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And so we rode-six paces along a city street, amid the blare of horns, our black way edged by skid marks; a quarter mile along a black sand beach, beside a soft green sea, stirring palms to our left; across a tarnished snowfield; beneath a bridge of stone, our way a dead and blackened streambed; then to prairie; back to wooded way-and Tiger never flinched, even when Dalt put a booted foot through a windshield and broke off an antenna.

The way continued to widen, to perhaps twice its width when I had first come upon it.  Stark trees were more common within it now, standing like photographic negatives of their bright mates but a few feet off the trail.  While the leaves and branches of these latter were regularly stirred, we felt no wind at all.  The sounds of our voices, of our mounts’ hooves-came somehow muted now, also.  Our entire course had a constant, wavery twilight atmosphere to it, no matter that a few paces away-which brief excursion we essayed many times-it might be high noon or midnight.  Dead-looking birds were perched within the blackened trees, though they seemed on occasion to move, and the raspy, croaking sounds that sometimes came to us may well have been theirs.

At one time, a fire raged to our right; at another, we seemed to be passing near the foot of a glacier on the left.  Our trail continued to widen-nothing like the great Black Road Corwin had described to me from the days of the war, but big enough now for us all to ride abreast.

“Luke,” I said, after a time.

“Yeah?” he answered, from my left.  Nayda rode to my right now, and Dalt to her right.  “What’s up?”

“I don’t want to be king.”

“Me neither,” he said.  “How hard they pushing you?”

“I’m afraid they’re going to grab me and crown me if I go back.  Everybody in my way died suddenly.  They really plan to stick me on the throne, to marry me to Coral-“

“Uh-huh,” he said, “and I’ve two questions about it.  First, will it work?”

“The Logrus seems to think it will, at least for a time-which is all politics is about, anyhow.”

“Second,” he said, “if you feel about the place the way I feel about Kashfa, you’re not going to let it go to hell if you can help it-even if it means some personal misery.  You don’t want to take the throne, though, so you must have worked out some alternative remedy.  What is it?”

I nodded as the trail turned sharply to the left and headed uphill.

Something small and dark scuttled across our path.

“I’ve a notion-not even a full idea,” I said, “which I want to discuss with my father.”

“Tall order,” he said.  “You know for sure that he’s even alive?”

“I talked to him not all that long ago-very briefly.  He’s a prisoner, somewhere.  All I know for sure is that it’s somewhere in the vicinity of the Courts-because I can reach him by Trump from there, but nowhere else.”

“Tell me about this communication,” he said.

And so I did, black bird and all.

“Sounds like busting him out’s going to be tricky,” he said.  “And you think your mom’s behind it?”

“Yep.”

“I thought I was the only one with these maternal problems.  But it figures, seeing as yours trained mine.”

“How come we turned out so normal?” I said.

He just stared at me for several seconds.  Then he started to laugh.

“Well, I feel normal,” I said.

“Of course,” he said quickly then, “and that’s what counts.  Tell me, if it came to an out-and-out crossing of powers, do you think you could beat Dara?”

“Hard to say,” I told him.  “I’m stronger now than I ever was before, because of the spikard.  But I’m beginning to believe she’s very good.”

“What the hell’s a spikard?” So I told him that story, too.

“That’s why you were so flashy back in the church when you were fighting with Jurt?” he said.

“That’s right.”

“Let’s see it.”

I tried to pull it off, but it wouldn’t pass the knuckle.

So I simply extended my hand.  Luke reached for it.  His fingers halted a couple of inches above it.

“It’s holding me off, Merle.  Protective little devil.”

“Hell,” I said, “I’m not a shapeshifter for nothing.” I took hold of it then, slimmed my finger suddenly, and slid it off.  “Here.”

He held it in the palm of his left hand as we bounced along, regarding it through narrowed eyes.  Suddenly, I felt dizzy.  Withdrawal symptoms from the thing? I forced myself upright, reversed my breathing, refused to let it show.

“Heavy,” Luke said at last.  “I can feel the power there.  Other things, too.  It won’t let me in, though.”

I reached for it and he drew his hand away.

“I can feel it in the air all around us,” he said.  “Merle, this thing lays a spell on anybody who wears it.

I shrugged.

“Yes,” I said.  “A benign one, though.  It’s done nothing to harm me, and it’s helped me a number of times.”

“But can you trust anything that came to you in such an odd way-almost by trickery, caused you to abandon Frakir when she tried to warn you about it, and for all you know has been influencing your behavior ever since you put it on?”

“I admit to a kind of disorientation at first,” I said, “but I think that was just in the way of accommodation to the levels of voltage it draws.  I’ve been back to normal for some time now.”

“How can you tell for sure? Maybe it’s brainwashed you.”

“Do I seem brainwashed to you?”

“No.  I was just trying to say that I wouldn’t completely trust anything with such questionable credentials.”

“Well taken,” I agreed, holding forth my hand.  “But so far the benefits have outweighed any hypothetical dangers.  Consider me warned, and I’ll take my chances.”

He handed it back.

“If I think it’s making you act weird I’m going to hit you over the head and pull it off, though.”

“Fair enough,” I said, slipping it back on.  Immediately, I felt a rush of energy throughout my system as the lines of control were reestablished.

“If you’re not sure you can force the information out of your mother,” he said, “how do you propose finding Corwin and freeing him?”

“Several things suggest themselves,” I said.  “The simplest way may be a foot in the door technique.  That is, I’d open all of the channels on the spikard and go for another Trump contact.  As soon as there’s any sort of opening I’d just push ahead with full force, jamming any spells that try to stop me and burning them out.”

“Sounds as if it could be dangerous.”

“I can’t think of any way to go about this that wouldn’t be.”

“Then why haven’t you tried it?”

“It only occurred to me recently, and I haven’t had the time since then.”

“However you go about it, you’re going to need some help,” he said.  “So count me in.”

“Thanks, Luke.  I-“

“Now, about the king business,” he said.  “What happens if you simply refuse to take the throne? Who’s next in line?”

“It’s a bit tangled when you come to Sawall,” I said.  “By rights, Mandor should be first in line of succession from our House.  He’d removed himself from the line years ago, though.”

“Why?”

“I believe he claimed he was unfit to rule.”

“No offense, Merle.  But he seems like the only one of you who is fit for the job.”

“Oh, without a doubt,” I responded.  “Most of the Houses have someone like him, though.  There’s usually a nominal head and a de facto one, someone for show and someone for scheming.  Mandor likes the climate behind the scenes.”

“Sounds as if your House has two,” he said.

“I’m not really clear on it,” I said.  “I don’t know Dara’s status right now in her father’s House-Helgram-or her mother’s-Hendrake.  But it might be worth a power struggle within Sawall if that’s where the next king is coming from.  Still, the more I learn of Mandor the more intimidating such a struggle would seem.  I’d guess they’re cooperating.”

“I take it you’re next in line, and then Jurt?”

“Actually, our brother Despil is next after me.  Jurt said that Despil would probably step aside for him, but I think that was wishful thinking.  I’m not at all sure he would.  Anyhow, Jurt says now that he isn’t interested.”

“Ha! I think he’s just taking a different approach.  You whipped him too many times, and he’s trying to get in good with you.  Hope that spikard can protect your back.”

“I don’t know,” I said.  “I’d like to believe him.  He spent a lot of time making sure that it wouldn’t be easy, though.”

“Supposing you all decline.  Who’s next?”

“I’m not certain,” I said, “but I think it would go to Hendrake then.”

“Damn,” Luke said.  “It’s as twisted a place as Amber, isn’t it?”

“Neither one’s twisted, exactly.  Just a little complicated, till you’ve learned the ropes.”

“What say I just listen, and you fill me in on everything that you haven’t so far?”

“Good idea.”

So I talked for a long while, breaking to summon food and water.  We halted twice during that time, causing me to realize just how tired I had become.  And briefing Luke reminded me yet again that I should be telling all of this to Random.  But if I got in touch and tried it I was certain he would order me back to Amber.  And I couldn’t disobey a direct order from the king, even if I was almost his opposite number.

“We’re getting nearer,” Nayda announced somewhat later, and I noted that our roadway had widened even more, almost to the point she’d described.  I drew a jolt of energy into my system, digested it, and kept going.

Shortly thereafter, she remarked, “Much nearer.”

“Like just around the corner?” Luke asked.

“Could be,” she answered.  “I can’t be more precise, the condition she’s in.”

But a little later, we heard distant shouts.

Luke drew rein.

“Something about a tower,” he said.

She nodded.

“Were they heading for it, holing up in it, or defending themselves there?”

“All of the above,” she said.  “I understand now.  Her captors were pursued, headed for a place of refuge, reached it, are there now.”

“How come you’re suddenly that precise?”

She gave me a quick look that I took as a request for an explanation other than ty’iga powers.

“I was using the spikard,” I offered, “trying to see whether I could give her a clearer vision.”

“Good,” Luke said.  “Can you boost it even more, so we can see what we’re up against?”

“I can try,” I said, narrowing my eyes at her in inquiry.  She responded with a very slight nod.

I wasn’t certain how to go about it, so I just fed her energy in the way of that jolt I’d given myself a while back.

“Yes,” she said after a few moments, “Coral and her captors-six of them, I believe-have taken refuge in a tower near here.  They are under attack.”

“How large is the party of attackers?” Luke asked.

“Small,” she said.  “Quite small.  I can’t give you a number.”

“Let’s go and see,” Luke said, and he led the way,: Dalt behind him.

“Three or four,” Nayda whispered to me, “but they’re Pattern ghosts.  That’s probably all it can maintain this far from home, on a Black Road.”

“Ouch,” I said.  “This makes it tricky.”

“How so?”

“It means I have relatives on both sides.”

“It also looks as if Amber’s ghosts and the Court’s demons are only agents, and that it’s really a confrontation between the Logrus and the Pattern.”

“Damn! Of course!” I said.  “It could easily escalate into another of those.  I’m going to have to warn Luke what we’re riding into.”

“You can’t! Not without telling him what I am!”

“I’ll tell him I learned it myself-that I had a sudden insight into a new spell.”

“But what then? Which side are you on? What do we do?”

“Neither,” I said.  “We’re on our own, and against both of them.”

“You’re crazy! There’s no place you can hide, Merle! The Powers divide the universe between them!”

“Luke! “ I cried.  “I just probed ahead, learned the attackers are Pattern ghosts!”

“You don’t say?” he called back.  “Think we should be taking their side?  It’s probably better for the Pattern to take her back than for the Courts to get her, wouldn’t you think?”

“She shouldn’t be used that way,” I said.  “Let’s take her away from both of them.”

“I agree with your feelings,” he stated.  “But what if we succeed? I don’t really care to be struck by a meteor or transported to the bottom of the nearest ocean.”

“As near as I can tell, the spikard doesn’t draw its power from the Pattern or the Logrus.  Its sources are scattered through Shadow.”

“So? I’m sure it’s not a match for either one, let alone both.”

“No, but I can use it to start an evasion course.  They’ll be getting in each other’s way if they decide to pursue us.”

“But eventually they’d find us, wouldn’t they?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” I said.  “I have some ideas, but we’re running out of time.”

“Dalt, did you hear all that?” Luke asked.

 “I did,” Dalt replied.

“If you want out, now’s your chance.”

“And miss an opportunity to twist the Unicorn’s tail?” he said.  “Keep riding!”

We did, and the shouts grew louder as we raced ahead.  There was a certain timeless feeling to it, though-with the muffled sounds and the dimness-as if we had always been riding here and always would be....

Then we rounded a bend and I saw the top of the tower in the distance, heard more shouts.  We slowed as we came to the next turn, advancing more cautiously, working our way through a small stand of black saplings.

Finally, we halted, dismounted, worked our way forward on foot.  We pushed aside the final screening branches and looked down a slight slope to a blackened, sandy plain beside a three-story gray tower with slit windows and a narrow entranceway.  It took a while to sort out the tableau at its base.

There were two demon-formed individuals standing to either side of the tower’s entrance.  They were armed and their attention seemed focused upon the contest taking place on the sands before them.  Familiar figures stood at the far end of this impromptu arena and at either side: Benedict stroked his chin, expressionless; Eric hunkered and smiled; Caine juggled, flipped, palmed, and passed a dagger, reflexively, through some private routine, an expression of amused fascination on his face.  From the tower’s top, I suddenly noted, two horned demons leaned forward, their gazes as intent as those of Amber’s Pattern ghosts.

At the circle’s center Gerard faced a demon-formed son of Hendrake, of his own height and greater girth.  It looked to be Chinaway himself, who was said to have a collection of over two hundred skulls of those he’d dispatched.  I preferred Gerard’s collection of a thousand or so mugs, steins, and drinking horns, but your ghost will walk, you lover of trees, in an English lane, if you know what I mean.

Both were stripped to the waist, and from the scuffed-up condition of the sands about them I guessed they had been at it for some time.  Chinaway tried to trip Gerard just then, who caught his arm and head as he stepped behind him, and sent him cartwheeling away.  The demon lord came up on his feet, however, and immediately advanced once again, arms extended, hands weaving a sinuous pattern before him.  Gerard simply waited in a ready position.  Chinaway stabbed taloned fingers toward Gerard’s eyes and hooked a blow against his rib cage.  Gerard caught hold of his shoulder, however, as Chinaway dropped and caught him about the thigh.

“Let’s wait,” Dalt said softly.  “I want to watch.” Luke and I both nodded as Gerard locked Chinaway’s head and Chinaway wrapped his other arm about Gerard’s waist.  Then they simply stood there, muscles bulging beneath two hides, one pale and smooth, the other red and scaly.  Their lungs worked like bellows.

“I assume the thing’s been dragging out,” Luke whispered, “and they decided to settle it champion against champion.”

“Looks that way,” I said.

“Coral must be inside then, wouldn’t you think?”

“Wait a minute.”

I ran a quick probe into the structure, locating two people within.  I nodded then.

“Her and a single guard, I’d say.”

Gerard and Chinaway still stood like statues.

“Now might be the best time to grab Coral,” Luke said, “while everybody’s watching the fight.”

“You’re probably right,” I told him.  “Let me see whether I can make myself invisible.  That might simplify matters.”

“Okay,” he said about a quarter minute later.  “Whatever you did just then worked.  You’re gone.”

“Indeed I am,” I said.  “Back in a bit.”

“How will you get her out?”

“I’ll decide after I’ve reached her.  Just be ready.”

I moved slowly, careful not to scuff the sand.  I skirted the circle, passing behind Caine.  I approached the door to the tower, soundless, checking about me constantly.  Gerard and Chinaway still stood exactly as they had been, locked, and applying enormous pressures to each other.

I passed between the guards, entering the dim interior of the tower.  It consisted of a single round room with a bare earth floor, stone pedestals beneath each slit window.  A ladder led up to the second floor through a hole in the ceiling.  Coral lay upon a blanket to my left; the individual who was ostensibly guarding her stood upon a pedestal, watching the fight through the nearest window.

I moved nearer, knelt, caught up her left wrist and felt her pulse.  It was strong and steady.  I decided against trying to awaken her, though.  Instead, I wrapped the blanket around her, raised her in my arms, and stood.

I was about to try extending the invisibility spell to include her when the watcher at the window turned.  I must have made some noise in moving her.

For a moment, the guard stared at the sight of his prisoner drifting below him.  Then he opened his mouth, as if to give alarm-leaving me with small choice but to shock his nervous system into insensibility with a charge from my ring.

Unfortunately, there was a rattle of arms as he fell from his pedestal to the floor.  Almost immediately, I heard a cry from overhead; followed by sounds of rapid movement.

Turning, I hurried to the door.  I had to slow and turn because of its narrowness.  I wasn’t certain what the guards outside would think when a comatose Coral drifted by, but I didn’t want to be trapped inside.  Peering ahead, I saw that Gerard and Chinaway seemed in the same position as before.  Seconds later, however, as I turned my body and took my first sidling step, there came a sudden, sharp twisting movement from Gerard, followed immediately by a sound like that of a snapping stick.

Gerard let his arms fall and stood erect.  The body of Chinaway hit the ground at his side, neck at an unnatural angle.  Eric and Caine applauded.  The two guards beside the door moved forward.  Behind me, within, the ladder rattled at the other side of the room.  I heard a cry from that direction.

Two more steps and I turned, headed left.  The outside guards were rushing toward their fallen champion.  A half dozen paces, and there were more cries at my back, as my pursuers exited the tower; and there were human cries as well, from the killing circle.

I knew that I couldn’t outrun any of them, carrying my burden; and all that motor activity interfered with my concentration to the point where I was incapable of performing magical operations.

So I dropped to my knees, lowering Coral to the ground before me, turned without even rising, and extended my left fist, plunging my mind deep within the ring, calling for extreme measures to halt the pair of Hendrake commandos who were only a few paces away now, edged weapons ready to pierce and to slash.

...  And then they were caught up in the midst of flames.  I think they screamed, but there was a lot of noise just then.  Two paces more, perhaps, and they fell, blackened and twitching, before me.  My hand was shaking, from its proximity to the powers that caused this; and I hadn’t time, even, to think or to feel as I swung toward the sandy place of the recent contest and whatever might be coming at me from that direction.

One of the two guards who had rushed forward lay smoldering on the ground at Eric’s feet.  Another-who had apparently attacked Caine-clutched at the knife in his gullet, fires spreading outward, downward, upward, from his throat, as he sank slowly, then toppled to the rear.

Immediately, Caine, Eric, and Benedict turned to stare at me.  Gerard, having just drawn on a blue shirt, was buckling his swordbelt in place.  He turned, too, just as Caine said, “And who, sir, are you?”

“Merlin,” I replied, “son of Corwin.” Caine actually looked startled.

“Does Corwin have a son?” he asked the others.  Eric shrugged and Gerard said, “I don’t know.” But Benedict studied me.

“There is a resemblance,” he said.

“True,” Caine agreed.  “All right, boy.  Even if you are Corwin’s son, that woman you’re making off with belongs to us.  We just won her fair and square off these well-done Chaosites.”

With that, he began walking toward me.  A moment later, Eric joined him.  Then Gerard fell into step behind them.  I didn’t want to harm them, even if they were only ghosts, so I gestured and a line was drawn in the sand before them.  Immediately, it caught fire.

They halted.

Suddenly, a huge figure appeared at my left.  It was Dalt, a naked blade in his hand.  A moment later, Luke was there.  Then Nayda.  The four of us faced the four of them, across the fire.

“She’s ours now,” Dalt said, and he took a single step forward.

“You are mistaken,” came the reply, and Eric crossed the line, drawing his weapon.

Dalt was a couple of inches taller than Eric, and he had a longer reach.  He moved forward immediately.  I expected some kind of cut from that big blade he carried, but he went in for a point-attack.  Eric, using a lighter weapon, sidestepped and came in under his arm.  Dalt dropped the point of his blade, moved to his left, and parried it.  The two weapons were suited for very different styles-Eric’s being at the heaviest end of the rapier class, Dalt’s at the lighter end of broadsword.  Dalt’s could be a single-handed weapon for a big-enough, strong-enough guy.  I’d have had to use it two-handed myself.  Dalt tried an upward cut just then, of the sort a Japanese swordsman would refer to as kiriage.  Eric simply stepped back and tried for a wrist cut as it passed him.  Dalt suddenly moved his left hand to the haft and executed a blinding two-handed cut of the sort known as naname giri.  Eric continued to circle, trying for the wrist yet again.

Suddenly, Dalt opened his right hand and let it drift back, as his right foot performed a huge semicircular step to his rear and his left arm moved forward, leaving him in a left-handed European en garde position, from which that massive arm and matching blade immediately extended, performing an inside beat upon Eric’s blade followed by a lunge.  Eric parried as his right foot crossed behind his left and he sprang backward.  Even so, I saw a spark as his guard was creased.  He feinted in sixte, however, dropped his point beneath the parry that followed, extended his arm in quatre; raised himself and his blade into something resembling a stop-thrust targeting the left shoulder as the parry crossed, turned his wrist, and slashed Dalt across the left forearm.

Caine applauded, but Dalt simply brought his hands together and separated them again, executing a little hopstep as he did so, leaving him in a right en garde position.  Eric drew circles in the air with the point of his weapon and smiled.

“Cute little dance routine you have there,” he said.

Then Eric lunged, was parried, retreated, sidestepped, threw a front kick at Dalt’s kneecap, missed, then moved with perfect timing as Dalt attempted a head cut.  Switching to the Japanese himself, he spun in to the larger man’s right, a maneuver I’d seen in a kumatchi exercise, his own blade rising and falling as Dalt’s cut swept past.  Dalt’s right forearm went suddenly wet, a thing I did not really notice until after Eric had rotated his weapon, blade pointing outward and upward, and, the guard covering his knuckles, had driven his fist against the right side of Dalt’s jaw.  He kicked him then behind the knee and struck him with his left shoulder.  Dalt stumbled and fell.  Eric immediately kicked him, kidney, elbow, thigh-the latter only because he missed the knee-set his boot upon Dalt’s weapon and swung his own about to bring its point in line with the man’s heart.

I had been hoping all along, I suddenly realized, that Dalt would kick Eric’s ass-not just because he was on my side and Eric wasn’t, but because of the rough time Eric had given my dad.  On the other hand, I doubted there were too many people of such ass-kicking prowess about.  Unfortunately, two of them stood on the other side of the line I had drawn.  Gerard could have outwrestled him.  Benedict, Master of Arms at Amber, could have beaten him with any weapon.  I just didn’t see us as having much of a chance against them all, with Caine thrown in for good measure-not even with a ty’iga on our side.  And if I were suddenly to tell Eric that Dalt was his half brother, it wouldn’t slow his thrust by an instant, even if he believed me.

So I made the only decision I could make.  They were, after all, only Pattern ghosts.  The real Benedict and Gerard were somewhere else at this moment and would in no way be harmed by anything I did to their doubles here.  Eric and Caine were, of course, long dead, Caine being the fratricidal hero of the Patternfall war and subject of a recent statue on the Grand Concourse, on the occasion of Luke’s assassinating him for killing his father.  And Eric, of course, had found a hero’s death on the slopes of Kolvir, saving him, I suppose, from dying at the hands of my father.  The bloody history of my family swam through my head as I raised the spikard to add a footnote to it, calling again for the wave of incineration that had taken out two of my Hendrake kin.

My arm felt as if someone had struck it with a baseball bat.  A wisp of smoke rose from the spikard.  For a moment, my four upright uncles stood unmoving.  And my fifth remained supine.

Then, slowly, Eric raised his weapon.  And he continued to raise it, as Benedict, Caine, and Gerard drew theirs.  He straightened as he held it before his face.  The others did the same.  It looked strangely like a salute; and Eric’s eyes met mine.

“I know you,” he said.

Then they all completed the gesture, and faded, faded, turned to smoke, and blew away.

Dalt bled, my arm ached, and I figured out what was going on just moments before Luke gasped and said, “Over there.”

My line of fire had gone out some time ago, but beyond the mark it had left, where my faded kinsmen had just been standing, the air began to shimmer.

“That will be the Pattern,” I said to Luke, “come calling.”

A moment later the Sign of the Pattern hovered before us.

“Merlin,” it said, “you certainly move around a lot.”

“My life has become very busy of late,” I said.

“You took my advice and left the Courts.”

“Yes, that seemed prudent.”

“But I do not understand your purposes here.”

“What’s to understand?”

“You took the lady Coral away from the agents of the Logrus.”

“That’s right.”

“But then you attempted to keep her from my agents as well.”

“That, too, is correct.”

“You must realize by now that she bears something that contributes to our balance of power.”

“Yes.”

“So one of us must have her.  Yet you would deny us both.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It’s her whom I care about.  She has rights and feelings.  You’re treating her like a game piece.”

“True.  I recognize her personhood, but unfortunately she is become both.”

“Then I would deny her to both of you.  Nothing would be changed, in that neither of you has her now, anyway.  But I would take her out of the game.”

“Merlin, you are a more important piece than she is, but you are still only a piece and you may not dictate to me.  Do you understand?”

“I understand my value to you,” I said.

“I think not,” it responded.

I was wondering just then how strong it really was in this place.  It seemed obvious that in terms of energy expenditure, it had been necessary for it to release its four ghosts to be able to manifest itself here.  Dared I oppose it with every channel on the spikard opened? I had never tried accessing every Shadow source it controlled simultaneously.  If I did this, and if I were to move very quickly, could I get us all out of here before the Pattern reacted? If I couldn’t, could I punch through whatever it raised up to stop us? And if I succeeded-either way-to what place should we flee?

Finally, how might this affect the Pattern’s attitude toward me?

( ...  if you are not eaten by something bigger, come tell me your story one night.)

What the hell, I decided.  It is a good day to be listed a la carte.

I opened all the channels.

It felt as if I had been jogging along at a good clip and a brick wall had suddenly appeared six inches before me.

I felt the smash and I went away.

I lay upon a smooth, cool stone surface.  There was a terrible rushing of energies in my mind and body.  I reached into their source and took control of them, dampening them to something that didn’t threaten to take the top of my head off.  Then I opened one eye, slightly.

The sky was very blue.  I saw a pair of boots, standing a few feet off, faced away from me.  I recognized them as Nayda’s, and turning my head slightly, I saw that she wore them.  I also saw then that Dalt lay sprawled several yards off to my left.

Nayda was breathing heavily, and my Logrus vision showed a pale red light about her vibrating hands, menacing.

Propping myself upon my left elbow and peering about her, I saw that she stood between me and the Sign of the Pattern that hovered in the air perhaps ten feet away.

When it spoke again it was the first time I’d heard it express anything like amusement: “You would protect him, against me?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Why?”

“I did it for so long that it would be a shame to fail him when he really needs it.”

“Creature of the Pit, do you know where you stand?” it asked.

“No,” she said.

I looked beyond them both at a perfectly clear blue sky.  The surface upon which I lay was a level area of rock, perhaps oval in shape, opening onto nothing.  A quick turning of my head showed that it seemed bitten out of a mountainside, however, several dark recesses to the rear indicating the possibility of caves.  I saw, too, that Coral lay behind me.  Our stony shelf was several hundred meters wide.  And there was movement beyond Nayda and the Sign of the Pattern.  Luke had just hauled himself up into a kneeling position.

I could have answered the question put to Nayda, but there was no percentage in my doing so.  Not when she was doing such a fine job of holding our captor’s attention and providing a crucial respite.

To my left, I saw gold-pink swirls within the stone, and though I had never been here I recalled the description from my father’s story and knew this to be the place of the primal Pattern, the deeper level of reality that underlay Amber itself.

I rolled onto all fours then, and crawled a few steps, seaward, Patternward.

“You are at the other end of the universe, ty’iga, in the place of my greatest power.”

Dalt groaned and rolled over, sat up, massaged his eyes with the palms of his hands.

I could feel something like a vibration just at the edge of hearing coming from Nayda now, and her entire form had taken on that reddish glow.  I knew that she would die if she attacked the Sign, and I realized that I would attack it myself if it killed her.

I heard a moan from Coral.

“You will not hurt my friends,” Nayda said.

I wondered then at its slapping me down before I could use the spikard, and transporting us immediately to its stronghold.  Did this mean I might actually have had a chance against it, out there in Logrus territory where it was weakened?

“Creature of the Pit,” it told her, “such a doomed, pathetic gesture as yours verges on the heroic.  I feel a certain fondness for you.  Would that I had such a friend.  No, I will not harm your companions.  But I must detain Coral and Merlin here as power counters, and the rest of you for political reasons, until this dispute with my adversary is settled.”

“Detain?” she said.  “Here?”

“There are comfortable quarters within the rock,” it said.

I rose carefully to my feet, fumbling at my belt for my dagger.

Luke got up and walked over to Coral, knelt beside her.

“Are you awake?” he asked.

“Sort of,” she answered.

“Can you stand?”

“Maybe.”

“Let me help you.”

Dalt rose while Luke was assisting her.  I continued to sidle toward the design.  Where was Dworkin when I really needed him?

“You may enter the caves behind you and inspect your quarters,” the Sign said.  “But first you must remove that ring, Merlin.”

“No, now’s hardly a time to be unpacking and getting comfortable,” I answered, slashing my left palm with the dagger and taking a final step.  “We won’t be staying long.”

A sound like a small thunderclap emerged from the Sign of the Pattern, but there was no lightning, nor did I think there would be.  Not when it realized what I was holding in my hand, and where I was holding it.

“A thing I learned from Luke’s father,” I explained.  “Let’s talk.”

“Yes,” said the Sign of the Pattern, “like the reasonable beings that we are.  Would you care for some cushions?”

Immediately, three such objects appeared nearby.

“Thanks,” I said, drawing up a green one.  “I could sure use an iced tea.”

“Do you take sugar?”

XI

Seated upon a cushion, dagger at my side, I held my left hand out over the Pattern, cupped palm filled with my blood.  The Sign of the Pattern hovered in the air before me, seeming, of a sudden, to have forgotten Coral, Nayda, Dalt, and Luke.  I sipped from the frosted glass in my right hand, a sprig of fresh mint visible amid the ice.

“Prince Merlin,” inquired the Sign, “tell me what it is that you desire, and let us resolve this matter quickly.  Are you sure I mightn’t fetch you a napkin to place at the danger point? It would not minimize your bargaining ability, if you stop to think of it.  But it would serve to prevent accidents.”

“No, that’s okay,” I said, half-gesturing with the blood-filled hand, so that its contents were stirred, a small line of red trickling up my wrist.  “Thanks, anyhow.”

The Sign of the Pattern vibrated, grew still.

“Prince Merlin, you have made your point,” it said.  “But I do not think you realize the full implications of your threat.  A few drops of your blood upon my physical design could disturb the functioning of the universe.”

I nodded.

“I know,” I said.

“Very well,” it answered.  “State your demands.”

“Our freedom,” I said.  “Let us go, and you remain intact.”

“You give me small choice, but the same applies to your friends.”

“What do you mean?”

“You may send Dalt whenever you wish,” it said.  “As for the demon lady, I relinquish her with regret, as I feel she would have provided good company-“

Luke regarded Nayda.

“What is this ‘creature of the Pit,’ ‘demon lady’ business, anyway?” he asked.

“Well, there are a few things you don’t know about me ...” she responded.

“Is it a long story?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Am I an assignment? Or do you really like me?”

“You’re not an assignment, and I really like you.”

“Then we’ll hear the story later,” he said.

“As I said, send her,” it went on.  “And Dalt.  And Luke.  I will be happy to send the three of them wherever you wish.  But does it occur to you that you and Coral are probably safer here than anywhere else?”

“Maybe.  Maybe not,” I answered.  “Coral, how do you feel about it?”

“Get me out of here,” she said.

“So much for that notion,” I told it.  “Now-“

“Wait.  You want to be fair to your friends, don’t you?”

“Sure I do.”

“Then let me point some things out to them which they may not have considered.”

“Go ahead.”

“Lady,” it said, “they want your eye in the Courts of Chaos.  Your feelings on the matter are immaterial.  If this can only be achieved by making you a prisoner, then it will be done.”

Coral laughed softly.

“The alternative being to remain your prisoner?” she asked.

“Think of yourself as a guest.  I will provide for your every comfort.  Of course, there is a positive gain for me in this state of affairs-apart from denying the adversary your presence.  I acknowledge this.  But you must choose one of us, else the other will grab you off.”

I looked at Coral, who shook her head slightly.  “So what’ll it be?” I asked.  Coral came over and placed her hand upon my shoulder.  ‘ “Get me out of here,” she said.

“You heard ‘em,” I told it.  “Everybody goes.”

“I crave your indulgence a moment more,” it said.

“For what?” I asked.

“Consider.  Choosing between the Logrus and myself is not a mere matter of politics-of selecting this person or that to do a particular job.  My adversary and I represent two fundamental principles by means of which the universe is organized.  You may tag us with nouns and adjectives from most languages and dozens of disciplines, but we represent, basically, Order and Chaos-Apollonian and Dionysiac, if you like; reason and feeling, if you prefer; madness and sanity; light and dark; signal and noise.  As much as this may seem to indicate it, however, neither of us seeks the other’s extinction.  Heat death or fireball, classicism or anarchy, each of us proceeds along a single track, and without the other it would lead to a dead end.  Both of us know this, and the game we have played since the beginning is a far more subtle thing-ultimately, perhaps, to be judged only esthetically.

“Now, I have gained a significant edge over my ancient adversary, for the first time in ages.  I am in a position now to produce a historian’s dream throughout Shadow-an age of high civilization and culture such as shall never be forgotten.  If the balance were tipped the other way we would be contemplating a period of upheaval at least on par with that of an ice age.  When I spoke of you as game pieces it was not to minimize your roles in this.  For this is a time of great fluidity, when the Jewel and the man who would be king will make a difference.  Stay with me, and I will guarantee the Golden Age of which I spoke, and you a part in it.  Leave, and you will be snatched away by the other.  Darkness and disorder will follow.  Which would you have?”

Luke smiled.

“I know a good sales pitch when I hear it,” he said.  “Narrow it down to a simple choice.  Make them think it’s their own.”

Coral squeezed my shoulder.  “We’re going,” I said. “Very well,” said the Sign.  “Tell me where you want to go, and I’ll

send you all there.”

“Not all,” Luke said suddenly.  “Just them.”

“I do not understand.  What about you?”

He drew a dagger and slashed his palm.  He advanced and stood beside me, extending his hand out over the Pattern, also.

“If we go, only three of us may arrive,” he said, “if that.  I’ll stay here and keep you company while you deliver my friends.”

“How will you know I’ve done it in a satisfactory fashion?”

“Good question,” he said.  “Merle, you got a set of Trumps on you?”

“Yes.”

I removed them and showed them to him.

“Still got one of me in there?”

“Last time I looked I did.”

“Then get it out and have it ready.  Figure your next move before you take off.  Stay in touch with me till you make it.”

“What about yourself, Luke? You can’t sit there forever as a bloody threat to Order.  It’s only a temporary stalemate.  You have to surrender your position sooner or later, and when you do-“

“Do you still have some odd cards in that deck?”

“What do you mean?”

“The ones you once referred to as the Trumps of Doom.”

I riffled through.  They were mostly near the bottom.  “Yes,” I said.  “Beautifully executed.  I wouldn’t have tossed them.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah.  Get together a bunch of stuff this good, and I’ll get you an exhibit back in Amber.”

“You serious? You’re not just saying that because-“ The Sign of the Pattern emitted a growling sound.

“Everybody’s a critic,” Luke observed.  “Okay.  Pull all the Trumps of Doom.”

I did this.

“Mix ‘em up a little.  Keep ‘em face down, please.”

“All right.”

“Fan ‘em.”

He leaned forward, took a card.

“Okay,” he said.  “I’m in business.  Whenever you’re ready, tell it where to take you.  Stay in touch.  Hey, Pattern, I want an iced tea of my own.”

A frosty glass appeared near his right foot.  He stooped and took it up, sipped from it.

“’Thanks.”

“Luke,” Nayda said, “I don’t understand what’s going on.  What will happen to you?”

“Nothing much,” he replied.  “Don’t cry for me, demon lady.  I’ll see you later.”

He looked at me and quirked an eyebrow.

“Send us to Jidrash,” I said, “in Kashfa-to the open area between the palace and the church.”

I held Luke’s Trump in my moist left hand, near to a humming spikard.  I felt the card grow cold just as Luke said, “You heard him.”

And the world swirled and unswirled, and it was a brisk, windy morning in Jidrash.  I regarded Luke through his Trump.  I opened channel after channel of the ring.

“Dalt, I might as well leave you here,” I said.  “You, too, Nayda.”

“No,” the big man said, just as Nayda said, “Hold on a minute.”

“You’re both out of the picture now,” I explained.  “Neither side wants you for anything.  But I’ve got to get Coral someplace safe.  Me, too.”

“You’re a focus of the action,” Nayda said, “and I can help Luke by helping you.  Take me along.”

“I feel the same way about it,” Dalt said.  “I still owe Luke a big one.”

“Okay,” I said.  “Hey, Luke! You hear all that?”

“Yeah,” he said.  “Better be about your business then.  Shit! I spilled it-“

His Trump went black.

I didn’t wait for avenging angels, tongues of fire, lightning bolts, or an opening of the earth.  I got us out of jurisdiction real quick.

I sprawled on the green grass beneath the big tree.  Wisps of fog drifted by.  Dad’s Pattern sparkled below me.  Jurt was seated cross-legged on the hood of the car, blade across his knees.  He hit the ground when we made our appearance.  Corwin was nowhere in sight.

“What’s going on?” Jurt asked me.

“I am beat, bushed, and whacked-out.  I am going to lie here and stare at the fog till my mind goes away,” I said.  “Meet Coral, Nayda, and Dalt.  Hear their story and tell them yours, Jurt.  Don’t wake me for the end of the world unless it has very good special effects.”

I proceeded to do as I had promised, to the tune of a fading guitar and the distant voice of Sara K.  The grass was wondrous soft.  The fog swirled through my brain.  Fade to black.

And then, and then...  And then, sir...

Walking.  I was walking, almost drifting, through a California shopping mall I used to frequent.  Knots of kids, couples with infants, women with parcels, passed, words smothered by sounds from a music store speaker.  Potted oases sheltered, deli smells drifted, sale signs promised.

Walking.  Past the drugstore.  Past the shoe store.  Past the candy store...

Narrow corridor to the left.  I’d never noticed it.  Must turn...

Odd there should be a carpet-and candles in high holders, and sconces, and candelabra atop narrow chests.  The walls glittered with their re

I turned back.

There was no back.  The mall was gone.  The corridor ended in that direction at a wall.  A small tapestry hung upon it, depicting nine figures who looked back at me.  I shrugged and turned again.

“Still something left to your spell, Uncle,” I remarked.  “Let’s be about it then.”

Walking.  In silence now.  Ahead.  To the place where the mirrors glittered.  I had seen this place long ago, I recalled, though its disposition-I suddenly realized was not peculiar to Amber Castle.  It was right there, on the tip of memory-my younger self passing this way, not unaccompanied-but the price of that recollection would be loss of control here, I knew.  Reluctantly, I released the image and turned my attention to the small oval mirror to my left.

I smiled.  So did my image.  I stuck out my tongue and was so saluted in return.

I moved on.  Only after several paces did I realize that the image had been my demon-formed self, while my person had not.

A soft throat-clearing sound occurred to my right.  Turning in that direction, I beheld my brother Mandor within a black-framed lozenge.

“Dear boy,” he stated, “the king is dead.  Long live your august personage as soon as you have assumed the throne.  You had best make haste to return for a crowning at the End of the World, with or without the bride of the Jewel.”

“We ran into a few small problems,” I said.

“Nothing worth resolving just now.  Your presence in the Courts is far more important.”

“No, my friends are,” I said.

A momentary smile touched his lips.

“You will be in an ideal position to protect your friends,” he said, “and to do as you would with your enemies.”

“I will be back,” I said, “soon.  But not to be crowned.”

“As you would, Merlin.  It is your presence that is desired.”

“I promise nothing,” I said.

He chuckled, and the mirror was emptied.

I turned away.  I walked on.

More laughter.  From the left.  My mother’s.

From within a red frame of carved flowers, she stared at me, a look of vast amusement upon her features.  “Seek him in the Pit!” she said.  “Seek him in the Pit! “

I passed, and her laughter continued at my back for a time.

“Hsst!” To my right, a long, narrow mirror bordered in green.  “Masster Merlin,” she said.  “I have ssought, but the ghosst-light bass not passsed my way.”

“Thanks, Glait.  Keep looking, please.”

“Yess.  We musst ssit together in a warm place by night once again and drink milk and talk of the old dayss.”

“That would be nice.  Yes, we must.  If we are not eaten by something bigger.”

“S-s-s-s-s!”

Could that be laughter?

“Good hunting, Glait.”

“Yess.  S-s-s!”

...  And on.  Walking.

“Son of Amber.  Wearer of the spikard”-this from within a shadowy niche to my left.

I halted and stared.  The frame was white, the glass was gray.  Within was a man I had never met.  His shirt was black and opened at the neck.  He wore a brown leather vest, his hair dark blond, eyes perhaps green.  “Yes?”

“A spikard was hidden in Amber,” he stated, “for you to find.  It conveys great powers.  It also bears a series of spells that will cause its wearer to act in certain ways under certain circumstances.”

“I suspected this,” I said.  “What is it set to do?”

“Formerly worn by Swayvill, King of Chaos, it will force the chosen successor to take the throne, behave in a certain fashion, and be amenable to the suggestions of certain persons.”

“These being?”

“The woman who laughed and cried, ‘Seek him in the Pit.’ The man in black, who desires your return.”

“Dara and Mandor.  They laid these spells upon it?”

“Just so.  And the man left it for you to find.”

“I hate to surrender the thing just now,” I said, “when it’s proving so useful.  Is there a way to lift these spells?”

“Of course.  But it should not matter to you.”

“Why not?”

“The ring you wear is not the one of which I speak.”

“I do not understand.”

“But you will.  Never fear.”

“Who are you, sir?”

“My name is Delwin, and we may never actually meet-unless certain ancient powers come loose.”

He raised his hand, and I saw that he, too, wore a spikard.  He moved it toward me.

“Touch your ring to mine,” he commanded.  “Then it can be ordered to bring you to me.”

I raised mine and moved it toward the glass.  At the moment they seemed to touch, there was a flash of light and Delwin was gone.

I let my arm fall.  I walked on.  On an impulse, I stopped before a chest and opened its drawer.

I stared.  There was no way to one-up this place, it seemed.  The drawer contained a miniature, scaled-down representation of my father’s chapel-tiny colored tiles, diminutive burning tapers, even a doll-sized Grayswandir upon the altar.

“The answer lies before you, dear friend,” came a throaty voice I knew yet did not know.

I raised my gaze to a lavender-bordered mirror I had not realized hung above the chest.  The lady within had long, coal-black hair and eyes so dark I could not tell where the pupils left off and the irises began.  Her complexion was very pale, emphasized perhaps by her pink eye shadow and lip coloring.  Those eyes...  “Rhanda!” I said.

“You remember! You do remember me!”

“...  And the days of our bonedance games,” I said.  “Grown and lovely.  I thought of you but recently.”

“And I felt the touch of your regard as I slept, my Merlin.  I am sorry we parted so, but my parents-”

“I understand,” I said.  “They thought me demon or vampire.”

“Yes.” She extended her pale hand through the mirror, took hold of my own, drew it toward her.  Within the looking glass, she pressed it to her lips.  They were cold.  “They would rather I cultivated the acquaintance of the sons and daughters of men and women, than of our own kind.” When she smiled I beheld her fangs.  They had not been apparent in her childhood.  “Gods! You look human!” she said.  “Come visit me in Wildwood one day!”

Impulsively, I leaned forward.  Our lips met within the mirror.  Whatever she was, we had been friends.

“The answer,” she repeated, “lies before you.  Come see me!”

The mirror turned red and she was gone.  The chapel stood unchanged within the drawer.  I closed it and turned away.

Walking.  Mirrors to the left.  Mirrors to the right.  Only myself within them.

Then ”Well, well, nephew.  Confused?”

“As usual.”

“Can’t say as I blame you.”

His eyes were mocking and wise, his hair red as his sister Fiona’s or his late brother Brand’s.  Or Luke’s, for that matter.

“Bleys,” I said, “what the hell is going on?”

“I’ve the rest of Delwin’s message,” he said, reaching into his pocket and extending his hand.  “Here.”

I reached into the mirror and accepted it.  It was yet another spikard, like the one I wore.

“It is the one of which Delwin spoke,” he said.  “You must never wear it.”

I studied it for several moments.

“What am I to do with it?” I asked.

“Put it in your pocket.  A use may suggest itself at some point.”

“How did you come by it?”

“I switched it after Mandor left it, for the one you wear now.”

“How many are there, anyway?”

“Nine,” he replied.

“I suppose you know all about them.”

“More than most.”

“That wouldn’t be hard.  I don’t suppose you know where my father is?”

“No.  But you do.  Your lady friend with the sanguinary tastes told you.”

“Riddles,” I said.

“Always preferable to no answer at all,” he responded.

Then he was gone and I walked again.  After a while, this was gone, too.

Drifting.  Black.  Good.  So good...

A bit of light found its way through my eyelashes.  I shut it out again.

But the thunder rolled, and after a time the light leaked in once again.

Dark lines in brown, great horny ridges, ferny forests...

A little later the faculty that evaluates perceptions awoke and pointed out that I was lying on my side staring at the cracked earth between a pair of roots from the tree, clumps of grass dotted here and there across the prospect.

...  And I continued to stare, and there was a sudden brightness as of a lightning flash followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder.  The earth seemed to shudder with it.  I heard the pattering of drops upon the leaves of a tree, the hood of a car.  I continued to stare at the largest crack that traversed the valley of my regard.

...  And I realized that I knew.

It was the numb knowledge of awakening.  The sources of emotion still dozed In the distance, I could hear familiar voices in soft converse.  I could also hear the sounds of cutlery against china.  My stomach would awaken in a bit, I knew, and I would join them.  For now, it was so very pleasant to lie here wrapped in my cloak, hearing the gentle rain and knowing...

I returned to my micro-world and its dark canyon...  The ground shook again, this time without benefit of lightning or thunder.  And it kept on shaking.  This irritated me, for it disturbed my friends and relatives, causing them to raise their voices in something like alarm.  Also, it stirred a dormant California reflex at a time when I just wanted to loll and savor my fresh-acquired knowledge.

“Merlin, are you awake?”

“Yes,“ I said, sitting up suddenly, giving my eyes a quick rub, and running my hands through my hair.

It was the ghost of my father that knelt beside me, having just shaken my shoulder.  “We seem to have a problem,” he said, “with rather extreme ramifications.”

Jurt, standing behind him, nodded several times.  The ground shook once again, twigs and leaves fell about us, pebbles bounced, dust rose, the fogs were agitated.  I heard a dish break in the vicinity of the heavy red and white cloth about which Luke, Dalt, Coral, and Nayda sat eating.

I untangled my cloak and rose to my feet, realizing then that someone had removed my boots while I slept.  I drew them back on.  There came another tremor, and I leaned against the tree for support.

“This is the problem?” I said.  “Or is something bigger about to eat it?”

He gave me a puzzled look.  Then, “Back when I drew the Pattern,” he said, “I’d no way of knowing that this area was faulted, or that something like this would one day occur.  If these shocks should crack the Pattern, we’ve had it-in more ways than one.  As I understand it, that spikard you wear can draw upon enormous sources of energy.  Is there some way you could use it to defuse this thing?”

“I don’t know,” I told him.  “I never tried anything like it.”

“Find out fast, okay?” he said.

But I was already spinning my mind about the circle of tines, touching each one to life.  Then I seized upon the one possessed of the most juice, drew hard upon it, filled myself, body and mind, with its energy.  Ignition completed and engine idling, with me in the driver’s seat, I shifted into gear then, extending a line of force from the spikard down into the ground.

I reached for a long while, seeking a conversion metaphor to the subjective for anything I might discover.

...  Wading out from the beach into the oceanwaves tickling my stomach, my chest-feeling with my toes the rocks, the strands of sea-weed...  Sometimes a rock would turn, slip, bump against another, slide...

I couldn’t see to the bottom with my eyes.  But I saw the rocks, the wrack, in their disposition and movement, just the same, beheld them as clearly as if the bottom were fully illuminated.

Feeling, feeling my way now, down through the strata, single toe soft as a flashlight’s beam running along rocky surfaces, testing the pressures of one upon another, isostatic kisses of mountains beneath the earth, orogenic erogenies of slow movement, flesh caressing mineral in the darkest of secret places

Slip! The rock slides off.  My body follows...

I dive for it, following the sliding passage.  I race ahead, pouring forth heat, cracking rock, splintering new pathways, outward, outward....  It was coming this way.  I broke through a wall of stone, another.  Another.  I was not certain this was the way to divert it, but it was the only one I knew to try.  Go that way! Damn it! That way! I accessed two more channels, a third, a fourth

There was a slight vibration within the ground.  I opened another channel.  Within my metaphor the rocks grew stable beneath the waters.  Shortly thereafter, the ground ceased its vibration.

I returned to the place where I had first felt the slide begin, stable now, yet still stressed.  Feel it, feel it carefully.  Describe a vector.  Follow.  Follow it to the point of original pressure.  But no.  This point is but a confluence of vectors.  Trace them.

Yet again.  More junctions.  Trace them.  Access more channels.  The entire pressure structure, intricate as a nervous system, must be described.  I must hold its tree within my mind.

Another layer.  It may not be possible.  I may be courting infinity in my topographic branchings.  Freeze frame.  Simplify the problem.  Ignore everything beyond the tertiary.  Trace to the next junction.  There are some loops.  Good.  And a plate is now involved.  Better.

Try another jump.  No good.  Too big a picture to contain.  Discard tertiaries.

Yes.

Thus general lines sketched.  Vectors of transmission simply drawn-back to plate, almost.  Pressure exerted less than full pressure extended.  Why? Additional point of input along second vector, redirecting shear forces this valley.

“Merlin? Are you all right?”

“Let me be,” I hear my voice respond.

Extend then, input source, into, feeling, transmission signature...

Is this a Logrus that I see before me?

I opened three more channels, focused on the area, began heating it.

Soon rocks were cracking, but a little later they melted.  My newly created magma flowed down fault lines.  A hollowed-out area occurred at the point whence the precipitating force had originated.

Back.

I withdrew my probes, shut down the spikard.

“What did you do?” he asked me.

“I found the place where the Logrus was messing with underground stresses,” I said, “and I removed the place.  There’s a small grotto there now.  If it collapses it may ease the pressure even more.”

“So you’ve stabilized it?”

“At least for now.  I don’t know the limits of the Logrus, but it’s going to have to figure a new route to reach this place.  Then it’s going to have to test it out.  And if it’s doing a lot of Pattern watching just now, that may slow it.”

“So you’ve bought some time,” he said.  “Of course, the Pattern may move against us next.”

“It could,” I said.  “I’ve brought everyone here because I thought they’d be safe from both Powers.”

“Apparently you made the payoff worth the risk.”

“Okay,” I said.  “I guess it’s time to give them some other things to worry about.”

“Such as?”

I looked at him, Pattern ghost of my father, guardian of this place.

“I know where your flesh-and-blood counterpart is,” I said, “and I’m about to set him free.”

There came a flash of lightning.  A sudden gust of wind lofted the fallen leaves, stirred the fogs.

“I must accompany you,” he said.

“Why?

“I’ve a personal interest in him, of course.”

“All right.”

Thunder crashed about us, and the fogs were tom apart by a fresh onslaught of wind.

Jurt came up to us then.

“I think it’s begun,” he said.

“What?” I asked.

“The duel of Powers,” he said.  “For a long time the Pattern had an edge.  But when Luke damaged it and you snatched away the bride of the Jewel, it must have weakened it more, relative to the Logrus, than it’s been in ages.  So the Logrus decided to attack, pausing only for a quick attempt to damage this Pattern.”

“Unless the Logrus was just testing us,” I said, “and this is simply a storm.”

A light rain had begun while he was speaking.

“I came here because I thought it was the one place neither of them would touch in the event of a contest,” he went on.  “I’d assumed neither would care to divert energy from its own attack or defense for a swipe in this direction.”

“That reasoning may still hold,” I said.

“Just for once I’d like to be on the winning side,” he stated.  “I’m not sure I care about right or wrong.  They’re very arguable quantities.  I’d just like to be in with the guys who win for a change.  What do you think, Merle? What are you going to do?”

“Corwin here and I are going to head for the Courts, and we’re going to free my father,” I said.  “Then we’re going to resolve whatever needs resolving and live happily ever after.  You know how it goes.”

He shook his head.

“I can never decide whether you’re a fool or whether your confidence is warranted.  Every time I decided you were a fool, though, it cost me.” He looked up at the dark sky, wiped rain from his brow.  “I’m really torn,” he said, “but you could still be King of Chaos.”

“No,” I said.

“...  And you enjoy some special relationship with the Powers.”

“If I do, I don’t understand it myself.”

“No matter,” he said.  “I’m still with you.” I crossed to the others, hugged Coral.

“I must return to the Courts,” I said.  “Guard the Pattern.  We’ll be back.”

The sky was illuminated by three brilliant flashes.  The wind shook the tree.

I turned away and created a door in the middle of the air.  Corwin’s ghost and I stepped through it.

XII

Thus did I return to the Courts of Chaos, coming through into Sawall’s space-warped sculpture garden.

“Where are we?” my ghost-father asked.

“A museum of sorts,” I replied, “in the house of my stepfather.  I chose it because the lighting is tricky and there are many places to hide.”

He studied some of the pieces, as well as their disposition upon the walls and ceiling.

“This would be a hell of a place to fight a skirmish,” he observed.

“I suppose it would.”

“You grew up hereabout, huh?”

“Yes.”

“What was it like?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  I don’t have anything to compare it to.  I had some good times, alone, and with friends-and a few bad times.  All a part of being a kid.”

“This place ...  ?”

“The Ways of Sawall.  I wish I had time to show you the whole thing, take you through all of the ways.”

“One day, perhaps.”

“Yes.”

I began walking, hoping for the Ghostwheel or Kergma to appear.  Neither did, however.

We finally passed into a corridor that took us to a hall of tapestries, whence there was a way to a room that I desired-for the room let upon the hallway that passed the gallery of metal trees.  Before we could depart, however, I heard voices from that hallway.  So we waited in the room-which contained the skeleton of a Jabberwock painted in orange, blue, and yellow, Early Psychedelic-as the speakers approached.  One of them I recognized immediately as my brother Mandor; the other I could not identify by voice alone, but managing a glimpse as they passed, I saw it to be Lord Bances of Amblerash, High Priest of the Serpent Which Manifests the Logrus (to cite a full title just once).  In a badly plotted story they’d have paused outside the doorway, and I’d have overheard a conversation telling me everything I needed to know about anything.

They slowed as they passed.

“That’s the way it will be then?” Bances said.

“Yes,” Mandor replied.  “Soon.”

And they were by, and I couldn’t make out another word.  I listened to their receding footsteps till they were gone.  Then I waited a little longer.

I would have sworn I heard a small voice saying, “Follow.  Follow.”

“Hear anything just then?” I whispered.

“Nope.”

So we stepped out into the hallway and turned right, moving in the opposite direction from that which Mandor and Bances had taken.  As we did, I felt a sensation of heat at a point somewhat below my left hip.  .

“You think he is somewhere near here?” the Corwin ghost asked.

“Prisoner to Dara?”

“Yes and no,” I said.  “Ow!”

It felt like a hot coal pressed against my upper leg.  I jammed my hand into my pocket as I slid into the nearest display niche, which I shared with a mummified lady in an amber casket.

Even as my hand closed about it, I knew what it was, raising all manner of philosophical speculations I had neither time nor desire to address at the moment and so treated in the time-honored fashion of dealing with such things: I shelved them.

It was a spikard that I withdrew, that lay warmly upon my paten.  Almost immediately a small spark leapt between it and the one that I wore upon my finger.

There followed a wordless communication, a sequence of images, ideas, feelings, urging me to find Mandor and place myself in his hands for the preparations for my crowning as the next King of the Courts.  I could see why Bleys had told me not to put the thing on.  Unmediated by my own spikard, its injunctions would probably have been overpowering.  I used mine to shut it off, to build a tiny insulating wall about it.

“You have two of the damned things!” Corwin’s ghost observed.

I nodded.

“Know anything about them that I don’t?” I asked.  “That would include almost anything.”

He shook his head.

“Only that they were said to be very early power objects, from the days when the universe was still a murky place and the Shadow realms less clearly defined.  When the time came, their wielders slept or dissolved or whatever such figures do, and the spikards were withdrawn or stashed or transformed, or whatever becomes of such things when the story’s over.  There are many versions, of course.  There always are.  But bringing two of them to the Courts could conceivably draw a lot of attention to yourself, not to mention adding to the general power of Chaos just by virtue of their presence at this pole of existence.”

“Oh, my,” I said.  “I’ll order the one I’m wearing to conceal itself, also.”

“I don’t think that’ll work,” he said, “though I’m not certain.  I’d think they must maintain a constant fluxpin with each source of power, and that would give some indication of the thing’s presence because of its broadcast nature.”

“I’ll tell it to tune itself as low as it can then.”

He nodded.

“It can’t hurt to make it specific,” he said, “though I’d guess it probably does that anyhow, automatically.”

I placed the other ring back in my pocket, departed the niche, and hurried on up the hallway.

I slowed when we neared what I thought to be the area.  But I seemed mistaken.  The metal forest was not there.  We passed that section.  Shortly, we came to a familiar display-the one that had preceded the metal forest, on approaching it from that direction.

Even as I turned back, I knew.  I knew what had happened.  When we reached what had been the area, I stopped and studied it.

“What is it?” my ghostly father asked.

“It seems a display of every conceivable variety of edged weapon and tool that Chaos has ever spewed forth,” I said, “all of them exhibited point up, you’ll note.”

“So?” he asked.

“This is the place,” I answered, “the place where we were going to climb a metal tree.”

“Merle,” he said, “maybe this place does something to my thought processes, or yours.  I just don’t understand.”

“It’s up near the ceiling,” I explained, gesturing.  “I know the approximate area-I think.  Looks a little different now...”

“What’s there, son?”

“A way-a transport area, like the one we passed through to the place of the Jabberwock skeleton.  Only this one would take us to your chapel.”

“And that’s where we’re headed?”

“Right.”

He rubbed his chin.

“Well, there were some fairly tall items in some of the displays we passed,” he observed, “and not all of them were metal or stone.  We could wrestle over that totem pole or whatever the hell it is, from back up the hall, clear away some of the sharp displays below that place, set the thing up-“

“No,” I said.  “Dara obviously caught on to the fact that someone had visited it-probably this last time around, when she almost surprised me.  The display was changed because of this.  There are only two obvious ways to get up there-transport something unwieldy, as you suggest, and clear away a lot of cutlery before we climb.  Or rev up the spikard and levitate ourselves to the spot.  The first would take too long and probably get us discovered.  The second would employ so much power that it would doubtless set off any magical wards she’s installed about the area.”

He took hold of my arm and drew me on past the display.

“We’ve got to talk,” he said, leading me into an alcove containing a small bench.

He seated himself and folded his arms.

“I’ve got to know what the hell’s going on,” he said.  “I can’t help properly unless I’m briefed.  What’s the connection between the man and the chapel?”

“I figured out something I think my mother really meant when she told me, ‘Seek him in the Pit,’ “ I explained.  “The floor of the chapel bears stylized representations of the Courts and of Amber worked out in tiles.  At the extreme of the Courts’ end is a representation of the Pit.  I never set foot in that area when I visited the chapel.  I’m willing to bet there’s a way located there, and at the other end is the place of his imprisonment.”

He’d begun nodding as I spoke, then, “So you were going to pass through and free him?” he asked.

“Right.”

“Tell me, do these ways have to work both ways?” he said.

“Well, no...  Oh, I see what you’re getting at.”

“Give me a more complete description of the chapel,” he said.

I proceeded to do so.

“That magic circle on the floor intrigues me,” he said.  “It might be a means of communicating with him without risking the dangers of presence.

Some sort of image-exchange, perhaps.”

“I might have to fool with it a long while to figure it out;” I said, “unless I got lucky.  What I propose doing is to levitate, enter, use the way at the Pit to reach him, free him, and get the hell out.  No subtlety.  No finesse.  If anything fails to do what we expect, we force our way through it with the spikard.  We’ll have to move fast because they’ll be after us once we start.”

He stared past me for a long while, as if thinking hard.  At length, he asked, “Is there any way her wards might be set off accidentally?”

“Hm.  The passage of a stray magical current from the real Pit, I suppose.  It sometimes spews them forth.”

“What would characterize its passage?”

“A magical deposit or transformation,” I said.

“Could you fake such a phenomenon?”

“I suppose.  But what would be the point? They’d still investigate, and with Corwin gone they’d realize it was just a trick.  The effort would be wasted.”

He chuckled.

“But he won’t be missing,” he said.  “I’m going to take his place.”

“I can’t let you do that!”

“My choice,” he said.  “But he’s going to need the time if he’s going to help stop Dara and Mandor from advancing the conflict between the Powers beyond anything at Patternfall.”

I sighed.

“It’s the only way,” he said.

“I guess you’re right.”

He unfolded his arms, stretched, and rose to his feet.

“Let’s go do it,” he said.

I had to work out a spell, a thing I hadn’t done recently-well, half of a spell, the effects half, as I had the spikard to juice it.  Then I lay it in a swathe across the display, turning portions of blades into flowers, joined at the molecular level.  As I did, I felt a tingling I was certain was the psychic alarm taking note of the enterprise and reporting it to central.

Then I summoned a lot of juice and lofted us.  I felt the tug of the way as we neared it.  I had been almost dead-on.  I let it take us through.

He whistled softly on regarding the chapel.

“Enjoy,” I said.  “It’s the treatment a god gets.”

“Yeah.  Prisoner in his own church.”

He stalked across the room, unbuckling his belt as he went.  He substituted it for the one upon the altar.

“Good copy,” he said, “but not even the Pattern can duplicate Grayswandir.”

“I thought a section of the Pattern was reproduced on the blade.”

“Maybe it’s the other way around,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“Ask the other Corwin sometime,” he said.  “It has to do with something we were talking about recently.”

He approached and passed the lethal package to me-weapon, sheath, belt.

“Be nice if you take it to him,” he said.

I buckled it and hung it over my head and shoulder.

“Okay,” I told him.  “We’d better move.”

I headed toward the far corner of the chapel.  As I neared the area where the Pit was represented I felt the unmistakable tug of a way.

“Eureka!” I said, activating channels on the spikard.  “Follow me.”

I stepped forward and it took me away.

We arrived in a chamber of perhaps fifteen feet square.  There was a wooden post at its center and the floor was of stone with some straw strewn upon it.  Several of the big candles, as from the chapel, were spotted about.  The walls were of stone on two sides, wood on the others.  The wooden walls contained unlatched wooden doors.  One of the stone walls contained a windowless metal door, a keyhole at its left side.  A key, which looked about the right size, hung from a nail in the post.

I took down the key and checked quickly beyond the wooden door to my right, discovering a large barrel of water, a dipper, and a variety of dishes, cups, utensils.  Behind the other door were a few blankets and stacks of what were probably toilet tissues.

I crossed to the metal door then and knocked upon it with the key.  There was no response.  I inserted the key in the lock and felt my companion take hold of my arm.

“Better let me do that,” he said.  “I think like him, and I think I’ll be safer.”

I had to agree with the wisdom of this, and I stepped aside.

“Corwin!” he called out.  “We’re springing you! It’s your son Merlin and me, your double.  Don’t jump me when I open the door, okay? We’ll stand still and you can take a look.”

“Open it,” came a voice from within.

So he did, and we stood there.

“What do you know?” came the voice I remembered, finally.  “You guys look for real.”

“We are,” said his ghost, “and as usual, at times such as this, you’d better hurry.”

“Yeah.” There came a slow tread from within, and when he emerged he was shielding his eyes with his left hand.  “Either of you got a pair of shades? The light hurts.”

“Damn!” I said, wishing I’d thought of it.  “No, and if I send for them the Logrus might spot me.”

“Later, later.  I’ll squint and stumble.  Let’s get the hell out.”

His ghost entered the cell.

“Now make me bearded, thin, and grimy.  Lengthen the hair and tatter the clothes,” he said.  “Then lock me in.

“What’s going on?” my father asked.

“Your ghost will be impersonating you in your cell for a while.”

“It’s your plan,” Corwin stated.  “Do what the ghost says.” And so I did.  He turned and extended his hand back into the cell then.  “Thanks, buddy.”

“My pleasure,” the other replied, clasping his hand and shaking it.

“Good luck.”

“So long.”

I closed and locked the cell door.  I hung the key on its nail and steered him to the way.  It took us through.

He lowered his hand as we came into the chapel.  The dimness must have been sufficient for him to handle now.  He drew away from me and crossed to the altar.

“We’d better go, Dad.”

He chuckled as he reached across the altar, raised a burning taper, and used it to light one of the others that had apparently gone out in some draft.

“I’ve pissed on my own grave,” he announced.  “Can’t pass up the pleasure of lighting a candle to myself in my own church.”

He extended his left hand in my direction without looking at me.

“Give me Grayswandir,” he said.

I slipped it off and passed it to him.  He unfastened it and buckled it about his waist, loosened it in its sheath.  “All right.  What now?” he asked.

I thought fast.  If Dana was aware that I had exited through the wall last time-a distinct possibility, considering-then the walls might well be booby-trapped in some fashion.  On the other hand, if we went out the way I had come in we might encounter someone rushing this way in answer to the alarm.

Hell.

“Come on,” I said, activating the spikard, ready to whisk us away at the glimpse of an intruder.  “It’s going to be tricky because it involves levitation on the way out.”

I caught hold of him again and we approached the way.  I wrapped us in energies as it took us, and I lofted us above the field of blades and flowers as we departed.

There were footfalls from up the corridor.  I swirled us away to another place.

I took us to Jurt’s apartment, which didn’t seem a place anyone was likely to come looking for a man who was still in his cell; and I knew that Jurt had no need of it just then.

Corwin sprawled on the bed and squinted at me.  “By the way,” he said, “thanks.”

“Anytime,” I told him.

“You know your way around this place pretty well?” he said.

“It doesn’t seem to have changed that much,” I told him.

“Then how’s about raiding an icebox for me while I borrow your brother’s scissors and razor for a quick shave and haircut.”

“What would you like?”

“Meat, bread, cheese, wine, maybe a piece of pie,” he said.  “Just so it’s fresh and there’s lots of it.  Then you’re going to have a lot of story to tell me.”

“I guess I am,” I said.

And so I made my way to the kitchen, down familiar halls and ways I had traversed as a boy.  The place was lit by just a few tapers, the fires banked.  No one was about.

I proceeded to raid the larder, heaping a tray with the various viands requested, adding a few pieces of fruit I came across.  I almost dropped the wine bottle when I heard a sharp intake of breath near the doorway I had entered.

It was Julia, in a blue silk wrap.

“Merlin!”

I crossed to her.

“I owe you several apologies,” I said.  “I’m ready to make them.”

“I’d heard you were back.  I heard you were to be king.”

“Funny, I heard that, too.”

“Then it would be unpatriotic of me to stay mad, wouldn’t it?”

“I never meant to hurt you,” I said.  “Physically, or any other way.”

Suddenly, we were holding each other.  It lasted a long time before she told me, “Jurt says you’re friends now.”

“I guess we sort of are.”

I kissed her.

“If we got back together again,” she said, “he’d probably try to kill you again.”

“I know.  This time the consequences could really be cataclysmic, too.”

“Where are you going right now?”

“I’m on an errand, and it’s going to take me several hours.”

“Why don’t you stop by when you’re finished? We’ve got a lot to talk about.  I’m staying in a place called the Wisteria Room for now.  Know where that is?”

“Yes,” I said.  “This is crazy.”

“See you later?”

“Maybe.”

The next day I traveled to the Rim, for I’d heard report that the Pit-divers-those who seek after artifacts of creation beyond the Rim-had suspended operations for the first time in a generation.  When I questioned them they told me of dangerous activities in the depths-whirlwinds, wings of fire, blasts of new-minted matter.

Sitting in a secluded place and looking down, I used the spikard I wore to question the one I didn’t.  When I removed the shield in which I’d encased it, it commenced a steady litany, “Go to Mandor.  Get crowned.  See your brother.  See your mother.  Begin preparations.” I wrapped it again and put it away.  If I didn’t do something soon he was going to suspect that I was beyond its control.  Did I care?

I could just absent myself, perhaps going away with my father, helping him at whatever showdown might finally develop over his Pattern.  I could even ditch both spikards there, enhancing the forces in that place.  I could still rely on my own magic in a pinch.  But my problem was right here.  I had been bred and conditioned to be a perfect royal flunky, under the control of my mother, and possibly my brother Mandor.  I loved Amber, but I loved the Courts as well.  Fleeing to Amber, while assuring my safety, would no more solve my personal problem than running off with my dad-or returning to the Shadow Earth I also cared for, with or without Coral.  No.  The problem was here-and inside me.

I summoned a filmy to bear me to an elevated way to take me back to Sawall.  As I traveled, I thought of what I must do, and I realized that I was afraid.  If things got pushed as far as they well might, there was a strong possibility that I would die.  Alternatively, I might have to kill someone I didn’t really want to.

Either way, though, there had to be some resolution or I’d never know peace at this pole of my existence.

I walked beside a purple stream beneath a green sun atop a pearly sky.  I summoned a purple and gray bird, which came and sat upon my wrist.  I had thought to dispatch it to Amber with a message for Random.  Try as I might, however, I could phrase no simple note.  Too many things depended on other things.  Laughing, I released it and leapt from the bank, where I struck another way above the water.

Returned to Sawall, I made my way to the sculpture hall.  By then, I knew what I must try to do and how I must go about it.  I stood where I had stood-how long ago?-regarding massive structures, simple figures, intricate ones.

“Ghost?” I said.  “You in the neighborhood?”

There was no response.

“Ghost!” I repeated more loudly.  “Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

I dug out my Trumps, located the one I had done for Ghostwheel, bright circle.

I regarded it with some intensity, but it was slow to grow cool.  This was understandable, considering some of the odd areas of space to which this hall gave access.  Also, it was irritating.

I raised the spikard.  Using it here at the level I intended would be like setting off a burglar alarm.  Amen.

I touched the Tarot with a line of subtle force, at tempting to enhance the instrument’s sensitivity.  I maintained my concentration.

Again, nothing.

I backed it with more force.  There followed a perceptible cooling.  But there was no contact.

“Ghost,” I said through clenched teeth.  “This is important.  Come to me.”

No reply.  So I sent power into the thing.  The card began to glow and frost crystals formed upon it.  Small crackling sounds occurred in its vicinity.

“Ghost,” I repeated.

A weak sense of his presence occurred then, and I poured more juice into the card.  It shattered in my hand, and I caught it in a web of forces and held all of the pieces together, looking like a small stained-glass window.  I continued to reach through it.

“Dad! I’m in trouble!” came to me then.

“Where are you? What’s the matter?” I asked.

“I followed this entity I met.  Pursued her-it.  Almost a mathematical abstraction.  Called Kergma.  Got caught here at an odd-even dimensional interface, where I’m spiraling.  Was having a good time up until then-“

“I know Kergma well.  Kergma is a trickster.  I can feel your spatial situation.  I am about to send bursts of energy to counter the rotation.  Let me know if there are problems.  As soon as you’re able to Trump through, tell me and come ahead.”

I pulsed it through the spikard and the braking effect began.  Moments later, he informed me, “I think I can escape now.”

“Come on, then.”

Suddenly, Ghost was there, spinning about me like a magic circle.

“Thanks, Dad.  I really appreciate this.  Let me know if there’s ever anything-“

“There is,” I said.

“What?”

“Shrink yourself down and hide somewhere about my person.”

“Wrist okay again?”

“Sure.”

He did that thing.  Then, “Why?” he asked.

“I may need a sudden ally,” I replied.

“Against what?”

“Anything,” I said.  “It’s showdown time.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Then leave me now.  I won’t hold it against you.”

“I couldn’t do that.”

“Listen, Ghost.  This thing has escalated, and a line must be drawn now.  I-“

The air began to shimmer, off to my right.  I knew what it meant.

“Later,” I said.  “Be still.”

...  And there was a doorway, and it opened to admit a tower of green light: eyes, ears, nose, mouth, limbs cycling about its sea-like range-one of the more inspired demonic forms I’d beheld of late.  And, of course, I knew the features.

“Merlin,” he said.  “I felt you ply the spikard here.”

“I thought you might,” I replied, “and I am at your service, Mandor.”

“Really?”

“In all respects, brother.”

“Including a certain matter of succession?”

“That in particular.”

“Excellent! And what business were you about here?”

“I was but seeking something I had lost.”

“That can wait upon another day, Merlin.  We have much to do just now.”

“Yes, that is true.”

“So assume a more pleasing form and come with me.  We must discuss the measures you are to take upon assuming the throne-which Houses are to be suppressed, who outlawed-“

“I must speak with Dara immediately.”

“I would rather lay some groundwork first.  Come! Shift, and let us be away!”

“Would you know where she is just now?”

“Gantu, I believe.  But we will confer with her later.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have her Trump handy, would you?”

“I fear not.  I thought you carried a deck of your own?”

“I do.  But hers was inadvertently destroyed one night when I was drinking.”

“No matter,” he said.  “We will see her later, as I explained.”

I had been opening channels on the spikard as we spoke.  I caught him at the center of a whirlwind of forces.  I could see the transformation procedure within him, and it was a simple matter to reverse it, collapsing the green and spinning tower into the form of a white-haired man clad in black and white and looking very irritated.

“Merlin!” he cried.  “Why have you changed me?”

“This thing fascinates me,” I said, waving the spikard.  “I just wanted to see whether I could do it.”

“Now you’ve seen it,” he said.  “Kindly release me to turn back, and find a more fitting form for yourself.”

“A moment,” I said, as he attempted to melt and flow.  “I require you just as you are.”

I held him against his effort, and I drew a fiery rectangle in the air.

A series of quick movements filled it with a rough likeness of my mother.

“Merlin! What are you doing?” he cried.

I suppressed his effort to extricate himself by means of a transport spell.

“Conference time,” I announced.  “Bear with me.”

I didn’t just meditate upon the impromptu Trump I had hung in the air before me, but practically attacked it with a charge of the energies I was cycling through my body and the space about me.

Suddenly, Dara stood within the frame I had created-tall, coal-black, eyes of green flame.

“Merlin! What’s happening?” she cried.

I’d never heard of it being done quite this way before, but I held the contact, willed her presence, and blew away the frame.  She stood before me then, perhaps seven feet tall, pulsing with indignation.

“What is the meaning of this?” she asked.

I caught her as I had Mandor and collapsed her down to human scale.

“Democracy,” I said “Let’s all look alike for a minute.”

“This is not amusing,” she responded, and she began to change back.

I canceled her effort.

“No, it isn’t,” I answered.  “But I called this meeting, and it will be run on my terms.”

“Very well,” she said, shrugging.  “What has become so terribly urgent?”

“The succession.”

“The matter is settled.  The throne is yours.”

“And whose creature am I to be?” I raised my left hand, hoping they had no way of telling one spikard from another.  “This thing confers great powers.  It also charges for their use.  It bore a spell for control of its wearer.”

“It was Swayvill’s,” Mandor said.  “I got it to you when I did to accustom you to the force of its presence.  And yes, there is a price.  Its wearer must come to terms with it.”

“I have wrestled with it,” I lied, “and I am its master.  But the main problems were not cosmic.  They were compulsions of your own installation.”

“I do not deny it,” he said.  “But there was a very good reason for their presence.  You were reluctant to take the throne.  I felt it necessary to add an element of compulsion.”

I shook my head.

“Not good enough,” I said.  “There was more to it than that.  It was a thing designed to make me subservient to you.”

“Necessary,” he responded.  “You’ve been away.  You lack intimate knowledge of the local political scene.  We could not simply let you take the reins and go off in your own direction-not in times such as these, when blunders could be very costly.  The House needed some means to control you.  But this was only to be until your education was complete.”

“Permit me to doubt you, brother,” I said.

He glanced at Dara, who nodded slightly.

“He is right,” she said, “and I see nothing wrong with such temporary control until you learn the business.  Too much is at stake to permit otherwise.”

“It was a slave-spell,” I said.  “It would force me to take the throne, to follow orders.”

Mandor licked his lips.  It was the first time I’d ever seen him betray a sign of nervousness.  It instantly made me wary-though I realized moments later that it may have been a calculated distraction.  It caused me to guard against him immediately; and, of course, the attack came from Dara.

A wave of heat swept over me.  I shifted my attention at once, attempting to raise a barrier.  It was not an attack against my person.  It was something soothing, coercive.  I bared my teeth as I fought to hold it off.

“Mother-“ I growled.

“We must restore the imperatives,” she said flatly, more to Mandor than to me.

“Why?” I asked.  “You’re getting what you want.”

“The throne is not enough,” she answered.  “I do not trust you in this, and reliance will be necessary.”

“You never trusted me,” I said, pushing away the remains of her spell.

“That is not true,” she told me, “and this is a technical matter, not a personal one.”

“Whatever the matter,” I said, “I’m not buying.”

Mandor tossed a paralysis spell at me, and I pushed it away, ready for anything now.  As I was doing this, Dara hit me with an elaborate working I recognized as a Confusion Storm.  I was not about to try matching them both, spell for spell.  A good sorcerer may have a half dozen major spells hung.  Their judicious employment is generally enough for dealing with most situations.  In a sorcerous duel the strategy involved in their employment is a major part of the game.  If both parties are still standing when the spells have been exhausted, then they are reduced to fighting with raw energies.  Whoever controls a greater quantity usually has the edge then.

I raised an umbrella against the Confusion Storm, parried Mandor’s Astral Club, held myself together through Mom’s Spirit Split, maintained my senses through Mandor’s Well of Blackness.  My major spells had all gone stale, and I had hung no new ones since I’d begun relying on the spikard.  I was already reduced to reliance on raw power.  Fortunately, the spikard gave me control of more of it than I’d ever held before.  All I had to do was force them to use up their spells, then all trickiness would be removed from the situation.  I would wear them down, drain them.

Mandor sneaked one partway through, hurting me in a brush with an Electric Porcupine.  I battered him with a wall of force, however, slamming him into a system of revolving discs that flashed off in all directions.  Dara turned into a liquid flame, coiling, waving, flowing through circles and figure-Bights, as she advanced and retreated, tossing bubbles of euphoria and pain to orbit me.  I tried to blow them away, hurricane-wise, shattering the great porcelain face, uprooting towers, family groups with holes in them, glowing geometries.  Mandor fumed to sand, which filtered downward through the structure upon which he sprawled, became a yellow carpet, crept toward me.

I ignored the effects and continued to beat at them with energies.  I hurled the carpet through the flame and dumped a floating fountain upon them.  Brushing out small fires in my clothing and hair, I forced my consciousness through numbed areas in my left shoulder and leg.  I fell apart and drew myself back together again as I mastered Dara’s spell of Unweaving.  I shattered Mandor’s Diamond Bubble and digested the Chains of Deliverance.  On three occasions, I dropped my human form for things more suitable, but always I returned to it.  I hadn’t had a workout like this since my final exams with Suhuy.

But the ultimate advantage was obviously mine.  Their only real chance had lain in surprise, and that was gone now.  I opened all channels on the spikard, a thing which might have intimidated even the Pattern-though, now I thought on it, it had gotten me knocked senseless.  I caught Mandor in a cone of force that stripped him down to a skeleton and built him back up again in an instant.  Dara was harder to nail, but when I blasted her with all of the channels, she hit me with a Dazzlement spell she’d been holding in reserve, the only thing that saved her from turning into a statue as I’d intended.  Instead, it left her in mortal form and restricted to slow motion.

I shook my head and rubbed my eyes.  Lights danced before me.

“Congratulations,” she said, over a span of perhaps ten seconds. “You’re better than I’d thought.”

“And I’m not even finished,” I replied, breathing deeply.  “It’s time to do unto you as you’d have done unto me.”

I began to craft the working which would place them under my control.

It was then that I noticed her small slow smile.

“I’d thought-we might-deal with-you-ourselves,” she said as the air began to shimmer before her.  “I was-wrong.”

The Sign of the Logrus took form before her.  Immediately, her features grew more animated.

Then I felt its terrible regard.  When it addressed me, that pastiche-voice tore at my nervous system.

“I have been summoned,” it said, “to deal with your recalcitrance, oh man who would be king.”

There came a crash from downhill as the house of mirrors collapsed.  I looked in that direction.  So did Dana.  Mandor, just now struggling to his feet, did also.

The reflective panels rose into the air and drifted toward us.  They were quickly deployed all about us, reflecting and re-reflecting our confrontation from countless angles.  The prospect was bewildering, for space itself seemed somehow bent, twisted now in our vicinity.  And in each image we were surrounded by a circle of light, though I could not detect its absolute source.

“I stand with Merlin,” Ghost said, from somewhere.

“Construct!” the Logrus Sign stated.  “You thwarted me in Amber!”

“And a short thwart for the Pattern, too,” Ghost observed.  “It sort of balances out.”

“What are your wishes now?”

“Hands off Merlin,” Ghost said.  “He’ll rule here as well as reign.  No strings on him.”

Ghost’s lights began cycling.

I pulsed the spikard, open on all channels, hoping to locate Ghost, give him access to its energies.  I couldn’t seem to make contact, though.

“I don’t need that, Dad,” Ghost stated.  “I access sources in Shadow myself.”

“What is it that you want for yourself, construct?” the Sign inquired.

“To protect one who cares for me.”

“I can offer you cosmic greatness.”

“You already did.  I turned you down then, too.  Remember?”

“I remember.  And I will remember.” A jagged tentacle of the constantly shifting figure moved toward one of the circles of light.  There was a blinding rush of flame when they met.  When my vision cleared, however, nothing had changed.  “Very well,” the Sign acknowledged.  “You came prepared.  It is not yet time to weaken myself in your destruction.  Not when another waits for me to falter.

“Lady of Chaos,” it stated, “you must honor Merlin’s wishes.  If his reign be a foolish thing, he will destroy himself by his own actions.  If it be prudent, you will have gained what you sought without interference.”

The expression on her face was one of disbelief.

“You would back down before a son of Amber and his toy?” she asked.

“We must give him what he wants,” it acknowledged, “for now.  For now...  “

The air squealed about its vanishment.  Mandor smiled the smallest of smiles, reflected to infinity.

“I can’t believe this,” she said, becoming a flower-faced cat and then a tree of green flame.

“Believe as you would,” Mandor told her.  “He’s won.”

The tree flared through its autumn and was gone.  Mandor nodded to me.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” he said. 

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Take it however you would,” he said, “but if you need advice I’ll try to help you.”

“Thanks.”

“Care to discuss it over lunch?”

“Not just now.”

He shrugged and became a blue whirlwind.

“Till later then,” came the voice out of the whirlwind, before it blew away.

“Thanks, Ghost,” I said.  “Your timing’s gotten a lot better.”

“Chaos has a weak left,” he replied.

I located fresh garments of silver, black, gray, and white.  I took them back to Jurt’s apartments with me.  I had a long story to tell.

We walked little-used ways, passing through Shadow, coming at length to the final battlefield of the Patternfall War.  The place had healed itself over the years, leaving no indication of all that had transpired there.  Corwin regarded it for a long while in silence.

Then he turned to me and said, “It’ll take some doing to sort everything out, to achieve a more permanent balance, to assure its stability.”

“Yes.”

“You think you can keep things peaceful on this end for a while?”

“That’s the idea,” I said.  “I’ll give it my best shot.”

“That’s all any of us can do,” he said.  “Okay, Random has to know what’s happened, of course.  I’m not sure how he’s going to take having you as an opposite number, but that’s the breaks.”

“Give him my regards, and Bill Roth, too.”

He nodded.

“And good luck,” I said.

“There are still mysteries within mysteries,” he told me.  “I’ll let you know what I find out, as soon as I have something.”

He moved forward and embraced me.

Then, “Rev up that ring and send me back to Amber.”

“It’s already revved,” I said.  “Good-bye.”

“...  And hello,” he answered, from the tail end of a rainbow.

I turned away then, for the long walk back to Chaos.