.  My relatives are as numerous there as they are here.”

“It is really that close, then?”

“If it were not, it might have simplified matters.”

“In that case,” she said, “you must turn it around.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ask not which appeals the most to you, but which can do the most for you,”

I sipped a fine green tea as the storm rolled nearer.  Something splashed within the waters of our inlet.

“All right,” I said, “I’m asking.”

She leaned forward and smiled and her eyes darkened.  She has always had perfect control of her face and form, shifting them to suit her moods.  She is obviously the same person, but at times she may choose to appear as little more than a girl, at other times becoming a mature and handsome woman.  Generally, she seems somewhere in between.  But now, a certain timeless quality came into her features-not age so much as the essence of Time-and I realized suddenly that I had never known her true age.  I watched as something like a veil of ancient power came across it.

“The Logrus,” she said, “will lead you to greatness.”

I continued to stare.

“What sort of greatness?” I asked.

“What sort do you desire?”

“I don’t know that I ever wanted greatness, on its own.  It seems rather

like wanting to be an engineer, rather than wanting to design something-or wanting to be a writer, rather than wanting to write.  It should be a by-product, not a thing in itself.  Otherwise, it’s just an ego trip.”

“But if you earn it-if you deserve it-shouldn’t you have it?”

“I suppose.  But so far I’ve done nothing”-my eyes fell to a bright circle of light beneath the dark waters, moving as if running before a storm-“except perhaps for an odd piece of equipment, which might fall into that category.”

“You are young, of course,” she said, “and the times for which you were meant to be uniquely qualified have come sooner than I’d anticipated.”

If I were to use magic to summon a cup of coffe, would she resent that? Yes, I believed.  She would.  So I decided on a glass of wine.  As I poured it and took a sip, I said, “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

She nodded.

“It is hardly something you could learn from introspection,” she said slowly, “and no one would be so rash as to mention the possibility to you.”

“What are you talking about, Mother?”

“The throne.  To reign in the Courts of Chaos.”

“Mandor had sort of suggested I think about it,” I said.

“All right.  No one, excepting Mandor, would be so rash as to mention it.”

“I gather mothers get a certain kick out of seeing their sons do well, but unfortunately you’ve named a job for which I lack not only skill, aptitude, and training but also any desire.”

She steepled her fingers and regarded me from just above them.

“You are better qualified than you think, and your desires have nothing to do with the matter.”

“As an interested party, I must beg to differ with you.”

“Even if it were the only way to protect friends and relatives both here and in Amber?”

I took another sip of wine.

“Protect them? Against what?”

“The Pattern is about to try redefining the middle regions of Shadow in its own image.  It is probably strong enough to do it now.”

“You were talking of Amber and the Courts, not of Shadow.”

“The Logrus will have to resist this incursion.  Since it would probably lose in a direct confrontation with its opposite, it will be forced to employ agents strategically, in a strike against Amber.  The most effective agents would, of course, be champions of the Courts-“

“This is mad!” I said.  “There must be a better way!”

“Possibly,” she replied.  “Accept the throne and you’ll be giving the orders.”

“I don’t know enough.”

“You will be briefed, of course.”

“What about the proper order of succession?”

“That’s not your problem.”

“I rather think I’d have an interest in how it’s achieved-say, whether I’d owe you or Mandor for the majority of deaths.”

“In that we’re both Sawall, the question becomes academic.”

“You mean you’re cooperating on this?”

“We have our differences,” she said, “and I draw the line at any discussion of methods.”

I sighed and took another drink.  The storm had grown worse over the dark waters.  If that strange light effect beneath their surface were indeed Ghostwheel, I wondered what he was up to.  The lightings were becoming a steady backdrop, the thunder a continuing soundtrack.

“What did you mean,” I said, “when you spoke of the times for which I was meant to be uniquely qualified?”

“The present and the immediate future,” she said, “with the conflict that will come.”

“No,” I responded.  “I was referring to the business about my being ‘meant to be uniquely qualified.’ How so?”

It must have been the lightning, for I had never seen her blush before.

“You combine two great bloodlines,” she said.  “Technically, your father was King of Amber briefly-between the reign of Oberon and that of Eric”

“Since Oberon was still alive at the time and had not abdicated, neither reign should be considered valid,” I responded.  “Random is Oberon’s proper successor.”

“A case can be made for an implied abdication,” she said.

“You prefer that reading, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

I watched the storm.  I swallowed some wine.

“That is why you wished to bear Corwin’s child?” I asked.

“The Logrus assured me that such a child would be uniquely qualified to reign here.”

“But Dad never really meant that much to you, did he?”

She looked away, out to where the circle of light was now racing toward us, lightnings falling behind it.  “You have no right to ask that question,” she said.

“I know that.  But it’s true, isn’t it?”

“You are mistaken.  He meant a great deal to me.”

“But not in any conventional sense.”

“I am not a conventional person.”

“I was the result of a breeding experiment.  The Logrus selected the mate who would give you-what?”

The circle of light swam nearer.  The storm followed it, coming closer in to the shore than I’d ever seen one reach here before.

“An ideal Lord of Chaos,” she said, “fit to rule.”

“Somehow I feel there’s more to it than that,” I said.

Dodging lightning bolts, the bright circle came up out of the water and flashed across the sand toward us.  If she responded to my last remark, I couldn’t hear it.  The ensuing thunders were deafening.

The light came onto the decking, paused near to my foot.

“Dad, can you protect me?” Ghost asked in a lull between thunderclaps.

“Rise to my left wrist,” I bade.

Dara stared as he found his place, taking on the appearance of Frakir.

In the meantime, the final flash of lightning did not depart, but stood for a time like a sizzling stalk at the water’s edge.  Then it collapsed into a ball that hovered in the middle air for several moments before drifting in our direction.  As it came on, its structure began to change.

When it drifted to a position beside our table it had become a bright, pulsing Sign of the Logrus.

“Princess Dara, Prince Merlin,” came that awful voice I had last heard on the day of the confrontation at Amber Castle, “I did not wish to disturb your repast, but that thing you harbor makes it necessary.” A jagged branch of the image was flipped in the direction of my left wrist.

“It’s blocking my ability to shift away,” Ghost said. 

“Give it to me!”

“Why?” I asked.

“That thing has traversed the Logrus,” came the words, differing at seeming random in pitch, volume, accent.

It occurred to me that I might defy it now if I were really as valuable to the Logrus as Dara had indicated.  So, “It’s theoretically open to all comers,” I responded.

“I am my own law, Merlin, and your Ghostwheel has crossed me before.  I’ll have it now.”

“No,” I said, moving my awareness into the spikard, seeking and locating a means of instant transport to an area where the Pattern ruled.  “I’ll not surrender my creation so readily.”

The brightness of the Sign increased.

At this, Dara was on her feet, moving to interpose herself between it and myself.

“Stay,” she said.  “We’ve more important matters tc deal with than vengeance upon a toy.  I have dispatched my cousins Hendrake for the bride of Chaos.  If you wish this plan to succeed, I suggest you assist them.”

“I recall your plan for Prince Brand, setting the lady Jasra to snare him.  It could not fail, you told me.”

“It brought you closer than you ever came, old Serpent, to the power you desire.”

“That is true,” it acknowledged.

“And the bearer of the Eye is a simpler being than Jasra.”

The Sign slid past her, a tiny sun turning itself into a succession of ideograms.

“Merlin, you will take the throne and serve me when the time comes?”

“I will do what is necessary to redress the balance of power,” I replied.

“That is not what I asked! Will you take the throne under the terms I set?”

“If that is what is needed to set things right,” I answered.

“This pleases me,” it said.  “Keep your toy.”

Dara moved aside, and it passed near to her before fading.

“Ask him of Luke and Corwin and the new Pattern,” it said, and then it was gone.

She turned toward me and stared.

“Pour me a glass of wine,” she said.

I did this.  She raised it and took a swallow.

“So tell me of Luke and Corwin and the new Pattern,” she said.

“Tell me of Jasra and Brand,” I countered.

“No.  You will go first in this,” she said.

“Very well,” I said.  “It neglected to mention that they were Pattern ghosts.  Luke’s appeared to me on the way over here, sent by the Pattern to persuade me to depart this realm.  The Logrus sent Lord Borel’s to dispose of Luke.”

“Luke being Rinaldo, the son of Jasra and Brand, husband of Coral and King of Kashfa?”

“Very good.  Now tell me of all that business at the end.  You set Jasra to snare Brand, to guide him down the path he took?”

“He would have taken it anyhow.  He came to the Courts seeking power to further his ends.  She merely made things a little easier for him.”

“That’s not how it sounded to me.  But does that mean my father’s curse was not really a factor?”

“No, it helped-in a metaphysical way-making it easier to extend the Black Road to Amber.  Why is it you are still here, when King Rinaldo bade you depart? Is it loyalty to the Courts?”

“I had a date with you for lunch, and it’s been a while.  Hated to miss it.”

She smiled, very slightly, and took a small sip of wine.

“You change the subject well,” she stated.  “Let us return to it now.

The ghost of Borel dispatched that of Rinaldo, I take it?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean?”

“My father’s ghost showed up about then and dealt with Borel, permitting us to depart.”

“Again? Corwin bested Borel again?” I nodded.

“Neither remembered their first encounter, of course.  Their memories only go back to the time of their recording, and-“

“I understand the principle.  Then what happened?”

“We fled,” I answered, “and I subsequently came here.”

“What did the Logrus mean in referring to the Pattern?”

“My father’s ghost was apparently generated them; rather than by the old one.”

She sat upright, eyes suddenly wide.

“How do you know this?” she demanded. 

“He told me,” I answered.

She stared past me then at the now-silent sea.  “So the third power is actually taking a part in things,” she mused.  “This is fascinating, as well as disconcerting.  Damn the man for having drawn it!”

“You really hate him, don’t you?” I said.

Her eyes focused again upon my own.

“Let that subject be!” she ordered.  “Save for this,” she amended a moment later.  “Did he give you any indication as to the new Pattern’s allegiance-or its plans? The fact that .it sent him to protect Luke might be seen as a seconding of the old Pattern’s action.  On the other hand-either because it was created by your father, or because it has its own uses for you-I can see it simply as an effort at your protection.  What did he say?”

“That he wanted to get me away from where I was.”

She nodded.

“Which he obviously did,” she said.  “Did he say anything else? Did anything else happen that might be important?”

“He asked after you.”

“Really? And that was all?”

“He had no special message, if that’s what you mean.”

“I see.”

She looked away, was silent for a time.  Then, “Those ghosts don’t last very long, do they?” she said.

“No,” I replied.

“It’s infuriating,” she said at last, “to think that, despite everything, he is still able to play a hand in this.”

“He’s alive, isn’t he, Mother?” I said.  “And you know where he is.”

“I’m not his keeper, Merlin.”

“I think you are.”

“It is impertinent to contradict me this way.”

“Yet I must,” I responded.  “I saw him off on his way to the Courts.  Certainly, he wanted to be here with the others for the peace settlement.  Even more, though, he must have wanted to see you.  There were so many unanswered questions in his mind-where you came from, why you came to him, why you parted as you did-“

“Enough!” she cried.  “Let it be!”

I ignored her.

“And I know he was here in the Courts.  He was seen here.  He must have looked you up.  What happened then? What sort of answers did you give him?”

She rose to her feet, glaring at me now.

“That will be all, Merlin,” she said.  “It seems impossible to conduct a civilized conversation with you.”

“Is he your prisoner, Mother? Do you have him locked away somewhere, someplace where he can’t bother you, can’t interfere with your plans?”

She stepped quickly away from the table, almost stumbling.

“Wretched child!” she said.  “You’re just like him! Why did you have to resemble him so?”

“You’re afraid of him, aren’t you?” I said, suddenly realizing this could well be the case.  “You’re afraid to kill a Prince of Amber, even with the Logrus on your side.  You’ve got him locked away somewhere, and you’re afraid he’ll come loose and blow your latest plans.  You’ve been scared for a long time now because of what you’ve had to do to keep him out of action.”

“Preposterous!” she said, backing away as I rounded the table.  There was a look of genuine fear on her face now.  “You’re just guessing!” she went on.  “He’s dead, Merlin! Give up! Leave me alone! Never mention his name in my presence again! Yes, I hate him! He would have destroyed us all! He still would, if he could!”

“He is not dead,” I stated.

“How can you say that?”

I bit down on the desire to tell her I’d spoken with him, held it back.

“Only the guilty protest so strongly,” I said.  “He’s alive.  Where is he?”

She raised her hands, palms inward, and crossed them upon her breast, elbows low.  The fear was gone, the anger was gone.  When she spoke again, something like mockery seemed her main humor: “Then seek him, Merlin.  By all means, seek him.”

“Where?” I demanded.

“Look for him in the Pit of Chaos.”

A flame appeared near her left foot and began orbiting her body in a counterclockwise direction, spiraling upward, leaving a line of fire to blaze redly behind it.  By the time it reached the crown of her head she was entirely concealed.  It went out with a faint whooshing sound then, taking her along with it.

I moved forward and knelt, feeling the area on which she’d stood.  It was a little warm, that’s all.  Nice spell.  Nobody’d ever taught me that one.  Thinking back on it then, I realized that Mom had always had a flair when it came to entrances and exits.

“Ghost?”

He danced away from my wrist to hover in the air before me.

“Yes?”

“Are you still barred from transporting yourself through Shadow?”

“No,” he replied.  “That was lifted when the Sign of the Logrus departed.  I can travel-in or out of Shadow.  I can provide transportation for you.  Would you like me to?”

“Yes.  Take me into the gallery upstairs.”

“Gallery? I plunged directly from the place of the Logrus into the dark sea, Dad.  I’m not quite sure as to the lay of the land here.”

“Never mind,” I said.  “I’ll manage it myself.”

I activated the spikard.  Energies spiraled from six of its tines, encaging Ghost and myself, swirling us upward to the place of my desire in the Maze of Art.  I tried for a flash of fire as we went, but had no way of knowing whether I’d achieved it.  Makes you wonder how the really good ones get their practice.