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 Roger Zelazny
 THE AMBER CHRONICLES - BOOK EIGHT
 SIGN OF CHAOS



CHAPTER 1

     I felt vaguely uneasy, though I couldn't say why. It did not  seem  all
that  unusual  to be drinking with a White Rabbit, a short guy who resembled
Bertrand Russell, a grinning Cat, and my old friend Luke  Raynard,  who  was
singing  Irish  ballads  while  a  peculiar  landscape shifted from mural to
reality at his back. Well, I was impressed  by  the  huge  blue  Caterpillar
smoking  the hookah atop the giant mushroom because I know how hard it is to
keep a water pipe lit. Still, that wasn't it. It was a convivial scene,  and
Luke  was  known to keep pretty strange company on occasion. So why should I
feel uneasy?
     The beer was  good  and  there  was  even  a  free  lunch.  The  demons
tormenting  the red-haired woman tied to the stake had been so shiny they'd.
hurt to look at.  Gone  now,  but  the  whole  thing  had,  been  beautiful.
Everything  was  beautiful.  When  Luke  sang  of  Galway Bay it had been so
sparkling and lovely that I'd wanted to dive in and lose myself there.  Sad,
too.
     Something  to  do with the feeling. . . . Yes. Funny thought. When Luke
sang a sad song I felt melancholy. When it was a happy  one  I  was  greatly
cheered.  There seemed an unusual amount of empathy in the air. No matter, I
guess. The light. show was superb. . . .
     I sipped my drink and watched Humpty teeter, there at the  end  of  the
bar.  For  a  moment  I tried to remember when I'd come into this place, but
that cylinder  wasn't  hitting.  It  would  come  to  me,  eventually.  Nice
party....
     I  watched  and  listens  and  tasted  and  felt, and it was all great.
Anything that caught my attention was fascinating. Was there  something  I'd
wanted  to  ask  Luke?  It  seemed  there was, but he was busy singing and I
couldn't think of it now, anyway.
     What had I been doing before I'd come into this place? Trying to recall
just didn't seem worth  the  effort  either.  Not  when  everything  was  so
interesting right here and now.
     It  seemed  that  it might have been something important, though. Could
that be why I felt uneasy? Might  it  be  there  was  business  I  had  left
unfinished and should be getting back to?
     I  turned  to ask the Cat but he was fading again, still seeming vastly
amused. It occurred to me then that I, too, could do that. Fade, I mean; and
go someplace else. Was that how I had come here  and  how  I  might  depart?
Possibly.  I  put  down  my  drink and rubbed my eyes and my temples. Things
seemed to be swimming inside my head, too.
     I suddenly recalled a picture of me. On a giant  card.  A  Trump.  Yes.
That was how I'd gotten here. Through the card. . . .
     A  hand  fell  upon  my shoulder and I turned. It belonged to Luke, who
grinned at me as he edged up to the bar for a refill.
     "Great party, huh?" he said.
     "Yeah, great. How'd you find this place?" I asked him.
     He shrugged. "I forget. Who cares?"
     He fumed away, a brief blizzard of .crystals swirling between  us.  The
Caterpillar exhaled a purple cloud. A blue moon was rising.
     What is wrong with this picture? I asked myself.
     I  had  a  sudden feeling that my critical faculty had been shot off in
the war, because I couldn't focus on the anomalies I felt must be present. I
knew that I was caught up in the moment, but I couldn't see my way clear.
     I was caught up. . .
     I was caught. . . .
     How?
     Well. . . . It had all started when I'd shaken my own hand. No.  Wrong.
That  sounds  like  Zen  and that's not how it was. The hand I shook emerged
from the space occupied by the image of myself on the card that  went  away.
Yes, that was it. . . . After a fashion.
     I  clenched my teeth. The music began again. There came a soft scraping
sound near to my hand on the bar. When I looked I saw that  my  tankard  had
been  refilled.  Maybe  I'd  had  too  much  already. Maybe that's what kept
getting in the way of my thinking. I fumed away. I looked off  to  my  left,
past  the  place  where the mural on the wall became the real landscape. Did
that make me a part of the mural? I wondered suddenly.
     No matter. If I couldn't think here. . . . I began running . . . to the
left. Something about this place was messing with my  head,  and  it  seemed
impossible  to  consider  the process while I was a part of it. I had to get
away in order to think straight, to determine what was going on.
     I was across the bar and into that interface  area  where  the  painted
rocks  and  trees  became three-dimensional. I pumped my arms as I dug in. I
head the wind without feeling it.
     Nothing that lay before me seemed any nearer. I was  moving,  but  Luke
began singing again.
     I  halted.  I turned, slowly, because it sounded as if he were standing
practically beside me. He was. I was only a few paces removed from the  bar.
Luke smiled and kept singing.
     "What's  going  on?"  I asked the Caterpillar. "You're looped in Luke's
loop," it replied. "Come again?" I said.
     It blew a blue smoke ring, sighed softly, and said, "Luke's locked in a
loop and you're lost in the lyrics. 'That's all."
     "How'd it happen?" I asked.
     "I have no idea," it replied.
     "Uh, how does one get unlooped?"
     "Couldn't tell you that either."
     I turned to the Cat, who was coalescing about his grin once again.
     "I don't suppose you'd know-" I began.
     "I saw him come in anD  I  saw  you  come  in  later,"  said  the  Cat,
smirking.  "And  even  for  this  place  your  arrivals  were somewhat . . .
unusual-leading me to conclude that at least one of you is  associated  with
magic."
     I nodded.
     "Your own comings and goings might give one pause," I observed.
     "I  keep  my  paws to myself," he replied. "Which is more than Luke can
say."
     "What do you mean?"
     "He's caught in a contagious trap."
     "How does it work?" I asked.
     But he was gone again, and this time the grin went too.
     Contagious trap? That seemed to indicate that the problem  was  Luke's,
and  that I had been sucked into it in some fashion. This felt right, though
it still gave me no idea as to what the problem was or what I might do about
it.
     I reached for my tankard. If I couldn't solve my problem,  I  might  as
well  enjoy  it.  As  I  took a slow sip I became aware of a strange pair of
pale, burning eyes
     gazing into my own. I hadn't noticed them before, and  the  thing  that
made them strange was that they occupied a shadowy comer of the mural across
the room from me
     that, and the fact that they were ,moving, drifting slowly to my left.
     It was kind of fascinating, when I lost sight of the eyes but was still
able to follow whatever it was from the swaying of grasses as it passed into
the area  toward  which  I  had  been headed earlier. And far, far off to my
rightbeyond Luke-I now detected a slim gentleman in a dark  jacket,  palette
and  brush  in  hand, who was slowly extending the mural. I took another sip
and returned my attention to the progress of whatever it was that had  moved
from flat reality to 3-D. A gunmetal snout protruded from between a rock and
a  shrub;  the  pale eyes blazed above it; blue saliva dripped from the dark
muzzle and steamed upon the ground.  It  was  either  quite  short  or  very
crouched,  and I couldn't make up my mind whether it was the entire crowd of
us that it was studying or me in particular. I leaned to one side and caught
Humpty by the belt or the necktie, whichever it was, just as he was about to
slump to the side..
     "Excuse me," I said. "Could you tell me what sort of creature that is?"
     I pointed just as  it  emerged-many-legged,  long-tailed,  dark-scaled,
undulating, and fast. Its claws were red, and it raised its tail as it raced
toward us.
     Humpty's bleary eyes moved toward my own, drifted past.
     "I  am  not  here, sir," he began, "to remedy your zoological ignor- My
God! It's-"
     It flashed across the distance, approaching rapidly. Would it  reach  a
spot  shortly  where  its  cunning would become a treadmill operation-or had
that effect only applieD to me on trying to get away from this place?
     The segments of its body slid from side to side, it hissed like a leaky
pressure cooker, and steaming slaver marked its trail from  the  fiction  of
paint. Rather than slowing, its speed seemed to increase.
     My  left  hand jerked forward of its own volition and a series of words
rose unbidden to my lips. I spoke them just  as  the  creature  crossed  the
interface  I had been unable to pierce earlier, rearing as it upset a vacant
table and bunching its members as if about to spring.
     "A Bandersnatch!" someone cried.
     "A frumious Bandersnatch! " Humpty corrected.
     As I spoke the final word and performed the ultimate gesture, the image
of the Logrus swam before my inner vision. The dark  creature,  having  just
extended  its  foremost  talons, suddenly drew them back, clutched with them
against the upper left quadrant of its breast, rolled its  eyes,  emitted  a
soft  moaning  sound,  exhaled  heavily,  collapsed,  fell to the floor, and
rolled over onto its back, its many feet extended upward into the air.
     The Cat's grin appeared above the creature. The mouth moved.
     "A dead frumious Bandersnatch," it stated.
     The grin drifted toward me, the rest of the Cat occurring about it like
an afterthought.
     "That was a cardiac arrest spell, wasn't it?" it inquired.
     "I guess so," I said. "It was sort of a reflex. Yeah, I remember now. I
did still have that spell hanging around. "
     "I thought so," it observed. "I was sure that there was magic  involved
in this party."
     The  image  of  the  Logrus which had appeared to me during the spell's
operation had also served the purpose of switching on a small light  in  the
musty attic of my mind. Sorcery. Of course.
     I-Merlin,  son of Corwin-am a sorcerer, of a variety seldom encountered
in the areas I have frequented in recent years. Lucas Raynard-also known  as
Prince  Rinaldo of Kashfa-is himself a sorcerer, albeit of a style different
than my own. And  the  Cat,  who  seemed  somewhat  sophisticated  in  these
matters,  could  well  have  been  correct in assessing our situation as the
interior of a spell. Such a location is one of the few environments where my
sensitivity and training would do little to inform me as to the nature of my
predicament. This, because my faculties would  also  be  caught  up  in  the
manifestation  and  subject  to  'its  forces, if the thing were at all self
consistent. It struck me as something similar to color  blindness.  I  could
think  of  no  way of telling for certain what was going on, without outside
help.
     As I mused over these matters, the King's horses and men arrived beyond
the swinging doors at the front of the place. The men entered  and  fastened
lines  upon  the  carcass  of the Bandersnatch. The horses dragged the thing
off. Humpty had climbed down to visit the rest room while this was going on.
Upon his return he discovered that he  was  unable  to  achieve  his  former
position  atop-  the  barstool.  He  shouted to the King's men to give him a
hand, but they were busy guiding the defunct Bandersnatch among  tables  and
they ignored him.
     Luke strolled up, smiling.
     "So  that  was  a Bandersnatch," he observed. "I'd always wondered what
they were like. Now, if we could just get a Jabberwock to stop by-"
     "Sh!" cautioned the Cat. "It must be off 'in the mural  somewhere,  and
likely  it's been listening. Don't stir it up! It may come whiffling through
the tulgey wood after your ass. Remember the jaws that bite, the claws  that
catch! Don't go looking for troub-"
     The  Cat cast a quick glance toward the wall and phased into and out of
existence several times in quick succession. Ignoring this,  Luke  remarked,
"I was just thinking of the Tenniel illustration."
     The  Cat  materialized  at  the far end of the bar, downed the Hatter's
drink, and said, "I hear the burbling, and eyes of flame are drifting to the
left."
     I glanced at the mural, and I, too, saw the  fiery  eyes  and  heard  a
peculiar sound.
     "It could be any of a number of things," Luke remarked.
     The  Cat moved to a rack behind the bar and reached high up on the wall
to where a strange weapon  hung,  shimmering  and  shifting  in  shadow.  He
lowered the thing and slid it along the bar; it came to rest before Luke.
     "Better have the Vorpal Sword in hand, that's all I can say."
     Luke  laughed, but I stared fascinated at the device which looked as if
it were made of moth wings and folded moonlight. .
     Then I heard the burbling again.
     "Don't just stand there in uffish  thought!"  said  the  Cat,  draining
Humpty's glass and vanishing again.
     Still  chuckling, Luke held out his tankard for a refill. I stood there
in uffish thought: The spell I had used  to  destroy  the  Bandersnatch  had
altered  my  thinking in a peculiar fashion. It seemed for a small moment in
its aftermath that things were  beginning  to  come  clear  in  my  head.  I
attributed this to the image of the Logrus which I had regarded briefly. And
so I summoned it again.
     The Sign rose before me, hovered. I held it there. I looked upon it. It
seemed  as  if a cold wind began to blow G through my mind. Drifting bits of
memory were drawn together, assembled themselves into an entire fabric, were
informed with understanding. Of course. . . .
     The burbling grew louder and I saw the shadow of the Jabberwock gliding
among distant trees, eyes like landing  lights,  lots  of  sharp  edges  for
biting and catching. . . .
     And  it  didn't matter a bit. For I realized now what was going on, who
was responsible, how and why.
     I bent over, leaning far forward, so that my knuckles just  grazed  the
toe of my right boot.
     "Luke," I said, "we've got a problem."
     He turned away from the bar and glanced down at me.
     "What's the matter?" he asked.
     Those  of  the blood of Amber are capable of terrific exertions. We are
also able to sustain some pretty awful beatings. So, among ourselves,  these
things  tend to cancel out to some degree. Therefore, one must go about such
matters just right if one is to attend to them at all. . . .
     I brought my fist up off the floor with everything I had behind it, and
I caught Lake on the side of the jaw with a blow that lifted him  above  the
ground  as  it  turned  him  and  sent  him  sprawling  across a table which
collapsed, to continue sliding backward the length  of  the  entire  serving
area  where  he  finally  came  to  a crumpled halt at the feet of the quiet
Victorian-looking gentleman-who had dropped his paintbrush and stepped  away
quickly when Luke came skidding toward him. I raised my tankard with my left
hand and poured its contents over my right fist, which felt as if I had just
driven  it  against  a  mountainside.  As I did this the lights grew dim and
there was a moment of utter silence.
     Then I slammed the mug back onto the bartop.  The  entire  place  chose
that  moment  in  which  to shudder, as if from an earth tremor. Two bottles
fell from a shelf; a lamp swayed, the burbling grew fainter. I glanced to my
left and saw that the eerie shadow of the Jabberwock had retreated  somewhat
within  the  tulgey wood. Not only that, the painted section of the prospect
now extended a good deal farther into what had seemed normal space,  and  it
looked  to be continuing its advance in that direction, freezing that corner
of the world into flat  immobility.  It  became  apparent  from  whiffle  to
whiffle that the Jabberwock was now moving away, to the left, hurrying ahead
of  the  flatness.  Tweedledum,  Tweedledee,  the  Dodo,  and the Frog began
packing their instruments.
     I started across the bar toward Luke's sprawled form.  The  CaterpilIar
was  disassembling  his hookah, and I saw that his mushroom was tilted at an
odd angle. The White Rabbit beat it down a hole to  the  rear,  and  I  head
Humpty  muttering  curses  as  he  swayed  atop  the  bar  stool he had just
succeeded in mounting.
     I saluted the gentleman with the palette as I approached.
     "Sorry to disturb you,'' I said. "But  believe  me,  this  is  for  the
better."
     I  raised  Luke's  limp form and slung him over my shoulder. A flock of
playing cards flew by me. I dew away from them in their rapid passage.
     "Goodness! It's frightened the Jabberwock!" the man  remarked,  looking
past me.
     "What has?" I asked, not really certain that I wished to know.
     "That," he answered, gesturing toward the front of the bar.
     I looked and I staggered back and I didn't blame the Jabberwock a bit.
     It  was  a  twelve-foot Fire Angel that had just enteredrusset-colored,
with  wings  like  stained-glass  windowsand,  along  with  intimations   of
mortality,  it  brought  me recollections of a praying mantis, with a spiked
collar and thornlike  claws  protruding  through  its  short  fur  at  every
suggestion  of  an  angle.  One  of these, in fact, caught on and unhinged a
swinging door as it came inside. It was a Chaos beast-rare,  deadly,  and  ,
highly intelligent. I hadn't seen one in years, and I'd no desire to see one
now;  also,  I'd  no doubt that I was the reason it was here. For a moment I
regretted having wasted my cardiac arrest spell on a mere Bandersnatch-until
I recalled that Fire Angels have three hearts. I glanced quickly about as it
spied me, gave voice to a brief hunting wail, and advanced.
     "I'd like to have had some time to speak with you," I told the  artist.
"I like your work. Unfortunately-"
     "I understand."
     "So long."
     "Good luck. "
     I  stepped  down into the rabbit hole and ran, bent far forward because
of the low overhead. Luke made my passage parti╓ularly  awkward,  especially
on  the turns. I heard a scrabbling noise fat to the rear, with a repetition
of the hunting wail. I was consoled; however, by the knowledge that the Fire
Angel would. actually have to enlarge sections of the tunnel in order to get
by. The bad news was that it was ╓apable of  doing  it.  The  creatures  are
incredibly strong and virtually indestructible.
     I kept running till the floor dipped beneath my feet.
     Then  I began falling. I reached out with my free hand to ╓atch myself,
but there was nothing to cat╓h hold of. The bottom  had  fallen  out.  Good.
That  was  the  way  I'd hoped and half expected it would be. Luke uttered a
single soft moan but did not stir.
     We fell. Down, down, down, like the man said. It was a well, and either
it was very deep or we were falling very  slowly.  There  was  twilight  all
about  us, and I could not discern die walls of the shaft. My head cleared a
bit further, and I knew that it would continue to do so for  as  long  as  I
kept  control  of  one  variable: Luke. High in the air overhead I heard the
hunting wail once again. It was followed immediately by a  strange  burbling
sound.  Frakir  began pulsing softly upon my wrist again, not really telling
me anything I didn't already know. So I silenced her again.
     Clearer yet. I began to remember. . . . My assault on the Keep  of  the
Four  Worlds  and  my  recovery  of  Luke's mother, Jasra. The attack of the
werebeast. My odd visit with Vinta Bayle, who wasn't really what she seemed.
     . My dinner in Death Alley. . .  .  The  Dweller,  San  Francisco,  the
crystal cave. . . . Clearer and clearer.
     .  .  . And louder and louder the hunting ,wail of the Fire Angel above
me. It must  have  made  it  through  the  tunnel  and  be  descending  now.
Unfortunately, it possessed wings, while all I could do was fall.
     I  glanced  upward.  Couldn't  make out its form, though. Things seemed
darker up that way than down below. I hoped this was a  sign  that  we  were
approaching  something in the nature of a light at the end of the tunnel, as
I couldn't think of any other way out. It was too dark to view a Trump or to
distinguish enough of the passing scene to commence a shadow shift.
     I felt we were drifting now, rather than falling, at a rate that  might
permit  us  to  land  intact.  Should  it  seem otherwise when we neared the
bottom, then a possible means of further slowing our descent came to mind-an
adaptation of one of the spells I still carried with me.
     However, these considerations were not worth much should we be eaten on
the way down-a distinct possibility, unless of course our pursuer  were  not
all  that hungry, in which case it might only dismember us. Consequently, it
might become necessary to try speeding up to stay ahead of  the  beast-which
of course would cause us to smash when we hit.
     Decisions, decisions.
     Luke stirred slightly upon my shoulder. I hoped he wasn't about to come
around, as I didn't have time to mess with a sleep-spell and I wasn't really
in a good position to slug him again. That pretty much left Frakir.
     But if he were borderline, then choking might serve to rouse him rather
than send  him  back-and  I  did  want him in decent shape. He knew too many
things I didn't, things I now needed.
     We passed  through  a  slightly  brighter  area,  and  I  was  able  to
distinguish  the walls of the shaft for the first time and to note that they
were covered with graffiti in a language that I did not  understand.  I  was
reminded of a strange short story by Jamaica Kincaid, but it bore me no
     clues  for  deliverance. Immediately following our passage through that
band of illumination, I distinguished a small spot of light  far  below.  At
almost the same moment' I heard the wail once again, this time very near.
     I  looked up in time to behold the Fire Angel passing through the glow.
But there was another shape close behind it, and it wore a vest and burbled.
The Jabberwock was also on the way down, and it seemed to be making the best
time of any of us. The question of its purpose was immediately prominent; as
it gained, the circle of light grew and Luke stirred  again.  This  question
was  quickly  answered;  however,  as  it  caught up with the Fire Angel and
attacked.
     The whiffling, the wailing, and the burbling suddenly echoed  down  the
shaft,  along  with hissing, scraping, and occasional snarls. The two beasts
came together and tore at each other,  eyes  like  dying  suns,  claws  like
bayonets, forming a hellish mandala in the pale light which now reached them
from  below. While this produced a round of activity too near at hand for me
to feel entirely at ease, it did serve to slow them to  the  point  where  I
felt  I  need not risk an ill-suited spell and an awkward maneuver to emerge
from the tunnel in one piece.
     "Argh!" Luke remarked, turning suddenly within my grasp.
     "I agree," I said. "But lie still, will you? We're about to crash-"
     "-and burn,"  he  stated,  twisting  his  head  upward  to  regard  the
combatant  monsters,  then  downward  when he realized that we were falling,
too. "What kind of trip is this?"
     "A bad one," I answered, and then it hit me: That was exactly  what  it
was.
     The  opening  was  even  larger  now, and our velocity sufficient for a
bearable landing. Our reaction to the spell that I called the  Giant's  Slap
would probably slow us to a standstill or even propel us backward. Better to
collect a few bruises than become a traffic obstruction at this point.
     A  bad  trip  indeed.  I  was  thinking  of Random's words as we passed
through the opening at a crazy angle, hit dirt, and rolled.
     We had come to rest within a cave, near to its mouth. Tunnels  ran  off
to  the  right  and  the left. The cave mouth was at my back. A quick glance
showed it as opening upon a bright, possibly lush, and more  than  a  little
outof  focus  valley. Luke was sprawled unmoving beside me. I got to my feet
immediately and caught hold of him beneath the armpits. I began dragging him
back away from the dark opening from which we had just emerged.  The  sounds
of the monstrous conflict were very near now.
     Good  that  Luke seemed unconscious again. His condition was bad enough
for any Amberite, if my guess were correct. But for one of sorcerous ability
it represented a highly dangerous wild card of a sort I'd never  encountered
before. I wasn't at all certain how I should deal with it.
     I dragged him toward the righthand tunnel because it was the smaller of
the two  and  would  theoretically  be a bit easier to defend. We had barely
achieved its shelter when the two beasts fell through the opening, clutching
and tearing at each other. They commenced rolling about  the  floor  of  the
cave,  claws  clicking,  uttering  hisses  and whistles as they tore at each
other. They seemed to have  forgotten  us  entirely;  and  I  continued  our
retreat until we were well back in the tunnel.
     I could only assume Random's guess to be correct. . After all, he was a
musician  and  he'd  played  all  over Shadow. Also, I couldn't come up with
anything better.
     I summoned the Sign of the Logrus. When I had it clear and  had  meshed
my  hands  with  it, I might have used it to strike- at the fighting beasts.
But they were paying me no heed whatsoever, and I'd  no  desire  to  attract
their  attention. Also, I'd no assurance that the equivalent of being hit by
a two-by-four would have much effect on them. Besides, my order  was  ready,
and filling it took precedence.
     So I reached.
     It  took  an  interminable  time.  There  was an extremely wide area of
Shadow to pass though before I found what I was looking for. Then I  had  to
do  it again. And again. There were a number of things I wanted, and none of
them near.
     In the meantime, the combatants showed no sign of slackening, and their
claws struck sparks from the cave's  walls.  They  had  cut  each  other  in
countless  places  and  were  now  covered with dark gore. Luke had awakened
during all of this, propped himself,  and  was  staring  fascinated  at  the
colorful conflict. How long it might hold his attention I could not tell. It
would be important for me to have him awake very soon now, and I was pleased
that he had not started thinking of other matters yet.
     I  was  cheering,  by  the way, for the Jabberwock. It was just a nasty
beast and need not have been homing in on  me  in  particular  when  it  was
distracted  by  the  arrival  of its exotic nemesis. The Fire Angel had been
playing an entirely different game. There was no reason for a Fire Angel  to
be  stalking  about  this  far  from  Chaos unless it had been sent: They're
devilish hard to capture, harder to train, and dangerous to handle. So  they
represent  a  considerable expense and hazard. One does not invest in a Fire
Angel lightly. Their main purpose in life is killing, and to my knowledge no
one outside the Courts of Chaos has ever employed one: They've a vast  array
of sensessome of them, apparently, paranormal-and they can be used as Shadow
bloodhounds.  They don't wander through Shadow on their own, that I know of.
But a Shadowwalker can be tracked, and Fire Angels seem to be able to follow
a very cold trail once they've been imprinted with  the  victim's  identity.
Now,  I  had  been  trumped  to that crazy bar, and I didn't know they could
follow  a  Trump  jump,  but  several  other   possibilities   occurred   to
me=including  someone's  locating me, transporting the thing to my vicinity,
and turning it loose to do its business. Whatever  the  means,  though,  the
attempt  had  the  mark of the Courts upon it. Hence, my quick conversion to
Jabberwock fandom.
     "What's going on?" Luke asked me suddenly, and the walls  of  the  cave
faded for a moment and I heard a faint strain of music.
     "It's tricky," I said. "Listen, it's time for your medicine."
     I  dumped  out  a palmful of the vitamin B12 tabs I had just brought in
and uncapped the water bottle I had also summoned.
     "What medicine?" he asked as I passed them to him. "Doctor's orders," I
said. "Get you back on your feet faster. "
     "Well, okay."
     He threw all of them into his mouth and downed them with a  single  big
drink.
     "Now these."
     I  opened  the bottle of Thorazine. They were 200 milligrams each and I
didn't know how many to give him, so I decided on three.  I  gave  him  some
.tryptophan, too, and some phenylalanine.
     He  stared  at  the pills. The walls faded again, the music returned. A
cloud of blue smoke drifted past us. Suddenly the bar came into  view,  back
to  whatever  passed  for  normal  in  that place. The upset tables had been
righted, Humpty still teetered, the mural went on.
     "Hey, the club!" Luke exclaimed. "We ought to head back. Looks like the
party's just getting going."
     "First, you take your medicine."
     "What's it for?"
     "You got some bad shit somewhere. This is to let you down easy."
     "I don't feel bad. In fact, I feel real good-"
     "Take it!"
     "Okay! Okay!"
     He tossed off the whole fistful.
     The Jabberwock and the Fire Angel seemed to be fading now-and my latest
exasperated gesture in the vicinity  of  the  bartop  had  encountered  some
resistance,  though the thing was not fully solid to me yet. Suddenly, then,
I noticed the Cat, whose games with substantiality  somehow  at  this  point
made it seem more real than anything else in the place.
     "You coming or going?" if asked.
     Luke began to rise. The light grew brighter, though more diffuse.
     "Uh, Luke, look over there," I said, pointing
     "Where?" he asked, turning his head.
     I slugged him again.
     As  he  collapsed,  the bar began to fade. The walls of the cave phased
back into focus. I heard the Cat's voice. "Going . . ." it said.
     The noises returned full blast, only this time the dominant sound was a
bagpipelike squeal. It was coming from the Jabberwock, who was pinned to the
ground and being slashed at. I decided then to use the Fourth of July  spell
I  had left over from my assault on the citadel. I raised my hands and spoke
the words. I moved in front of Luke to block his view as I  did  so,  and  I
looked  away  and  squeezed my eyes shut as I said them. Even through closed
eyes I could tell there followed a brilliant flash of light.  I  heard  Luke
say, ``Hey!" but all other sounds ceased abruptly. When I looked again I saw
that  the  two creatures lay as if stunned, unmoving, toward the far side of
the small cave.
     I grabbed hold of Luke's hand and drew him up and over my shoulders  in
a fireman's carry. Then I advanced quickly into the cave, slipping only once
on  monster  blood as I edged my way along the nearest wall, heading for the
cave mouth. The creatures began to stir before I  made  it  out,  but  their
movements were more reflexive than directed. I paused at the opening where I
beheld  an  enormous flower garden in full bloom. All of the flowers were at
least as tall as myself, and a  shifting  breeze  bore  me  an  overpowering
redolence.
     Moments later I heard a more decisive movement at my back and I turned.
The Jabberwock  was  drawing  itself  to  its feet. The Fire Angel was still
crouched and was making small piping noises. The Jabberwock staggered  back,
spreading  its  wings,  then suddenly turned, beat the air, and fled back up
the high hole in the cleft at the rear of  the  cave.  Not  a  bad  idea,  I
decided, as I hurried out into the garden.
     Here  the  aromas  were  even stronger, the flowers, mostly in bloom, a
fantastic canopy of colors as I noshed among them. I  found  myself  panting
after  a  short  while,  but I jogged on nevertheless. Luke was heavy, but I
wanted to put as much distance as I could between ourselves  and  the  cave.
Considering  how  fast  our  pursuer  could  move,  I  wasn't sure there was
sufficient time to fool with a Trump yet.
     As I hurried along I began feeling somewhat woozy, and  my  extremities
seemed  extremely  distant.  It  occurred  to me immediately that the flower
smells might be a bit narcotic. Great. That was all I needed, to get  caught
up  in  a drug high while trying to bring Luke back from one. , I could make
out a sill, slightly elevated clearing in the distance, though, and I headed
for it. Hopefully, we could rest there for a bit while I regained my  mental
footing  and  decided  what  to do next. So far, I could detect no sounds of
pursuit.
     Rushing on, I could feel myself beginning to reel. My  equilibrium  was
becoming  impaired.  I  suddenly  felt  a  fear  of  falling, almost akin to
acrophobia. For it occurred to me that if I fell I might not be able to rise
again, that I might su╓cumb  to  a  drugged  sleep  and  be  discovered  and
dispatched  by  the creature of Chaos while I dozed. Overhead, the colors of
the flowers ran together, flowing and tangling like a mass of ribbons  in  a
bright  stream. I tried to control my breathing, to take in as little of the
effluvia as possible. But this was difficult, as winded as I was becoming.
     But I did not fall, though I collapsed beside Luke at the center of the
clearing after I'd lowered him to the ground.  He  remained  unconscious,  a
peaceful expression on his face. A wind swept our hillock from the direction
of  its  far  side,  where  nasty-looking,  spiked  plants of a nonflowering
variety grew. Thus, I no longer smelled the seductive  odors  of  the  giant
flower  field, and after a time my head began to clear. On the other hand, I
realized that this meant that our own scents were being borne  back  in  the
direction  of  the cave. Whether the Fire Angel could unmask them within the
heady perfumes, I did not know, but providing it with even that much  of  an
opportunity made me feel uncomfortable.
     Years  ago, as an undergraduate, I had tried some LSD. It had scared me
so badly that I'd never tried another hallucinogen since. It wasn't simply a
bad trip. The stuff had affected my shadow-shifting ability. It is kind of a
truism that Amberites can visit any place they can imagine,  for  everything
is  out  there,  somewhere; in Shadow. By combining our minds with motion we
can tune for the shadow we desire. Unfortunately, I could not control what I
was imagining. Also unfortunately, I was  transported  to  those  places.  I
panicked,  and  that only made it worse. I could easily have been destroyed,
for I wandered through the objectified jungles of my subconscious and passed
some time in places where the bad things dwell. After I came down I found my
way back home, turned up whimpering on Julia's doorstep, and was  a  nervous
wreck  for  days.  Later, when I told Random about it, I learned that he had
had some similar experiences. He had kept  it  to  himself  at  first  as  a
possible  secret  weapon  against  the  rest of the family; but later, after
they'd gotten back onto decent terms with each  other,  he  had  decided  to
share the information in the interest of survival. He was surprised to learn
then  that  Benedict, Gerard, Fiona, and Bleys knew all about itthough their
knowledge -had come from other hallucinogene and, strangely, only Fiona  had
ever  considered  its  possibility as an in-family weapon. She'd shelved the
notion, though, because of its  unpredictability.  This  had  been  sometime
back,  however,  and  in  the press of other business in recent years it had
slipped his mind; it simply had not occurred to him that a new, arrival such
as myself should perhaps be cautioned.
     Luke had told me that his attempted invasion of the Keep  of  the  Four
Words,  by  means of a glider-borne commando team, had been smashed. Since I
had seen the broken gliders at various points within the walls during my own
visit to that place, it was logical to assume that Luke had  been  captured.
Therefore,  it  seemed a fairly strong assumption that the sorcerer Mask had
done whatever had been done to him to bring him to this state. It would seem
that this simply involved introducing a dose of a hallucinogen_to his prison
fare and turning  him  loose  to  wander  and  look  at  the-pretty  lights.
Fortunately,  unlike myself, his mental travelings had involved nothing more
threatening than the brighter aspects of Lewis Carroll. Maybe his heart  was
purer than mine. But the deal was weird any way you looked at it. Mask might
have  killed  him  or  kept  him  in  prison  or  added  him to the coatrack
collection. Instead, while what had been done was not without risk,  it  was
something  which  would  wear  off eventually and leave him chastened but at
liberty. It was more a slap on the wrist than a  real  piece  of  vengeance.
This,  for  a member of the House which had previously held sway in the Keep
and would doubtless like to do so again. Was Mask  supremely  confident?  Or
did he not really see Luke as much of a threat?
     And  then  there is the fact that our shadow-shifting abilities and our
sorcerous abilities come from similar roots-the Pattern or the Logms. It had
to be that messing with one also messed with the other. That  would  explain
Luke's  strange  ability  to summon me to him as by a massive Trump sending,
when in actuality  there  was  no  Trump:  His  drug-enhanced  abilities  of
visualization   must   have   been  so  intense  that  the  card's  physical
representation of me was unnecessary. And his skewed magical abilities would
account  for  all   of   the   preliminary   byplay,   all   of   the   odd,
reality-distorting  experiences I'd had before he actually achieved contact.
This meant that either of us could become very dangerous in certain  drugged
states. I'd have to remember that. I hoped he wouldn't wake up mad at me for
hitting  him,  before  I  could  talk  to  him a bit. On the other hand; the
tranquilizer would hopefully keep him happy while the other stuff worked  at
detoxing him.
     I  massaged  a sore muscle in my left leg and rose to my feet. I caught
hold of Luke beneath the armpits and dragged him about twenty paces  farther
along  into the clearing. Then I sighed and returned to the spot where I had
rested. There was not sufficient time to flee farther. And  as  the  wailing
increased  in volume and the giant flowers swayed in a line heading directly
toward meglimpses of a darker form becoming visible amid the  stalks-I  knew
that  with the Jabberwock fled the Fire Angel was back on the job, and since
this confrontation seemed inevitable, this clearing was as good a  place  to
meet it as any, and better than most.


CHAPTER 2

     I  unfastened  the  bright  thing at my belt and began to unfold it. It
made a series of clicking noises as I did so. I was hoping that I was making
the best choice available to me rather than, say, a bad mistake.
     The creature took longer than I'd thought to pass  among  the  flowers.
This  could  mean  it  was having trouble following my trail amid its exotic
surroundings. I was hoping, though, that it meant it had  been  sufficiently
injured  in  its encounter with the Jabberwock that it had lost something of
its strength and speed.
     Whatever, the final stalks eventually  swayed  and  were  crushed.  The
angular creature lurched forward and halted a to stare at me with unblinking
eyes.  Frakir  panicked,  and  I  calmed  her.  This was a little out of her
league. I had a Fire Fountain spell left, but I didn't even bother with  it:
I   knew   it  wouldn't  stop  the  thing,  and  it  might  make  it  behave
unpredictably.
     ``I can show you the way back to Chaos," I shouted, "if you're  getting
homesick!"
     It wailed softly and advanced. So much for sentimentality.
     It  came on slowly, oozing fluids from a dozen wounds. I wondered if it
were still capable of noshing me or if its present pace  were  the  best  it
could manage. Prudence dictated I assume the worst, so I tried to stay loose
and ready to match anything it attempted.
     It  didn't  rush,  though.  It just kept coming, like a small tank with
appendages. I didn't know where its vital spots  were  located.  Fire  Angel
anatomy had not been high on my list of interests back home. I gave myself a
crash  course,  however,  in  the way of gross observation as it approached.
Unfortunately, this gave me to believe that  it  kept  everything  important
well protected. Too bad.
     I  did  not  want  to  attack  in  case it was trying to sucker me into
something. I was not aware of its combat tricks,  and  I  did  not  care  to
expose  myself  unduly in order to learn them. Better to stay on the defense
and let it make the first move; I told  myself.  But  it  just  kept  moving
nearer  and  nearer. I knew that I'd be forced to do something soon, even if
it were only to retreat. . . .
     One of those long, folded front appendages flashed out toward me, and I
spun to the side and cut. Snicker-snack! The limb lay on the  ground,  still
moving. So I kept moving, also. One-two, one-two! Snicker-snack!
     The  beast  toppled  slowly  to  its left, for I had removed all of the
limbs on that side of its body.
     Then, overconfident, I passed too near in racing to round its  head  to
reach  the  other  side  and  repeat  the  performance  while  it  was still
traumatized and collapsing. Its other extensor flashed out. But  I  was  too
near  and  it  was  still  toppling:  Instead of catching me with its clawed
extremity, it hit me with the equivalent of shin or forearm. The blow struck
me across the chest and I was knocked backward.
     As I scrambled away and drew my feet beneath me to rise, I  heard  Luke
say, groggily, "Now what's going on?"
     "Later," I called, without looking back.
     Then, "Hey! You hit me!" he added.
     "All  in  good  fun,"  I answered. "Part of the cure," and I was up and
moving again.
     "Oh," I heard him say.
     The thing was on its side now and that big limb struck  wildly  at  me,
several  times.  I  avoided  it and was able to gauge its range and striking
angle.
     Snicker-snack. The limb fell to the ground and I moved in.
     I swung three blows which passed all the  way  through  its  head  from
different  angles  before  I  was  able to sever it. It kept making clicking
noises, though, and the torso kept pitching  and  scrabbling  about  on  the
remaining limbs.
     I  don't  know  how  many  times I struck after that. I just kept at it
until the creature was literally diced. Luke had begun shouting "Old!"  each
time  that  I  struck. I was perspiring somewhat by then, and I noticed that
heat waves or something seemed to be causing my view of the distant  flowers
to  ripple  in  a  disturbing  fashion.  I  felt  foresighted  as  all hell,
though-the Vorpal Sword I'd appropriated back in the bar had proved  a  fine
weapon.  I j, swung it through a high arc, which I'd noted seemed to cleanse
it entirely, and then I began folding it  back  into  its  original  compact
form.  It  was as soft as flower,petals, and it still gave off a faint dusty
glow. . . .
     "Bravo!" said a familiar voice, and I  fumed  until  I  saw  the  smile
followed  by  the  Cat, who was tapping his paws lightly together. "Callooh!
Callay!" he added. "Well done, beamish boy!"
     The background wavering grew stronger, and the sky  darkened.  I  heard
Luke  say  "Hey!"  and  when  I  glanced back I saw him getting to his feet,
moving forward. When I looked again I could see the bar forming at the Cat's
back, and I caught a glimpse of the brass rail. My head began to swim.
     "There's normally a deposit on  the  Vorpal  Sword,"  the  ''  Cat  was
saying. "But since you're returning it intact-"
     Luke  was beside me. I could hear music again, and he was humming along
with it. Now it was the clearing, with its butchered Fire Angel, that seemed
the superimposition, as the bar increased in solidity, taking on nuances  of
color and shading.
     But  the  place  seemed somehow smaller-the tables closer together, the
music softer, the mural more compressed and its artist out  of  sight.  Even
the  Caterpillar  and his mushroom had retreated to a shadowy nook, and both
seemed shrunken, the blue smoke less dense. I took this as  a  vaguely  good
sign,  for  if our presence there were a result of Luke's state of mind then
perhaps the fixation was losing its hold on him.
     "Luke?" I said.
     He moved up to the bar beside me.
     "Yeah?" he answered.
     "You know you're on a trip, don't you?"
     "I don't. . . . I'm not sure what you mean," he said.
     `'When Mask had you prisoner I think he slipped you some acid," I said.
"Is that possible?"
     "Who's Mask?" he asked me.
     "The new head honcho at the Keep."
     "Oh, you mean Sharu Garrul," he said. "I do remember that he had  on  a
blue mask."
     I  saw no reason to go into an explanation as to why Mask wasn't Sharu.
He'd probably forget, anyway. I just nodded and said, "The boss."
     "Well . . . yes, I guess he could have given me something," he replied.
"You mean that all this . . . ?" He gestured toward the room at large.
     I nodded.
     "Sure, it's real,"  I  said.  "But  we  can  transport  ourselves  into
hallucinations. They're all real somewhere. Acid'll do it."
     "I'll be damned," he said.
     "I gave you some stuff to bring you down," I told him. "But it may take
a while."
     He licked his lips and glanced about.
     "Well,  there's  no  hurry,"  he  said.  Then  he  smiled  as a distant
screaming began and the demons started in doing nasty things to the  burning
woman off in the mural. "I kind of like it here."
     I  placed  the  folded  weapon back upon the bartop. Luke rapped on the
surface beside it and called for another round  of  brews.  I  backed  away,
shaking my head.
     .  "I've  got to go now," I told him. "Someone's still after me, and he
just came close."
     "Animals don't count," Luke said.
     "The one I just chopped up does," I answered. "It was sent."
     I looked at the broken doors, wondering what might  come  through  them
next. Fire Angels have been known to hunt in pairs.
     "But I've got to talk to you . . . ," I continued.
     "Not now," he said, turning away.
     "You know it's important."
     "I can't think right," he answered.
     I  supposed  that had to be true, and there was no sense trying to drag
him back to Amber or anywhere else. He'd J just fade away and show  up  here
again.  His  head  would  have to clear and his fixation dissipate before we
could discuss mutual problems.
     "You remember that your mother is a prisoner in Amber?" I asked.
     "Yes."
     "Call me when you've got your head together. We have to talk."
     "I will."
     "I turned away and walked out the doors and into a bank of fog. In  the
distance  I  heard  Luke  begin  singing again, some mournful ballad. Fog is
almost as bad as complete darkness when it comes to shadow-shifting. If  you
can't  see  any  referents  while  you're moving, there is no way to use the
ability, that allows you to slip away. On the other hand, I just  wanted  to
be alone for a time to think,
     Y  now  my  head  was  clear.  If I couldn't see anybody in this stuff,
nobody could see me either. And there were  no  sounds  other  than  my  own
footfalls on a cobbled surface.
     So  what had I achieved? When I was awakened from a brief nap to attend
Luke's unusual sending to Amber, I'd been dead tired following extraordinary
exertions. I  was  transported  into  his  presence,  learned  that  he  was
tripping, fed him something I hoped would bring him off it sooner, hacked up
a Fire Angel, and left Luke back where he had started.
     I'd  gotten  two  things  out of it, I mused, as I strolled through the
cottony mist: I'd stalemated Luke in any designs he might  still  have  upon
Amber. He was now aware that his mother was our prisoner, and I couldn't see
him  bringing  any  direct  action against us under the circumstances. Aside
from the technical problems involved in transporting Luke and keeping him in
one place, this was the reason I was willing to leave him as I just had. I'm
sure Random would have preferred him unconscious in a cell in the  basement,
but  I  was certain he would settle for a defanged Luke at large; especially
so, when it was likely that Luke would be getting in touch with us sooner or
later regarding Jasra. I was willing to let him come down and come around in
his own good time. I had problems of  my  own  in  the  waiting  room,  like
Ghostwheel,  Mask,  Vinta  .  . . and the new specter which had just taken a
number and a seat.
     Maybe it had been Jasra who had been using the homing power of the blue
stones to send assassins after me. She had the ability as well as a  motive.
It  could  also have been Mask, though, who I'd judge had the abilityand who
seemed to have a motive, though I didn't understand it. Jasra was out of the
way now, however; and  while  I  intended  to  have  things  out  with  Mask
eventually, I believed that I had succeeded in detuning myself from the blue
stones. I also believed that I might have scared Mask somewhat in our recent
encounter  at  the  Keep.  Whatever,  it was extremely unlikely that Mask or
Jasra, whatever their powers, would have had access to a trained Fire Angel.
No, there's only one place  Fire  Angels  come  from,  and  shadow-sorcerers
aren't on the customer fist.
     A  puff  of wind parted the fog for a moment and I caught sight of dark
buildings. Good. I shifted. The fog moved again almost immediately, and they
were not buildings but dark rock formations. Another parting and a piece  of
dawn  or  evening  sky came into view, a foam of bright stars spilled across
it. Before too long a wind whipped the fog away and I saw that I walked in a
high rocky place, the heavens a blaze of starry light bright enough to  read
by. I followed a dark trail leading off to the edge of the world. . . .
     The  whole  business  with Luke, Jasra, Dalt, and Mask was somehow of a
piece-completely understandable in some places and clouded in others.  Given
some  time  and legwork it would all hang together. Luke and Jasra seemed to
be nullified now. Mask, an enigma of sorts; seemed to  have  it  in  for  me
personally  but  did not appear to represent any particular threat to Amber.
Dalt, on the other hand, did, with his fancy  new  weaponry-but  Random  was
aware  of  this  situation and Benedict was back in town. So I was confident
that everything possible was being done to deal with this.
     I stood at the edge of the world and looked down into a bottomless rift
full of stars. My mountain did not seem to grace the surface  of  a  planet.
However,  there  was  a  bridge  to  my  left,  leading  outward  to a dark,
star-occluding . shape-another floating mountain, perhaps. I  strolled  over
and  stepped  out onto the span. Problems involving atmosphere, gravitation,
temperature, meant nothing here, where I could, in a sense, make up  reality
as  I  went  along. I walked out onto the bridge, and for a moment the angle
was right and I caught a glimpse of another bridge on the far  side  of  the
dark mass, leading off to some other darkness.
     I  halted  in  the middle, able to see along it for a great distance in
either direction. It seemed a safe  and  appropriate  spot.  I  withdrew  my
packet  of Trumps and riffled through them until I located one I hadn't used
in a long, long time.
     I held it before me and put the others away, studying the blue eyes and
the young, hard, slightly sharp features beneath a mass of pure white  hair.
He  was  dressed  all  in  black,  save for a bit of white collar and sleeve
showing beneath the glossy tight-fitting jacket. He held  three  dark  steel
balls in his gloved hand.
     Sometimes  it's  hard  to  reach all the way to Chaos, so I focused and
extended, carefully, strongly. The contact came almost immediately.  He  was
seated  on  a balcony beneath a crazily stippled sky, the Shifting Mountains
sliding to his left. His feet were propped on a small floating table and  he
was reading a book. He lowered it and smiled faintly.
     "Merlin," he said softly. "You look tired."
     I nodded.
     "You look rested," I said.
     "True,"  he  answered,  as  he closed the book and set it on the table.
Then, "There is trouble?" he asked.
     "There is trouble, Mandor."
     He rose to his feet.
     "You wish to come through?"
     I shook my head. "If you have any Trumps handy for  getting  back,  I'd
rather you came to me."
     He extended his hand.
     "All right," he said.
     I  reached  forward, our hands clasped; he took a single step and stood
beside me on the bridge. We embraced for a moment and  then  he  turned  and
looked out and down into the rift.
     "There is some danger here?" he asked.
     "No.  I chose this place because it seems very safe." "Scenic, too," he
replied. "What's been happening to you?"
     "For years I was merely a student, and then a designer of certain sorts
of specialized machinery," I told him. "Things were pretty uneventful  until
fairly  recently. Then all hell broke loose-but most of it I understand, and
much of it seems under control. That part's complicated and not really worth
your concern."
     He rested a hand on the bridge's side-piece: "And the . other part?" he
asked.
     "My enemies up until this point had been from the  environs  of  Amber.
But  suddenly,  when  it seemed that most of that business was on its way to
being settled, someone put  a  Fire  Angel  on  my  trail.  I  succeeded  in
destroying  it just a little while ago. I've no idea why, and it's certainly
not an Amber trick."
     He made a clicking noise with his lips as he turned away, paced  a  few
steps, and turned back.
     "You're  right,  of course," he said. "I'd no idea it had come anywhere
near this, or I'd have spoken with you some time ago. But let me differ with
you as to orders of importance before I indulge in certain  speculations  on
your behalf. I want to hear your entire story."
     "Why?"
     "Because  you are sometimes appallingly naive, little brother, and I do
not yet trust your judgment as to what is truly important."
     "I may starve to death before I finish," I answered. Smiling crookedly,
my step-brother Mandor raised his arms. While Jurt and Despil  are  my  half
brothers,  borne  by  my mother, Dara, to Prince Sawall the Rim Lord, Mandor
was Sawall's son by an earlier marriage. Mandor is considerably  older  than
I,  and  as  a  result he reminds me much of my relatives back in Amber. I'd
always felt a bit of an outsider among the children of Dara and  Sawall.  In
that  Mandor was-in a more stable sense-not part of that particular grouping
either, we'd had something in common. But whatever the  impulse  behind  his
early attentions, we'd hit it off and become closer, I sometimes think, than
full  blood  brothers.  He  had taught me a lot of practical things over the
years, and we had had many good- times together.
     The air was distorted between us, and when Mandor lowered  his  arms  a
dinner  table  covered  with  embroidered  white linen came into sudden view
between us, soundlessly, followed a moment later by a pair of facing chairs.
The table bore numerous covered dishes,  fine  china,  crystal,  silverware;
there was even a gleaming ice bucket with a dark twisted bottle within it.
     "I am impressed," I stated.
     "I've  devoted  considerable time to gourmet magic in recent years," he
said. "Pray, be seated."
     We  made  ourselves  comfortable  there  on  the  bridge  between   two
darknesses.  I  muttered appreciatively as I tasted, and it was some minutes
before I could begin a summary of the events that had  brought  me  to  this
place of starlight and silence.
     Mandor  listened  to  my entire tale without interruption, and when I'd
finished he nodded  and  said,  "Would  you  care  for  another  serving  of
dessert?"
     "Yes," I agreed. "It's quite nice."
     When I glanced up a few moments later, I saw that he was smiling.
     "What's funny?" I asked.
     "You,"  he replied. "If you recall, I told you before you left for that
place to be discriminating when it came to giving your trust."
     "Well? I told no one my story. If you're going to lecture me  on  being
friendly with Luke without learning his, I've already heard it."
     "And what of Julia?"
     "What do you mean? She never learned. . . ."
     "Exactly.  And  she seems like one you could have trusted. Instead, you
turned her against you."
     "All right! Maybe I used bad judgment there, too."
     "You designed a remarkable machine, and it never  occurred  to  you  it
might  also become a potent weapon. Random saw that right away. So did Luke.
You might have been saved from disaster on that front only by the fact  that
it became sentient and didn't care to be dictated to.
     "You're  right. I was more concerned with solving technical problems. I
didn't think through all the consequences.
     He sighed.
     "What am I going to do with you, Merlin? You take risks when you  don't
even know you're taking risks."
     "I didn't tmst Vinta," I volunteered.
     "I  think  you could have gotten more information out of her," he said;
"if you hadn't been so quick to save Luke, who already appeared to be out of
danger. She seemed to be loosening  up  considerably  at  the  end  of  your
dialogue."
     "Perhaps I should have called you."
     "If you encounter her again, do it, and I'll deal with her."
     I stared. He seemed to mean it.
     "You know what she is?"
     "I'll  unriddle  her,"  he said, swirling the bright orange beverage in
his glass. "But I've a proposal for you, elegant in its simplicity.  I've  a
new  country  place, quite' secluded, with all the amenities. Why not return
to the Courts with me rather than bouncing around from hazard to hazard? Lie
low for a couple of years, enjoy the good life, catch up  on  your  reading.
I'll see that you're well protected. Let everything blow over, then go about
your business in a more peaceful climate."
     I took a small sip of the fiery drink.
     "No," I said. "What happened to those things you indicated earlier that
you knew and I didn't?"
     "Hardly important, if you accept my offer. "
     "Even if I were to accept, I'd want to know."
     "Bag of worms," he said.
     "You listened to my story. I'll listen to yours."
     He shrugged and leaned back in his chair, looked up at stars.
     "Swayvill is dying," he said.
     "He's been doing that for years."
     "True,  but  he's  gotten much worse. Some think it has, to do with the
death curse of Eric of Amber. Whatever; I  really  believe  he  hasn't  much
longer."
     "I begin to see. . . ."
     "Yes,  the  struggle for the succession has become more intense. People
have been falling over left and rightpoison, duels, assassinations, peculiar
accidents, dubious suicides. A great number have also  departed  for  points
unknown. Or so it would seem."
     "I  understand,  but  I  don't  see where it concerns me." "One time it
would not have."
     "But?" "You are not aware that Sawall adopted you, formally, after your
departure?"
     "What?" "Yes. I was never certain as to his exact motives. But you  are
a legitimate heir. You follow me but take precedente over Jurt and Despil."
     "That would still leave me way in hell down on the list."
     "True," he said slowly. "Most of the interest lies at the top. . . ."
     "You say `most.' "
     "There  are  always  exceptions," he answered. "You must realize that a
time such as this is also a fine occasion for the paying off of  old  debts.
One  death  more  or  less hardly rouses an eyebrow the way it would have in
more placid. times. Even in relatively high places."
     I shook my head as I met his eyes.
     "It really doesn't make sense in my case,"  I  said.  He  continued  to
stare untll I felt uncomfortable. "Does it?" I finally asked.
     "WeIl . . ." he said. "Give it some thought."
     I did. And just as the notion came to me, Mandor nodded as if he viewed
the contents  of  my  mind.  "Jurt," he said, "met the changing times with a
mixture of delight and fear. He was constantly talking of the latest  deaths
and  of  the  elegance  and  apparent  ease  with  which  some  of them were
accomplished. Hushed tones interspersed with a few giggles. His fear and his
desire to increase his own capacity for mischief  finally  reached  a  point
where they became greater than his other fear-"
     "The Logrus. . . ."
     "Yes. He finally tried the Logrus, and he made it through."
     "He  should  be  feeling  very good about that. Proud. It was something
he',d wanted for years."
     "Oh, yes," Mandor answered. "And I'm sure he felt  a  great  number  of
other things as well."
     "Freedom,"  I  suggested.  "Power,"  and  as  I studied his half amused
expression, I was forced to add, "and the ability to play the game himself."
     "There may be hope for you," he said. "Now, would  you  care  to  carry
that through to its logical conclusion?"
     "Okay,"  I  responded,  thinking  of  Jurt's left ear as I floated away
following my cut, a swarm of blood-bead: spreading about it. "You think Jurt
sent the Fire Angel.' "Most likely," he replied.  "But  would  you  care  to
pursue that a little further?"
     I  thought  of the broken branch piercing Jurt's eyeball as we wrestled
in the glade. . . .
     "All right," I said. "He's  after  me.  It  could  be  a  part  of  the
succession  game,  because I'm slightly ahead of him; on that front, or just
plain dislike and revenge-or both. "
     "It doesn't really matter which," Mandor said, "in  terms  of  results.
But  I  was thinking of that crop-eareD wolf that attacked you. Only had one
eye, too, it seemed. . . ."
     "Yes," I said. "What does Jurt look like these days?"
     "Oh, he's grown about  half  the  ear  back.  It's  pretty  ragged  and
ugly-looking. Generally, his hair covers it. The eyeball is regenerated, but
he can't see out of it yet. He usually wears a patch.''
     "That might explain recent developments," I said. , "Hell of a time for
it, though,  with  everything  else that's been going on. Muddies the waters
considerably."
     "It's one of the reasons  I  suggest  you  simply  drop  out;  and  let
everything  cool  down. Too busy. With as many arrows as there seem to be in
the air, one may well find" your heart."
     "I can take care of myself, Mandor." "You could have fooled me."
     I shrugged, got up, walked over to the rail, and  looked  down  at  the
stars.
     After  a  long  while  he  called  out  to me, "Have you got any better
ideas?" but I didn't answer him because  I  was  thinking  about  that  very
matter.  I  was considering what Mandor had said about my tunnel' vision and
lack of preparedness and had just about concluded that he was right, that in
nearly everything that had  happened  to  me:  up  to  this  point-with  the
exception   of  my  going  after  Jasra-I  had  mainly  been  responding  to
circumstance. I had been far more acted upon than acting. Admittedly, it had
all happened very quickly. But still, I had not formed any  real  plans  for
covering  myself, learning about my enemies or striking back. It seemed that
there were some things I might be doing. . . .
     "If there is that much to worry about,"  he  said,  "you  are  probably
better off playing it safe."
     He was probably right, from the standpoints of reason, safety, caution.
But he  was  strictly  of the Courts, while I possessed an additional set of
loyalties in which he did not participate. It was possible-if  only  through
my  connection  with Luke-that I might be able to come up with some personal
course of action that would further the security of Amber. So long as such a
chance existed, I felt obliged to pursue matters. And beyond  this,  from  a
purely personal standpoint, my curiosity was too strong to permit me to walk
away  from  the unanswered questions which abounded when I could be actively
seeking some answers.
     As I was considering how I . might best  phrase  these  matters  in  my
reply  to  Mandor, I was again acted upon. I became aware of a faint feeling
of inquiry, as of a cat scratching at the doors  of  my  mind.  It  grew  in
force,  thrusting  aside  other  considerations,  until I knew it as a Trump
sending from some very distant place.  I  guessed  that  it  might  be  from
Random, anxious to discover what had transpired since my absence from Amber.
So I made myself receptive, inviting the contact.
     "Merlin,  what's  the  matter?"  Mandor  asked, and I raised my hand to
indicate I was occupied. At that, I  saw  him  place  his  napkin  upon  the
tabletop and rise to his feet.
     My  vision  cleared  slowly and I beheld Fiona, looking stern, rocks at
her back, a pale green sky above her.
     "Merlin," she said. "Where are you?"
     "Far away," I answered. "It's' a long story. What's going on? Where are
you?"
     She smiled bleakly.
     "Far away," she replied.
     "We seem to have chosen very scenic spots," I observed. "Did  you  pick
the sky to complement your hair?"
     "Enough! " she said. "I did not call you to compare travel notes."
     At  that  moment  Mandor came up aside me and placed . his hand upon my
shoulder, which  was  hardly  in  keeping  with  his  character;  as  it  is
considered  a  gauche thing to do when a Trump communication is obviously in
progress-on the order of intentionally picking up  an  extension  phone  and
breaking in on someone's call. Nevertheless. . . .
     "My! My!" he said. "Will you please introduce me, Merlin?"
     "Who," Fiona asked, "is that?"
     "This is my brother Mandor," I told her, "of the House of Sawall in the
Courts of Chaos. Mandor; this is my Aunt Fiona, Princess of Amber."
     Mandor bowed.
     "I have heard of you, Princess," he said. "It is indeed a pleasure."
     Her eyes widened for a moment.
     "I  know  of  the  house,"  she  replied,  "but I'd no idea of Merlin's
relationship with it. I am pleased to know you."
     "I take it there's some problem, Fi?" I asked.
     "Yes," she answered, glancing at Mandor.
     "I will retire," he said. "Honored to have met you,  Princess.  I  wish
you lived a bit nearer the Rim."
     She smiled.
     "Wait,"  she said. "This does not involve any state secrets. You are an
initiate of the Logrus?"
     "I am," he stated.
     ". . . And I take it you two did not get together to fight a duel?"
     "Hardly," I answered.
     "In that case, I would welcome his view of the problem, also.  Are  you
willing  to come to me, Mandor?" He bowed again, which I thought was hamming
it a bit.
     "Anyplace, Madam," he responded.
     She said, "Come then," and she extended her left hand and I clasped it.
Mandor reached out and touched her wrist. We stepped forward.
     We stood before her in the rocky place. It was breezy and a  bit  chill
there.  From  somewhere  distant  there  came  a muted roar, as of a muffled
engine.
     "Have you been in touch with anyone in Amber recently?" I asked her.
     "No," she stated.
     "Your departure was somewhat abrupt."
     "There were reasons."
     "Such as your recognizing Luke?"
     "His identity is known to you now?"
     "Yes."
     "And to the others?"
     "I told Random," I answered, "and Flora."
     "Then everyone knows," she said. "I departed  quickly  and  took  Bleys
with me because we had to be next on Luke's list. After all, I tried killing
his father and almost succeeded. Bleys and I were Brand's closest relatives,
and we'd turned against him."
     She turned a penetrating gaze upon Mandor, who smiled.
     "I  understand,"  he stated, ``that right now Luke drinks with a Cat, a
Dodo, a Caterpillar, and a White Rabbit. I also  understand  that  with  his
mother a prisoner in Amber he is powerless against you."
     She regarded me again.
     "You have been busy," she said. "I try."
     ".  .  .  So  that  it  is  probably  safe  for  you to return," Mandor
continued.
     She smiled at him, then glanced at me.
     "Your brother seems well informed," she observed.
     "He's family, too," I said, "and we've a lifelong habit of looking  out
for each other."
     "His- life or yours?" she asked.
     "Mine," I replied. "He is my senior."
     "What are a few centuries this way or that?" Mandor offered.
     "I  thought  I  felt  a certain maturity of spirit," she noted. "I've a
mind to trust you further than I'd intended."
     "That's very  sporting  of  you,"  he  replied,  "and  I  treasure  the
sentiment. . . ."
     ". . . But you'd rather I didn't overdo it?"
     "Precisely."
     "I've  no  intention of testing your loyalties to home and throne," she
said, "on such short acquaintance.  It  does  concern  both  Amber  and  the
Courts, but I see no conflict in the matter."
     "I  do  not  doubt  your  prudence. I merely wanted to make my position
clear."
     She turned back toward me.
     "Merlin," she said then, "I think you lied to me."
     I felt myself frowning as I tried to recall an occasion  when  I  might
have misled her about something. I shook my head.
     "If I did," I told her, "I don't remember."
     "It  was  some  years  ago," she said, "when I asked you to try walking
your father's Pattern."
     "Oh," I answered, feeling myself blush and  wondering  whether  it  was
apparent in this strange light.
     "You  took  advantage  of  what  I  had  told  you-about  the Pattern's
resistance," she continued.  "You  pretended  it  was  preventing  you  from
setting  your foot upon it. But there was no visible sign of the resistance,
such as there was when I tried stepping onto it."
     She looked at me, as if for confirmation. "So?" I said.
     "So," she replied, "it has become more important now than it was  then,
and I have to know: Were you faking it that day?"
     "Yes," I said.
     "Why?"  "Once  I  took  one  step upon it," I explained, "I'd have been
committed to walking it. Who knows where it  might  have  led  me  and  what
situation  might  have  followed?  I was near the end of my holiday and in a
hurry to get back to school: I didn't have time for what might  have  turned
into  a  lengthy  expedition. Telling you there were difficulties seemed the
most graceful way of begging off."
     "I think there's more to it than that," she said.
     "What do you mean?"
     "I think Corwin told you something about it that the rest of us do  not
know-or  that he left you a message. I believe you know more than you let on
concerning the thing."
     I shrugged.
     "Sorry, Fiona. I have no control over your suspicions," I said: "Wish I
could be of more help."
     "You can," she replied.
     "Tell me how."
     "Come with me to the place of the new Pattern. I want you to walk it."
     I shook my head.
     "I've got a lot more pressing business," I  told  her,"than  satisfying
your curiosity about something my dad did years ,ago."
     "It's  more  than  just  curiosity," she said. "I told you` once before
that I think it's what is behind the increased" incidence of shadow storms."
     "And I gave you a perfectly good reason for something; else  being  the
cause.  I  believe  it's  an  adjustment  to  they  partial  destruction and
recreation of the old Pattern. "
     "Would you come this way?" she asked, and she turned from me and  began
to climb.
     I glanced at Mandor, shrugged, and followed her. He came along.
     We  mounted  toward  a  jagged screen of rock. She reached it first and
made her way onto a lopsided ledge which ran partway along it. She traversed
this until she came to a place where the rock wall had broken  down  into  a
wide V-shaped gap. She stood there with her back' to us then, the light from
the green sky doing strange things to her hair.
     I  came  up  beside  her  and  followed the direction of her gaze. On a
distant plain, far below us and to the left, a large black funnel spun  like
a  top.  It  seemed the source of the roaring sound we had been hearing. The
ground; appeared to be cracked beneath it. I stared for several minutes, but
it did not change in form or position. Finally, I cleared my throat.
     "Looks like a big tornado," I said, "not going anyplace."
     "That's why I want you to walk the new Pattern," she' told me. "I think
it's going to get us unless we get it first."


CHAPTER 3

     If you had a choice between the ability to  detect  falsehood  and  the
ability to discover truth, which one would you take? There was a time when I
thought  they  were different ways of saying the same thing, but I no longer
believe that. Most of my relatives, for  example,  are  almost  as  good  at
seeing  through  subterfuge  as  they are at perpetrating it. I'm not at all
sure, though, that they care much about truth: On the other hand, I'd always
felt there was something noble, special, and honorable about seeking truth-a
thing I'd attempted with Ghostwheel. Mandor had made me wonder, though.  Had
this made me a sucker for truth's opposite?
     Of course, it's not as cut and dried as all that. I know that it is not
a pure  .  either/or  situation  with  the  middle excluded, but is rather a
statement of attitude. Still, I was suddenly willing to concede that I might
have gone to an extreme-to the point of foolhardiness-and  that  I  had  let
certain of my critical faculties doze for far too long.
     So I wondered about Fiona's request.
     "What makes it such a threat?" I asked her.
     "It is a shadow storm in the form of a tornado," she said.
     "There   have  been  such  things  before,"  I  answered.  "True,"  she
responded, "but they tend  to  move  through  Shadow.  This  one  does  have
extension  through an area of Shadow, but it is totally stationary. It first
appeared several days ago, and it has not altered in any way since then.''
     "What's that come to in Amber-time?" I asked.
     "Half a day, perhaps. Why?"
     I shrugged. "I don't know. Just curious," I said. ``I still  don't  see
why it's a threat."
     "I  told  you that such. storms had proliferated since; Corwin drew the
extra Pattern. Now they're changing in. character as well as frequency. That
Pattern has to be' understood soon."
     A moment's quick reflection showed me that whoever  gained  control  of
Dad's Pattern could become master of: some terrible forces. Or mistress.
     So,  "Supposing I walk it;" I said. "Then what? As I understand it from
Dad's story, I'd just wind up in the middle, the same as  with  the  Pattern
back home. What's; to be learned from that?"
     I  studied her face for some display of emotion, but my' relatives tend
to have too much control for such simple self betrayal.
     "As I understand it," she said, "Brand was able to trump in when Corwin
was at the middle. "
     "That's the way I understand it, too."
     ". . . So, when you reach.the center, I can come in" on a Trump."
     "I suppose so. Then there will be two of us standing at the  middle  of
the Pattern."
     ``.  .  .  And  from  there we will be in a position to go someplace we
could not reach from any other point in existence."
     "That being?" I asked.
     "The primal Pattern which lies behind it." "You're sure there is one?"
     "There must be. It is in the nature of such a construct to  be  scribed
at a more basic level of reality as well as the mundane."
     "And our purpose in traveling to that place?"
     "That  is  where  its  secrets dwell; where its deepest magics might be
learned."
     "I see," I told her. "Then what?"
     "Why, there we might learn  how  to  undo  the  trouble  the  thing  is
causing," she answered.
     "That's all?"
     Her eyes narrowed.
     "We  will  learn  whatever  we  can,  of  course.  Power  is power, and
represents a threat until it is understood."
     I nodded slowly.
     "But right now there are a number of powers that are more  pressing  in
the  threat  department," I said. "That Pattern is going to have to wait its
turn."
     "Even if it may represent the forces you need to deal with  your  other
problems?" she asked.
     "Even  so,"  I  said.  "It  might turn into a lengthy enterprise, and I
don't believe I have the time for that."
     "But you don't know that .for certain."
     "True. But once I set foot on it, there's no turning back."
     I did not add that I'd  no  intention  of  taking  her  to  the  primal
Pattern,  then  leaving  her  there on her own. After all, she had tried her
hand at king-making once. And if Brand had made it to the throne of Amber in
those days, she would have been standing right behind him,  no  matter  what
she  had to say about it now. I think she was about to ask me to deliver her
to the primal Pattern then but realized that I'd already considered  it  and
rejected  it.  Not  wanting  to  lose  face by asking and being refused, she
returned to her original argument.
     "I suggest you make time now," she said, "if you do  not  wish  to  see
worlds torn up about you."
     "I  didn't  believe  you  the first time you told me that," I answered,
"and I don't believe you now.  I  still  think  the  increased  shadow-storm
activity  is probably an adjustment to the damage and repair of the original
Pattern. I also think that if we mess around with a  new  Pattern  we  don't
know anything about, we stand a chance of making things worse, not better-"
     "I don't want to mess around with it," she said. "I want to study-"
     The  Sign of the Logrus flashed between us suddenly. She must have seen
it or felt it somehow, too, because she drew back at the same instant I did.
     I turned my head with sure knowledge as to what I would see.
     Mandor had mounted the battlementlike wall of stone. He stood as  still
as  if  he  were  a  part  of  it,  his arm, upraised. I suppressed my first
impulse, which was to shout to him to stop. He knew what he was doing. And I
was certain that he would not pay me the slightest heed, anyway.
     I advanced to the notch in which he  had  taken  his  position,  and  I
looked  past  him  at  the  swirling  thing  on the cracked plain far below.
Through the image of the Logrus, I felt the dark, awful rush of  power  that
Suhuy had revealed to me in his final lesson. Mandor was calling upon it now
and  pouring  it into the shadow-storm. Did he not realize that the force of
Chaos he was unleashing must spread until it  had  run  a  terrible  course?
Could he not see that if the storm were indeed a manifestation of Chaos then
he was turning it into a truly monstrous thing?
     It  grew larger. Its roaring increased in volume. It became frightening
to watch it.
     From behind me, I heard Fiona gasp.
     "I hope you know what you're doing," I called to him.
     "We'll know in about a minute," he replied, lowering his arms.
     The Sign of the Logrus winked out before me.
     We watched the damned thing spin for some time, bigger and noisier.
     Finally, "What have you proved?" I asked him.
     "That you have no patience," he answered.
     There was nothing particularly instructive to  the  phenomenon,  but  I
continued to watch it anyway:
     Abruptly, the sound became a stutter. The dark apparition jerked about'
suddenly,  shaking  off bits of accumulated debris as it contracted. Soon it
was restored to its former size, and it hit its earlier pitch and the  sound
grew steady once more.
     "How did you do that?" I asked him.
     "I didn't," he said. "It adjusted itself."
     "It shouldn't have," Fiona stated.
     "Exactly," he replied.
     "You've lost me," I said.
     "It  should  have gone roaring right on, stronger than ever, after he'd
augmented it that way," Fiona said. "But  whatever  is  controlling  it  had
other plans. So it was readjusted."
     ".  . . And it is a Chaos phenomenon," Mandor continued. "You could see
that in the way it drew upon Chaos when  I  provided  the  means.  But  that
pushed  it  past  some limit, and there was a correction. Someone is playing
with the primal forces themselves out there. Who or what or  why,  I  cannot
say.  But I think it's strong testimony that the Pattern isn't involved. Not
with Chaos games. So Merlin is probably correct. I think that this  business
has its origin elsewhere."
     "All right," Fiona conceded. "All right. What does that leave us with?"
     "A mystery," he said. "But hardly, I think, an imminent threat."
     A  faint firefly of an idea flitted through my mind. It could easily be
dead wrong, though that was not the reason I decided against sharing it.  It
led  into  an area of thought I could not explore in an instant, and I don't
like giving away pieces of things like that.
     Fiona was glaring at me now,  but  I  maintained  a  bland  expression.
Abruptly  then,  seeing  that her cause was fruitless, she decided to change
the subject:
     "You said that you left Luke under somewhat unusual circumstances. Just
where is he now?"
     The last thing I wanted to do was to get her really mad at  me.  But  I
couldn't  see  fuming  her loose on Luke in his present condition. For all I
knew, she might actually be up to killing  him,  just  as  a  form  of  life
insurance.  And  I  did  not  want  Luke  dead.  I'd  a  feeling he might be
undergoing something of a change of attitude, and I wanted to give him every
break I could. We still owed each other a  few,  even  though  it  was  hard
keeping  score;  and  there  is  something  to  be  said for old times' sake
Considering what I'd judged his condition to be when I'd left  him,  it  was
going  to  be  a while before he was in decent shape again. And then I had a
number of things I wanted to talk to him about.
     "Sorry," I said. "He's my province at the moment."
     "I believe I have some interest in the matter," she replied levelly.
     "Of course," I said, "but I feel that mine is greater and that  we  may
get in each other's ways."
     "I can judge these things for myself," she said.
     "Okay,"  I  told  her. "He's on an acid trip. Any infor- ormation you'd
get  out  of  him  might  be  colorful,  but  it  would   also   be   highly
disappointing."
     "How did this happen?" she asked.
     "A  wizard named Mask apparently slipped him some chemicals when he had
him prisoner."
     "Where was this? I've never heard of Mask."
     "A place called the Keep of the Four Worlds," I told her.
     "It's been a long time since I heard the Keep mentioned," she said.  "A
sorcerer named Sharu Garrul used to hold it."
     "He's a coatrack now," I stated. "What?"
     "Long story; but Mask has the place these days."
     She  stared  at  me, and I could tell she was just realizing that there
was a lot she didn't know in the way of recent developments. I'd  judge  she
was  deciding  which of several obvious questions to ask next when I decided
to beat her to the punch while she was still off balance.
     "So how's Bleys?" I asked.
     "He's much improved. I treated him myself and he's recovering quickly."
     I was about to ask her where he was, which I knew she would  refuse  to
answer,  and  hopefully  we would both smile when she saw what I was driving
at: no address for Bleys, no address for Luke; we keep our secrets and  stay
friends.
     "Hello!" I heard Mandor say, and we both turned in the direction he was
facing-back out through the notch.
     The  dark  tornado-form had collapsed to half its former size, and even
as we watched, it continued to diminish. It fell steadily  in  upon  itself,
shrinking and shrinking, and in about a half minute it was gone, completely.
     I  could  not  suppress a smile, but Fiona did not even notice. She was
looking at Mandor.
     "Do you think it was because of what you did?" she asked him.
     "I have no way of knowing," he replied, "but it may well be."
     "But does it tell you anything?" she said.
     "Perhaps whoever was responsible did not like having me tinker with his
experiment."
     "You really believe there's an intelligence behind it?"
     "Yes."
     "Someone from the Courts?"
     "It seems more likely than someone from your end of the world."
     "I suppose so . . . ," she agreed. "Have you  any  guesses  as  to  the
person's identity?"
     He smiled.
     "I  understand," she said quickly. "Your business is your business. But
a general threat is everybody's business. That's what I was  really  getting
at."
     "True,"  he  acknowledged. "This is why I propose investigating it. I'm
at loose ends at the moment. It might be amusing."
     "It is awkward asking you to communicate  your  findings  to  me,"  she
said, "when I do not know what interests might be involved."
     "I  appreciate  your  position,"  he  replied,  "but  to the best of my
knowledge the treaty provisions still hold and  no  one  in  the  Courts  is
promoting  any special designs against Amber. In fact. . . . If you like, we
might pursue the matter together, at least part of the way."
     "I've got the time," she said.
     "I don't," I injected quickly. "I've some pressing business  to  attend
to."
     Mandor shifted his attention to me.
     "About my offer . . . ," he said.
     "I can't," I told him.
     "Very  well.  Our  conversation  is  not concluded, however. I'll be in
touch later."
     "Okay."
     Fiona looked my way then, also.
     "You will keep me posted on Luke's recovery, and his  intentions,"  she
stated.
     "Of course."
     "Good day, then."
     Mandor gave me a small half salute and I returned . it.
     I  began  walking  then,  and  as  soon  as  I was out of sight I began
shifting.
     I found my way to a rocky slope, where I halted at  withdrew  my  Trump
for Amber. I raised it, focused my awareness, and transported myself as soon
as  I felt my way through. I was hoping the main hall would be empty, but at
this point I didn't really care that much.
     I came through near Jasra, who was holding  an  extra  cloak  over  her
outstretched  left  arm.  I  ducked out the doorway to my left into an empty
corridor and made my way to the back stair. Several times I heard voices and
I detoured to avoid the speakers. I was able to make it to my rooms  without
being discovered.
     The  only  rest  I  had had in what seemed an age and a half had been a
fifteen-minute nap before Luke's spaced-out sorcerous faculty had caused him
to summon me to the Looking Glass Bar via a hallucinatory Trump.  When?  For
all  I  knew,  it  could  have been yesterday-which had been a very full day
before that incident.
     I barred the door and staggered to the bed, flinging myself  down  upon
it  without  even  removing my boots. Sure, there were all sorts of things I
should be doing, but I was in no condition for any  of  them.  I'd  returned
home  because  I  still felt safest in Amber; despite the fact that Luke had
reached me here once.
     Someone with a high-powered subconscious might have had  a  brilliantly
revelatory  dream  following  as much crap as I'd been through recently, and
then have awakened with a wonderful series of insights and answers detailing
appropriate courses of action. I didn't. I woke once, in a small panic,  not
knowing  where  I  was.  But  I  opened my eyes and satisfied myself on that
count, then went back to sleep. Later-much later, it  seemed-I  returned  by
degrees,  like  some  piece of flotsam being pushed higher and higher onto a
beach by wave following wave, until finally I was there. I saw no reason for
going any further until I realized that my feet hurt.  Then  I  sat  up  and
pulled my boots off, which might have been one of the six greatest pleasures
in  my  life.  I  removed  my  socks in a hurry then and threw them into the
corner of the room. Why doesn't anyone else in my line of work seem  to  get
sore  feet?  I filled the basin and soaked them for a time, then resolved to
go barefoot for the next few hours.
     Finally I rose, stripped, cleaned up, and put on a pair of Levi's and a
purple flannel shirt of which I am fond. The hell with swords, daggers,  and
cloaks  for  a  time. I opened the shutters and looked outside. It was dark.
Because of clouds, I couldn't even guess from the stars whether it might  be
early evening, late night, or almost morning.
     It  was  very  quiet in the hall, and there were no sounds as I made my
way down the back stair. The kitchen was deserted also, the big fires banked
and smoldering low. I didn't want to stir things up beyond hanging a pot  of
water  to  warm  for  tea  while I located some bread and fruit preserves. I
turned up a jug of something like grapefruit  juice,  too,  in  one  of  the
walk-in ice boxes.
     As  I  sat warning my feet and working my way through the loaf, I began
to feel uneasy. I was sipping my tea before I realized what  it  was.  There
seemed  a great necessity that I be doing something, yet I had no idea what.
Now I had something of a breather, and it felt  strange.  So  I  decided  to
start thinking again.
     By  the  time  I'd  finished eating, I had a few small plans. The first
thing I did was to make my way to the main halt, where I removed all of  the
hats  and  cloaks  form  Jasra  and  swept her off her feet. Later, as I was
bearing her stiff form along the upstairs hallway in  the  direction  of  my
room, a door opened partway and a bleary-eyed Droppa watched me go by.
     "Hey, I'II take two!" he tailed after me.
     "Reminds me of any first wife," he added then, and closed the door.
     Once  I  had her installed in my quarters, I drew up a chair and seated
myself before her. Garishly clad as part of a savage joke, her hard sort  of
beauty  was not really diminished. She had placed me in extreme peril on one
occasion, and I had no desire to free her at a time like this for a possible
repeat performance. But the spell that held her  claimed  my  attention  for
more than one reason and I wanted to understand it fully.
     Carefully  then, I began exploring the construct which held her. It was
not overcomplicated, but I could see that tracing  all  of  its  byways  was
going  to  take  a while. All right. I wasn't about to stop now. I pushed on
ahead into the spell, taking mental notes as I went.
     I was busy for hours. After I had solved the spell, I decided  to  hang
some more of my own, times being what they were. The castle came awake about
me  as  I worked. I labored steadily as the day progressed, until everything
was in place and I was satisfied with my work. I was also famished.
     I moved Jasra off into a  corner,  pulled  on  my  boots,  departed  my
quarters,  and  headed  for  the  stair. In that it seemed about lunchtime I
checked out the several dining rooms in which the family generally ate.  But
all  of  them  were  deserted and none of them were set up for a meal yet to
come. Nor did any of  them  show  signs  of  a  meal  having  recently  been
dispatched.
     I  suppose  it  was possible my time sense was , still skewed and I was
much too late or too early; but it did seem that it had been  daylight  long
enough  to  bring  me into the vicinity of the proper hour. Nobody, however,
seemed to be eating, so something had to be wrong with this assumption. .  .
.
     Then  I heard it-the faint click of cutlery upon plate. I headed in the
apparent direction of the sound. Obviously, the meal was taking place  in  a
less frequented setting than usual. I turned right, then left. Yes, they had
decided to set up in a drawing room. No matter.
     I  entered  the  room,  whew  Llewella  was  seated with Random's wife,
Vialle, on the red divan, dinner laid on a low table before  them.  Michael,
who  worked in the kitchen, stood nearby behind a cart loaded with dishes. I
cleared my throat.
     "Merlin, "Vialle announced with a sensitivity that always  gives  me  a
small chill-she being completely blind. "How pleasant!''
     "Hello,"  Llewella  said. "Come and join us. We're anxious to hear what
you've been doing."
     I drew a chair up to the far side  of  the  table  and  seated  myself.
Michael  came  over  and  laid a fresh setting before me. I thought about it
quickly. Anything Vialle heard would doubtless get back to Random. So I gave
them a somewhat edited version of recent events-leaving out  all  references
to  Mandor,  Fiona, and anything having to do with the Courts. It made for a
considerably shorter story and let me get to my food sooner.
     "Everybody's been so busy lately," Llewella remarked. when I'd finished
talking. "It almost makes me feel guilty."
     I studied the delicate green of  her  more-than-olive  complexion;  her
full lips, her large catlike eyes.
     "But not quite," she added.
     "Where  are  they  all,  anyway?" I asked. "Gerard," she said, "is down
seeing to harbor forti- fications, and Julian is in  command  of  the  army,
which  has  now  been  equipped  with some firearms and is set to defend the
approaches to Kolvir.".
     "You mean Dalt has something in the field already? Coming this way?"
     She shook her head. "No, it was a precautionary measure," she  replied,
"because  of  that  message  from  Luke.  Dalt's force had not actually been
sighted."
     "Does anyone even know where he is?" I asked..
     "Not yet," she answered, "but we're expecting some intelligence on that
soon." She shrugged. Then, "Perhaps Julian already has it," she added.
     "Why is Julian in command?" I asked between nibbles. "I'd have  thought
Benedict would take charge of something like this."
     Llewella  looked  away,  glancing  at  Vialle,  who  seemed to feel the
shifting of focus.
     "Benedict and a small force of his men have escorted Random to Kashfa,"
Vialle said, softly.
     "Kashfa?" I said: "Why would he want to do that? In fact, Dalt  usually
hangs out around Kashfa. The area could be dangerous right now."
     She smiled faintly.
     "That  is  why  he wanted Benedict and his guard for escort," she said.
"They may even be the intelligence- gathering expedition themselves,  though
that's not their reason for going right now."
     "I  don't  understand,"  I  said,  "why the trip should be necessary at
all."
     She took a sip of water.
     "A sudden political upheaval," she replied:  "Some  general  had  taken
over  in the absence of the queen and the crown prince: The general was just
assassinated recently, and Random has succeeded in obtaining  agreement  for
placing his own candidate-an older noblemanon the throne. "
     "How'd he do that?"
     "Everyone  with  an  interest in the matter was even more interested in
seeing Kashfa admitted to the Golden Circle of privileged trade status."
     "So Random bought them off to see his own man in charge,"  I  observed.
"Don't these Golden Circle treaties usually give us the right to move troops
through  a  client  kingdom's  territory  with  very  little  in  the way of
preliminaries?"
     "Yes," she said.
     I suddenly recalled that tough-looking emissary of the Crown I'd met at
Bloody Bill's, who had paid his tab in Kashfan currency. I decided I did not
really want to know how close in point of time that was to the assassination
that had made this recent arrangement possible. What  struck  me  with  more
immediate force was the picture that now emerged: It looked as if Random had
just blocked Jasra and Luke from recovering their usurped thronewhich, to be
fair,  I  guess Jasra had usurped herself, years ago. With all that usurping
going on, the equities of the thing were more than a little hazy to me.  But
if  Random's  ethics  were  no better than those which had gone before, they
were certainly no worse. It looked now, though, as if  any  attempt  on  the
part  of  Luke  to  regain his mother's throne would be met by a monarch who
possessed a defense alliance with Amber. I suddenly felt willing to bet that
the terms of  the  defense  provisions  of  the  alliance  included  Amber's
assistance in internal troubles as well as help against outside aggressors.
     Fascinating.  It  sounded  as  if  Random were going to an awful lot of
trouble to isolate Luke from his power base and any semblance of  legitimacy
as a head of state. I supposed the next step could be to get him outlawed as
a  pretender  and a dangerous revolutionary, and to put a price on his head.
Was Random overreacting? Luke didn't seem all that dangerous now, especially
with his mother in our custody. On the other hand, I didn't really know  how
far  Random  intended  to go: Was he just foreclosing all of the threatening
options, or was he actually out to get Luke? The latter possibility bothered
me in that Luke seemed on halfway good behavior at the moment  and  possibly
in  the  throes  of  reconsidering  his  position. I did not want to see him
needlessly thrown to the wolves as a result of overkill on Random's part.
     So, "I suppose this has a lot to do with Luke," I said. to Vialle.
     She was silent for a moment, then replied, "It was Dalt that he  seemed
concerned about."
     I  shrugged  mentally.  It  seemed  that it would come down to the same
thing in Random's mind, since he would see Dalt as the military  force  Luke
would turn to to recover the throne. So I said, "Oh," and went on eating.
     There  were  no new facts to be had beyond this, and nothing to clarify
Random's thinking any  further,  so  we  lapsed  into  small  talk  while  I
considered  my  position  once  again.  It still came down to a feeling that
urgent action was necessary and uncertainty as to what form it should  take.
My course was determined in an unexpected fashion sometime during dessert.
     A  courtier named Randel-tall, thin, dark, and gener- ally smiling-came
into the room. I knew something was up because he was not smiling and he was
moving faster than usual. He swept us with  his  gaze,  fixed  upon  Vialle,
advanced quickly and cleared his throat.
     "M'lady Majesty . . . ?" he began.
     Vialle turned her head slightly in his direction:
     "Yes, Randel?" she said. "What is it?"
     "The  delegation from Begma has just arrived," he answered, "and I find
myself without instructions as to  the  nature  of  their  welcome  and  any
special arrangements that would be suitable."
     "Oh  dear'" Vialle said; laying aside her fork. "They weren't due until
the day after tomorrow, when Random will be back. He's the  one  they'll  be
wanting to complain to. What have you done with them?"
     "I  seated them in the Yellow Room," he replied, "and told them I would
go and announce their arrival."
     She nodded.
     "How many of them are there?"
     "The prime minister, Orkuz," he said, "his secretary, Nayda-who is also
his daughter-and another daughter, Coral. There are also  four  servants-two
men and two women."
     "Go  and  inform  the  household  staff,  and  be sure that appropriate
quarters are made ready for them," she directed,  "and  alert  the  kitchen.
They may not have had lunch."
     "Very good, Your Highness," he said, beginning to back away.
     ".  .  . Then report to me in the Yellow Room, to let me know it's been
done," she continued, "and I'll give you additional  instruictions  at  that
time."
     "Consider it done," he replied, and he hurried off.
     "Merlin,  Llewella,"  Vialle  said,  beginning  to  rise, "come help me
entertain them while arrangements are being made."
     I gulped my last bite of dessert and got to my feet: I did  not  really
feel  like  talking  to a diplomat and his party, but I was handy and it was
one of life's little duties.
     "Uh. . . . What are they here for, anyway?" I asked.
     "Some sort of protest over  what  we've  been  doing  in  Kashfa,"  she
replied.  "They've  never  been  friendly  with Kashfa, but I'm not sure now
whether they're here to protest Kashfa's possible admission  to  the  Golden
Circle  or  whether they're upset about our interfering in Kashfa's domestic
affairs. It could be they're afraid they'll lose business with such a  close
neighbor  suddenly enjoying the same preferred trade status they have. Or it
may be they had different plans for Kashfa's throne and we  just  foreclosed
them.  Maybe.both.  Whatever.  .  .  .  We can't tell them anything we don't
know."
     "I just wanted to know what subjects to avoid," I  said.  "All  of  the
above,'' she answered.
     ``I  was  wondering  the same thing myself," Llewella said. "I was also
wondering, though, whether they might have any useful information  on  Dalt.
Their  intelligence  service  must  keep  a  close eye on doings in and abou
Kashfa."
     "Don't pursue that topic," Vialle said, moving  toward  the  door.  "If
they let something slip or want to give something away, fine. Bring it home.
But don't show them you'd like. to know."
     Vialle  took  my  arm  and  I guided her out, heading toward the Yellow
Room. Llewella produced a small mirror  from  somewhere  and  inspected  her
features.  Obviously  pleased,  she  put  it away, then remarked, "Lucky you
showed up, Merlin. An extra smiling face is  always  useful  at  times  like
this."
     "Why don't I feel lucky?" I said.
     We  made our way to the room where the prime minister and his daughters
waited. Their servants had already retired to the kitchen for  refreshments.
The  official  party  was still hungry, which says something about protocol,
especially since it seemed to  take  a  long  while  before  some  trays  of
provender  could  be attractively assembled. Orkuz was of medium stature and
stocky, his black hair tastefully streaked, the  lines  on  his  broad  face
seeming  to indicate that he did a lot more frowning than smiling-a practice
in which he indulged most of the while that afternoon. Nayda's  was  a  more
pleasingly  sculpted  version  of  his  face, and though she showed the same
tendency towardl corpulence, it was held firmly in check  at  an  attractive
level  of  roundedness.  Also,  she  smiled  a lot and she had pretty teeth.
Coral, on the other hand, was taller  than  either  her  father  or  sister,
slender,  her hair a reddish brown. When she smiled it seemed less official.
Also, there was something vaguely familiar about her. I wondered  whether  I
had  met her at some boring reception years before. If I had, though, I felt
I might have remembered.
     After we had been introduced and wine had been  poured,  Orkuz  made  a
brief  comment  to Vialle about "recent distressing news" concerning Kashfa.
Llewella and I quickly moved to her side for moral support, but  she  simply
said  that  such  matters  would  have  to be dealt with fully upon Random's
return, and that for the moment she wished merely to see to  their  comfort.
He was completely agreeable to this, even to the point of smiling. I had the
impression   he  just  wanted  the  purpose  of  his  visit  on  the  recorD
immediately. Llewella quickly fumed the conversation to the  matter  of  his
journey,  and  he  graciously allowed the subject to be changed. Politicians
are wonderfully programmed.
     I learned later that the Begman ambassador wasn't  even  aware  of  his
arrival,  which would seem to indicate that Orkuz had come so quickly he had
preceded any notification to their . embassy. And he  hadn't  even  bothered
dropping  in  there,  but  had come straight to the palace and had a message
sent over. I leanned this a little later, when he asked to have the  message
delivered.   Feeling  somewhat  supernumerary  to  Llewella's  and  Vialle's
graceful cascades of neutral talk, I dropped back a pace to plan my  escape.
I was not at all interested in whatever game was being set up.
     Coral  backed  off  also and sighed. Then she glanced at me and smiled,
surveyed the room quickly and came closer.
     "I've always wanted to visit Amber," she said then.
     "Is it the way you imagined it?" I asked.
     "Oh, yes. So far. Of course, I haven't seen that much of it yet. . . .
     I nodded, and we , withdrew a little farther from the others.
     "Have I met you somewhere before?" I asked.
     "I don't think so," she said. "I haven't  traveled  that  much,  and  I
don't believe you've been out our way.Have you?"
     "No, though I've grown curious about it recently.'
     "I  do  know  something of your background, though," she went on, "just
from general gossip. I know you're from the Courts of Chaos; and I know  you
went  to  school  on  that  Shadow  world  you  Amberites  seem  to visit so
frequently. I've often wondered what it was like."
     I took the bait and I began telling her about school and my job,  about
a  few places I'd visited and things I'd enjoyed doing. We made our way to a
sofa across the room as I spoke, and we got more comfortable. Orkuz,  Nayda,
Llewella, and Vialle didn't seem to miss us, and if I had to be here I found
talking  with  Coral  more  enjoy-  able  ,than  listening  to  them. Not to
monopolize things, though, I asked her about herself.
     She began telling me of a girlhood spent in and around  Begma,  of  her
fondness  for  the  outdoors-of  horses and of boating on the many lakes and
rivers in that region -of books she had read,  and  of  relatively  innocent
dabblings  in magic. A member of the household staff came in just as she was
getting around to a description  of  some  interesting  rites  performed  by
members of the local farming community to insure the fertility of the crops,
and she approached Vialle and told her something. Several more staff members
were  in  view  outside the doorway. Vialle then said something to Orkuz and
Nayda,╖ who nodded and moved toward  the  entrance.  Llewella  departed  the
group and.came our way.
     "Coral," she said, "your suite is ready. One of the staff wilt show you
where it is. Perhaps you'd like to freshen up or rest after your journey."
     We got to our feet.
     "I'm not really tired," Coral said, looking at me rather than Llewella,
a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.
     What the hell. I suddenly realized I had been enjoying
     her  company,  so,  "If you'd care to change into something simpler," I
said, "I'll be glad to show you a bit of the town. Or the palace."
     It became a full smile worth seeing.
     "I'd much rather do that," she said.
     "Then I'll meet you back here in about half an hour," I told her.
     I saw her out, and accompanied her and the others as far as the foot of
the big stairway. In that I still had on  my  Levi's  and  purple  shirt,  I
wondered  whether  I should change into something more in keeping with local
fashion. The hell with it, I decided then. We were just going to be knocking
around. I'd simply add my swordbelt and weapons, a cloak, and my best boots.
Might trim my beard, though, since I had a little time. And  maybe  a  quick
manicure. . . .
     "Uh, Merlin. . . ."
     It  was Llewella, her hand on my elbow, steering me toward an alcove. I
allowed myself to be steered.
     Then, "Yes?" I said. "What's up?"
     "Hm . . . ," she said. "Kind of cute, isn't she?"  "I  suppose  so,"  I
replied.
     "You got the hots for her?"
     "Jeez, Llewella! I don't know: I just met the lady."
     ". . . And made a date with her. "
     "Come on! I deserve a break today. I enjoyed talking with her. I'd like
to show  her  around a bit. I think we'd have a good time. What's wrong wish
that?"
     "Nothing," she answered, "so long as you keep things in perspective." ,
     "What perspective did you have in mind?"
     "It strikes me as faintly curious," she said, "that Orkuz brought along
his two good-looking daughters." "Nayda is  his  secretary,"  I  said,  "and
Coral's wanted to see the place for some time."
     "Uh-huh,  and  it  would  be a very good thing for Begma if one of them
just happened to latch onto a member of the family."
     "Llewella, you' too damned suspicious," I said.  "It  comes  of  having
lived a long time."
     "Well, I hope to live a long time myself, and I hope it doesn't make me
look for an ulterior motive in every human act."
     She smiled. "Of course. Forget I said anything," she told me, knowing I
wouldn't. "Have a good time." I growled politely and headed for my room.

CHAPTER 4

     And  so, in the midst of all manner of threats, intrigues, menaces, and
mysteries, I decided to call a holiday and stroll about town with  a  pretty
lady.  Of  all possible choices I might have made, it was certainly the most
atractive. Whoever the enemy, whatever the power I faced, the ball  was  now
in  its  court.  I had no desire to hunt for Jurt, duel with Mask, or follow
Luke about until he came down and told me whether or not he still wanted the
family's scalps. Dalt was not my  problem,  Vinta  was  me,  Ghostwheel  was
silent,  and  the  matter of my father's Pattern could await my leisure. The
sun was shining and the  breeze  was,  gentle,  though  these  could  change
quickly  at  this  season.  It  was  a shame to waste what could well be the
year's last good day on anything less than enjoyment. I hummed as I repaired
myself, and I headed downstairs early for our meeting.
     Coral had moved more quickly than I'd guessed, however, and was waiting
for me. I approved of her sensible dark green breeches, heavy coppery shirt,
and warm brown cloak. Her boots looked fine for walking, and she  had  on  a
dark  hat  that  covered most of her hair. There were gloves and a dagger at
her belt.
     "All ready," she said when she saw me.
     "Great," I replied, smiling, and I led her out into the hallway.
     She started to turn in the direction of the main doorway, but I led her
off to the right, then later to the left.
     "Less conspicuous to use one of the side doors," I said.
     "You people are certainly secretive," she said.
     "Habit," I replied. "The less that outsiders know of your business  the
better."
     "What outsiders? What are you afraid of?"
     "Just now? A great number of things. But I don't really want to spend a
nice day like this making lists."
     She shook her head in what I took to be a mixture of awe and disgust.
     "It's  true  what  they say then?" she asked. "That your affairs are so
complex you all carry scorecards?"
     "Haven't had time for any affairs recently," I told  her,  "or  even  a
simple  score." Then, "Sorry," I added, when I saw her blush. "Life has been
a bit complicated for me lately."
     "Oh," she said, glancing at me, clearly asking for elaboration.
     "Some other time," I said, forcing a  laugh,  flipping  my  cloak,  and
greeting a guard.
     She nodded and, diplomatically, changed the subject:
     "I guess I came at the wrong time of year to see your famous gardens."
     "Yeah,  they've pretty much had it for the season," I said, "except for
Benedict's Japanese garden which
     kind of far out back. Perhaps we can go and have a cup of tea there one
day, but I thought we'd go into town now."
     "Sounds fine," she agreed.
     I told the postern guard to tell Henden, Amber's steward, that we  were
heading  into town and weren't sure when we'd be back. He said that he would
as soon as he got off duty, which would be pretty  soon.  My  experience  at
Bloody  Bill's  had taught me the lesson of leaving such messages-not that I
thought we were in any  danger;  or  that  Llewella's  knowing  wouldn't  be
sufficient.
     Leaves  crunched  beneath our feet as we took one of the walks toward a
side gate. With only a few strands of cirruis high overhead, the  sun  shone
brightly.  To  the  west,  a  flock of dark birds flapped its way toward the
ocean, south.
     "It's already snowed back home," she told me.
     "You're lucky."
     "There's a warm current that gives us a  break,"  I  said,  remembering
something  Gerard  had once told me. "It moderates the climate considerably;
compared to other places at equal latitude."
     "You travel a lot?" she asked me.
     "I've been traveling more than I care to," I said, "recently. I'd  like
to sit down and go to seed for about a year."
     "Business  or  pleasure?"  she asked me, as a guard let us out the gate
and I quickly surveyed the environs for lurkers.
     "Not pleasure," I answered as I took her elbow for a moment and steered
her toward the way I had chosen. When we  reached  civilized  precincts,  we
followed  the  Main  Concourse for a time. I pointed out a few landmarks and
notable residences, including the Begman Embassy. She showed no  inclination
to  visit  the  latter,  though,  saying  she'd  have  to see her countrymen
officially before she left, anyway. She did stop in a shop we  found  later,
however, to buy a couple of blouses, having the bill sent to the embassy and
the garments to the palace.
     "My father promised me some shopping," she explained. "And I know he'll
forget. When he hears about this, he'll know that I didn't."
     We  explored  the streets of the various trades and stopped for a drink
at a sidewalk cafe, watching pedestrians  and  horsemen  pass.  I  had  just
turned  toward her to relate an anecdote concerning one of the riders when I
felt the beginning of a Trump contact.Ii waited for several seconds  as  the
feeling  grew  stronger,  but  no identity took shape beyond the reaching. I
felt Coral's hand upon my arm.
     "What's the matter?" she asked.
     I reached out with my mind, attempting to assist in  the  contact,  but
the other seemed to retreat as I did so. It was not the same as that lurking
scrutiny  when  Mask  had  regarded  me  at  Flora's place in San Francisco,
though. Could it just be someone I  knew  trying  to  reach  me  and  having
trouble focusing? Injured, perhaps? Or-
     "Luke?" I said. "Is that you?"
     But  there  was  no response and the feeling began to fade. Finally, it
was gone.
     "Are you all right?" Coral asked.
     "Yeah, it's okay," I said. "I guess. Someone tried to reach me and then
decided otherwise."
     "Reach? Oh, you mean those Trumps you use?"
     "Yes."
     "But you said `Luke' . ." she mused. "None of your family is named-''
     "You might know him as Rinaldo, Prince of Kashfa," I said.
     She chuckled.
     "Rinny? Sure I know him. He didn't like us to call him Rinny, though. .
"
     "You really do know him? Personally, I mean?"
     "Yes," she replied, "though it's been  a  long  time.  Kashfa's  pretty
close  to Begma. Sometimes we were on good terms, sometimes not so good. You
know how it is. Politics. When I was little there were long spells  when  we
were  pretty  friendly.  There were lots of state visits, both ways. We kids
would often get dumped together."
     "What was he like in those days?"
     "Oh, a big, gawky, red-haired boy. Liked to show off a  lot-how  strong
he was, how fast he was. I remember how mad he got at me once because I beat
him in a footrace."
     "You beat Luke in a race?"
     "Yes. I'm a very good runner."
     "You must be."
     "Anyway,  he  took  Nayda  and me sailing a few times, and on some long
hikes. Where is he now, anyway?" "Drinking with a Cheshire cat."
     "What?, "It's a long story:"
     "I'd like to hear it. I've been worried about him since the coup. "
     Mm. . . . I thought quickly about how to edit this so as  not  to  tell
the  daughter of the Begman prime minister any state secrets, such as Luke's
relationship to the House of Amber. . . . So, "I've known him for quite some
time," I began. "He recently incurred the wrath of a  sorcerer  who  drugged
him and saw him banished to this peculiar bar. . . ."
     I  went  on  for  a  long  while then, partly because I had to stop and
summarize Lewis Carroll. I also had to promise her the loan of  one  of  the
Thari editions of Alice from the Amber library. When I finally finished, she
was laughing.
     "Why don't you bring him back?" she said then.
     Ouch. I couldn't very well say that his shadow-shifting abilities would
work against  this  until  he  came  down. So, "It's part of the spell; it's
working on his own sorcerous ability," I said. "He can't be moved  till  the
drug wears off.
     "How interesting;" she observed. "Is Luke really a sorcerer himself?"
     "Uh . . . yes," I said.
     "How  did  he  gain  that ability? He showed no signs of it when I knew
him."
     "Sorcerers come by their skills in various ways," I explained. "But you
know that," and I suddenly realized that she was smarter than that  smiling,
innocent  expression indicated. I'd a strong feeling she was trying to steer
this toward an acknowledgment of Pattern magic  on  Luke's  part,  which  of
course  would  say  interesting things about his paternity. "And his mother,
Jasra, is something of a sorceress herself."
     "Really? I never knew that." Damn! Coming and going. . . . "Well, she'd
learned it somewhere:" "What about his father"
     "I can't really say," I replied.
     "Did you ever meet him?"
     "Only in passing," I said.
     A lie could make the matter seem really important if  she  had  even  a
small  idea as to the truth. So I did the only other thing I could think of.
There was no one seated at the table  behind  her,  and  there  was  nothing
beyond  the table but a wall. I wasted one of my spells, with an outof sight
gesture and a single mutter.
     The table flipped over as it flew back and crashed  against  the  wall.
The  noise  was spectacular. There were loud exclamations from several other
patrons, and I leaped to my feet.
     "Is everyone all right?" I said, looking about as if for casualties.
     "What happened?" she asked me.
     "Freak gust of wind or something," I said. "Maybe we'd better be moving
on."
     "All right," she said, regarding  the  debris.  "I'm  not  looking  for
trouble."
     I  tossed  some  coins  onto  our table, rose, and headed back outside,
talking the while of anything I could think of to put some distance  between
us and the subject. This had the desired effect, because she did not attempt
to retrieve the question.
     Continuing  our  stroll,  I  headed us in the general direction of West
Vine. When we reached it I decided to head downhill to the harbor, recalling
her fondness for sailing. But she put her hand on my arm and halted me.
     "Isn't there a big stairway up the  face  of  Kolvir?"  she  asked.  "I
believe  your father once tried to sneak troops up it and got caught and had
to fight his way along."
     I nodded. "Yes, that's true," I said. "Old thing.  It  goes  way  back.
It's not used very much these days. But it's still in decent shape."
     "I'd like to see it." "All right. "
     I.  turned  to  the  right  and we headed back, uphill, toward the Main
Concourse. A pair of knights wearing Llewella's livery passed us, headed  in
the  other  direction, saluting as they went by. I could not help but wonder
whether they were on a legitimate errand or  were  following  some  standing
order  to  keep an eye on my movements. The thought must have passed through
Coral's mind, also, because she quirked an eyebrow at  me.  I  shrugged  and
kept going. When I glanced back a bit later, they were nowhere to be seen.
     We passed people in the garb of a dozen regions as we strolled, and the
air was  filled  with  the  smells of cooking from open stalls, to satisfy a
multitude of tastes. At various points in our career up the hill, we stopped
for meat pies, yogurts; sweets. The stimuli were too  overpowering  for  any
but the most sated to ignore.
     I  noticed  the  lithe  way  she  moved about obstacles. It wasn't just
gracefulness. It was more a state of  beingpreparedness,  I  guess.  Several
times I noticed her glancing back in the direction from which we had come. I
looked  myself,  but  there  was  nothing  unusual  to see. Once, when a man
stepped suddenly from a doorway we were approaching, I saw  her  hand  flash
toward the dagger at her belt, then drop away.
     "There  is  so  much  activity,  so  much  going  on  here . . . ," she
commented after a time.
     "True. Begma is less busy; I take it?"
     "Considerably."
     "Is it a pretty safe place to stroll about?"
     "Oh, yes."
     "Do the women as well as the men take military training there?"
     "Not ordinarily. Why?"
     "Just curious."
     "I've had some training in armed and unarmed combat though," she said.
     "Why was that?" I asked.
     "My father suggested it. Said it could come in hand for a  relative  of
someone  in  his  position.  I  thought he might be right. I think he really
wanted a son."
     "Did your sister do it, too?"
     "No; she wasn't interested."
     "You planning on a diplomatic career?"
     "No. You're talking to the wrong sister."
     "A wealthy husband?"
     "Probably stodgy and boring."
     "What then?"
     "Maybe I'll tell you later."
     "All right. I'll ask if you don't."
     We made our way southward along the Concourse, and the  breezes  picked
up  as  we  neared  Land's  End.  It was a winter ocean that came into .view
across the distance; slate-gray and .white-capped. Many  birds  wheeled  far
out over the waves, and one very sinuous dragon.
     We  passed  through  the Great Arch and came at last to the landing and
looked downward. It was a vertiginous prospect, out across  a  brief,  broad
stair-the  steep  drop  to the tan-and-black beach far below. I regarded the
ripples in the sand left by the retreating tide, wrinkles in  an  old  man's
brow.  The  breezes were stronger here, and the damp, salty smell, which had
been increasing as we approached,  seasoned  the  air  to  a  new  level  of
intensity. Coral drew back for a moment, then advanced again.
     "It looks a little more dangerous than I'd thought," .she said, after a
time. "Probably seems less so once you're on it."
     "I don't know," I replied. "You've never climbed it?"
     "Nope," I said. "Never had any reason to."
     "I'd  think  you'd  have  wanted  to, after your father's doomed battle
along it."
     I shrugged: "I get sentimental in different ways." She  smiled.  "Let's
climb  down  to the beach. Please." "Sure," I said, and we moved forward and
started. The broad stair took us down for perhaps thirty feet,
     then terminated abruptly where a much narrower version  turned  off  to
the side. At least the steps weren't damp and slippery: Somewhere far below,
I could see where the stair widened again, permitting a pair of people to go
abreast.  For  now,  though,  we moved single file, and I was irritated that
Coral had somehow gotten ahead of me.
     "If you'll scrunch over, I'll go past," I told her.
     "Why?" she asked. .
     "So I can be ahead of you in case you slip."
     "That's all right," she replied. "I won't."
     I decided it wasn't worth arguing and let her lead:
     The landings where the stairway switched back were  haphazard  affairs,
hacked  wherever  the  contours  of  the  ,  rock  permitted such a turning.
Consequently, some descending stretches were  longer  than  others  and  our
route  wandered  all  over  the  face  of  the mountain. The winds were much
stronger now than they were above, and we found ourselves staying  as  close
to the mountain's side as its contours permitted. Had there been no wind, we
probably  would have done the same. The absence of any sort of guard railing
made us shy back from the edge. There were places where the mountain's  wall
overhung  us  for a cavelike effect; other places, we followed a bellying of
the rock and felt very exposed. My cloak blew  up  across  my  face  several
times  and I cursed, recalling that natives seldom visit historical spots in
their own neighborhoods. I began  to  appreciate  their  wisdom.  Coral  was
hurrying on ahead, and I increased my pace to catch up with her. Beyond her,
I could see that there was a landing which signaled the first turning of the
way.  I  was  hoping  she'd  halt  there  and tell me she'd reconsidered the
necessity for this expedition. Hut she didn't. She turned and kept right  on
going.  The  wind  stole my sigh and bore it to some storybook cave reserved
for the plaints of the imposed-upon.
     Still, I couldn't help but look down upon occasion; and whenever I  did
I  thought  of  my  father fighting his way up along these steps. It was not
something I'd care to try-at least, not until I'd exhausted all of the  more
sneaky  alternatives.  I  began to wonder how far we were below the level of
the palace itself. . . .
     When we finally came to the landing from which the stairway widened,  I
hurried to catch up with Coral so that we could walk abreast. In my haste, I
snagged  my heel and stumbled as I rounded the turn. It was no big deal. . I
was able to reach out and stabilize myself against the cliff  s  face  as  I
jolted forward and swayed. I was amazed, though, at Coral's perception of my
altered  gait just on the basis of its sound, and by her reaction to it. She
cast herself backward suddenly and twisted her body to the side.  Her  hands
came  in contact with my arm as she did this, and she thrust me to the side,
against the rock.
     ".All right!" I said, from rapidly emptying lungs. "I'm okay."
     She rose and dusted herself off as I recovered.
     "I heard-" she began.
     "I gather. But I just caught my heel: That's all."
     "I couldn't tell."
     "Everything's fine. Thanks."
     We starred down the stair side by side, but something  was  changed.  I
.now  harbored  a  suspicion  I  did not like but could not dispel. Not yet,
anyway. What I had in mind was too dangerous, if I should prove correct.
     So instead, "The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain," I said.
     "What?" she asked. "I didn't understand. . . ."
     "I said, `It's a fine day to be walking with a pretty lady.' "
     She actually blushed.
     Then, "What language did you say it in . . . the first time.
     "English," I replied.
     "I've never studied it. I told you that  when  we  were  talking  about
Alice."
     "I know. Just being whimsical," I answered.
     The  beach,  nearer now, was tiger-striped and shiny in places. A froth
of foam retreated along its slopes while birds cried and dipped  to  examine
the waves' leavings. Sails bobbed in the offing, and a small curtain of rain
rippled  in  the  southeast,  far  out  at  sea.  The winds had ceased their
noise-making, though they still came upon us with cloak-wrapping force.
     We continued in silence until we had reached  the  bottom.  We  stepped
away then, moving a few paces onto the sand.
     "The  harbor's  in  that  direction,"  I  said,  gesturing to my right,
westward, "and there's a church off that way," I added, indicating the  dark
building where Caine's service had been held and where seamen sometimes came
to pray for safe voyages.
     She looked in both directions and also glanced behind us and upward.
     "More people headed down," she remarked.
     I  looked  back  up and saw three figures near the top of the stairway,
but they were standing still, as if they'd only come down a  short  distance
to try the view. None of them wore Lleweila's colors. . . .
     "Fellow sightseers," I said.
     She  watched  them  a  moment  longer, then looked away. "Aren't` there
caves along here somewhere?" she asked.
     I nodded to my right.
     "That way," I answered. "There's a whole series.  People  get  lost  in
them  periodically.  Some  are  pretty  colorful. Others just wander through
darkness. A few are simply shallow openings."
     "I'd like to see them," she said.
     "Sure, easily done. Let's go." .
     I began walking. The people on the stair  had  not  moved.  They  still
appeared to be looking out to sea. I doubted they were smugglers. It doesn't
seem like a daytime occupation for a place where anyone might
     wander  by.  Still,  I  was  pleased that my faculty for suspi-cion was
growing. It seemed appropriate in light of recent events: The object  of  my
greatest suspicion, of course, was walking beside me, turning driftwood with
the toe of her boot, scuffing bright pebbles, laughing-but there was nothing
I was ready to do about it at the moment. Soon. . . .
     She took my arm suddenly.
     "Thanks for bringing me," she said. "I'm enjoying this."
     "Oh, I am, too. Glad we came. You're welcome."
     This  made  me feel slightly guilty, but if my guess were wrong no harm
would be done.
     "I think I would enjoy living in Amber," she remarked as we went along.
     "Me, too," I replied. "I've never really done it for any  great  length
of time."
     "Oh?"
     "I guess I didn't really explain how long I'd spent on the shadow Earth
where  I  went to school, where I had that job I was telling you about . . .
," I began, and suddenly I was pouring out more autobiography to hera  thing
I don't usually do. I wasn't certain why I was telling it at first, and then
I  realized  that  I  just  wanted  someone  to  talk to. Even if my strange
suspicion was correct, it didn't matter. A friendly-seeming listener made me
feel better than I had in a long while. And before  I  realized  it,  I  was
telling  her about my father-how this man I barely knew had rushed through a
massive story of his struggles, his dilemmas, his decisions, as if  he  were
trying  to  justify  himself  to me, as if that were the only opportunity he
might have to do it, and how I had listened, wondering what he was  editing,
what ~ he had forgotten, what he might be glossing over or dressing up, what
his feelings were toward me. . . .
     "Those  are  some of the caves," I told her, as they interrupted my now
embarrassing indulgence in memory. She started to  say  something  about  my
monologue, but I simply continued; "I've only seen them once."
     She caught my mood and simply said "I'd like to go inside one."
     I nodded. They seemed a good place for what I had in mind.
     I  chose  the third one. Its mouth was larger than the first two, and I
could see back into it for a good distance. "Let's try that  one.  It  looks
well  lighted,"  I  explained.  We walked into a shadow-hung chill. The damp
sand followed us for a while, thinning only  slowly  to  be  replaced  by  a
gritty  stone  floor.  The roof dipped and rose several times. A turn to the
left joined us with the passage of another opening, for looking  back  along
it  I  could  see  more  light. The other direction led more deeply into the
mountain. We could still feel the echoing pulse of the  sea  from  where  we
stood.
     "These caves could lead back really far," she observed.
     "They  do,"  I replied. "They twist and cross and wind. I wouldn't want
to go too far without a map and a light. They've never been  fully  charted,
that I know of."
     She looked about, studying areas of blackness within the darkness where
side tunnels debouched into our own.
     "How far back do you think they go?" she inquired.
     "I just don't know."
     "Under the palace?"
     "Probably,"  I  said, remembering the series of side tunnels I'd passed
on my way to the Pattern. "It seems possible they ' cut into the  big  caves
below itsomewhere."
     "What's it like down there?" .
     "Under the palace? Just dark and big. Ancient. . . ."
     "I'd like to see it."
     "Whatever for?"
     "The Pattern's down there. It must be pretty colorful."
     "Oh, it is-all bright and swirly. Rather intimidating, though."
     "How can you say that when you've walked it?"
     "Walking it and liking it are two different things." ``
     "I'd just thought that if it were in you to walk it, you'd
     feel some affinity, some deep resonant kinship with it."
     I laughed, and the sounds echoed about us.
     "Oh, while I was walking it I knew it was in me to
     do  it,"  I  said.  "I  didn't  feel it beforehand, though. I was; just
scared then. And I never liked it."
     "Strange."
     "Not really. It's like the sea or the night sky.  It's  big'  and  it's
powerful  and  it's  beautiful  and it's there. It's a natural force and you
make of it what you will."
     She looked back along the passageway leading inward.
     "I'd like to see it," she said.
     "I wouldn't try to find my way to it from here," I told  her.  "Why  do
you want to see it, anyhow?" '
     "Just to see how I'd respond to something like that "
     "You're strange," I said.
     "Will you take me when.we go back? Will you show it to me?"
     This  was  not  going at all the way I'd thought it would.: If she were
what I thought, I didn't understand the request. I was half tempted to  take
her  to it, to find out what she had in mind. However, I was operating under
a system of priorities, and I'd a feeling  she  represented  one  concerning
which I'd made myself a promise and'; some elaborate preparations.
     "Perhaps," I mumbled.
     "Please. I'd really like to see it."
     She seemed sincere. But my guess felt near-perfect.
     Sufficient time had passed for that strange body-shifting spirit, which
had dogged  my  trail in many forms, to have; located a new host and then to
have zeroed in on me again and be insinuating itself  into  my  good  graces
once  more. Coral was perfect for the role, her arrival appropriately timed,
her concern for my physical welfare manifest, her reflexes  fast.  I'd  have
liked  to  keep her around for questioning, but I knew that she would simply
lie to me in the absence of proof or an emergency situation. And I  did  not
trust  her.  So  I reviewed the spell I had prepared and hung on my way home
from Arbor House, a spell I had designed to expel a possessing  entity  from
its  host.  I  hesitated  a  moment,  though.  My  feelings  toward her were
ambivalent. Even if she were the entity, I might be willing to put  up  with
her if I just knew her motive.
     So, "What is it that you want?" I asked.
     "Just to see it. Honestly," she answered.
     "No, I mean that if you are what I think you really are, I'm asking the
big question: Why?"
     Frakir began to pulse upon my wrist.
     Coral  was  silent  for the space of an audible deep breath, then, "How
could you tell?"
     "You betrayed yourself in small ways discernible only to  one  who  has
recently become paranoid," I responded.
     "Magic," she said. "Is that it?"
     "It's  about  to  be," I replied. "I could almost miss you, but I can't
trust you."
     I spoke the guide words to  the  spell,  letting  them  draw  my  hands
smoothly  through  the  appropriate  gestures.  There  followed two horrible
shrieks, and then a third.
     But they weren't  hers.  They  came  from  around  the  corner  in  the
passageway we had recently quitted.
     "What-?" she began.
     "-the hell! " I finished; and I rushed past her and rounded the corner,
drawing my blade as I went.
     Backlighted by the distant cavemouth I beheld three
     figures  on  the  floor  of  the  cave.  Two  of them were sprawled and
unmoving. The third was seated and  bent  forward,  ,  cursing.  I  advanced
slowly,  the  point of my weapon directed toward the seated one. His shadowy
head turned in my direction, and he climbed to his feet, still bent forward.
He clutched his left hand with his right, and he backed away until  he  came
into contact with the wall.
     He  halted  there,  muttering  something  I  could  not  quite  hear. I
continued my cautious advance, all of my senses alert. I  could  hear  Coral
moving  at  my back, then I glimpsed her accompanying me on my left when the
passage widened. She had drawn her dagger, and she held it low and  near  to
her  hip.  No  time  now to speculate as to what my spell might have done to
her.
     I halted as I came to the first of the two fallen forms. I  prodded  it
with  the toe of my boot, ready to strike instantly should it spring into an
attack. Nothing. It felt limp, lifeless. I used my foot to turn it over, and
the head rolled back in the .direction of the cavemouth. In the  light  that
then  fell  upon  it  I beheld a half-decayed human face My nose had already
been informing me that this state was no mere illusion. I advanced upon  the
other  one  and  turned  him,  also.  He,  too,  bore  the  appearance  of a
decomposing corpse. While the first one clutched a dagger in his right hand,
the second was weaponless. Then I noted another dagger-on  the  floor,  near
the live man's feet. I raised my eyes to him. This made no sense whatsoever.
I'd have judged the two figures upon the floor to have been dead for several
days,  at  least,  and I had no idea as to what the standing man had been up
to.
     "Uh. . . . Mind telling me what's going on?' I inquired.
     "Damn you, Merlin!" he snarled, and I recognized the voice.
     I moved in a slow arc, stepping over the fallen ones. Coral stayed near
to my side, moving in a similar fashion. He turned his head  to  follow  our
progress, and when the
     light finally fell upon his face, I saw that Jurt was glaring at me out
of his  one  good  eye-a  patch covered the other-and I saw, too, that about
half -of his hair was missing, the  exposed  scalp  covered  with  welts  or
scars,  his  half-regrown  ear-stub  plainly visible. From this side I could
also see that a bandana suitable  for  covering  most  Of  this  damage  had
slipped  down  around his neck. Blood was dripping from his left hand, and I
suddenly realized that his little finger was missing.
     "What happened to you?" I asked.
     "One of the zombies hit my hand with his dagger as he fell,"  he  said,
"when you expelled the spirits that animated them."
     My spell-to evict a possessing spirit. . . . They had been within range
of it. . . .
     "Coral," I asked, "are you all right?"
     "Yes," she replied. "But I don't understand. . . ."
     "Later," I told her.
     I  did  not ask him about, his head, as I recalled my struggle with the
one-eyed werewolf in the wood to the east of Amber-the beast  whose  head  I
had forced into the campfire. I had suspected for some time that it had been
Jurt  in  a  shape-shifted  form,  even before Mandor had offered sufficient
information to confirm it.
     "Jurt," I began, "I have been the occasion of many of  your  ills,  but
you  must realize that you brought them on yourself. If you would not attack
me, I would have no need to defend myself-"
     There came a clicking, grinding sound. It took me  several  seconds  to
realize  that it was a gnashing of teeth. "Miy adoption by your father meant
nothing to me," I said, "beyond the fact that he honored me by it. I was not
even aware until recently that it had occurred." "You lie!" he hissed.  "You
tricked him some way, to get ahead of us in the succession."
     "You've  got to be kidding," I said. "We're all so far down on the list
that it doesn't matter."
     "Not for the Crown, you fool! For the House! Our father isn't all  that
well!"
     "I'm  sorry  to  hear  that," I said. "But I'd never even thought of it
that way. And Mandor's ahead of all of us, anyhow. "
     "And now you're second."
     "Not by choice. Come on! I'll never see the title. You know that! "
     He drew himself upright, and when he moved I became aware  of  a  faint
prismatic nimbus that had been clinging to his outline.
     "That  isn't the real reason," I continued. "You've never liked me, but
you're not after me because of the succession. You're hiding something  now.
It's  got  to  be  something else, for all this activity on your pan. By the
way, you did send the Fire Angel, didn't you?"
     "It found you that fast?" he said. "I wasn't even sure I could count on
that. I guess it was worth the price after all. But. . . . What happened?".
     "It's dead."
     "You're very lucky. Too lucky," he replied. "
     "What is it that you want, Jurt? I'd like to settle this once  and  for
all. "
     "Me,  too,"  he  answered.  "You betrayed someone I love, and only your
death will set things right."
     "Who are you talking about? I don't understand."
     He grinned suddenly.
     "You will," he said. "In the last moments of your  life  I'll  let  you
know why."
     "I  may have a long wait, then," I answered. "You don't seem to be very
good at this sort of thing: Why not just tell me now and save us both a  lot
of trouble?"
     He  laughed,  and  the prism effect increased, and it occurred to me in
that instant what it was.
     "Sooner than you think," he said, "for shortly I will be more  powerful
than anything you ever met."
     "But no less clumsy," I suggested, both to him and to whomever held his
Tnimp, watching me through it, ready to snatch him away in an instant. . . .
     "That  is  you, Mask, isn't it?" I said. "Take him back. You don't have
to send him again either and watch him screw up. I'll promote you on my list
of priorities and come calling soon, if you'll just  give  me  an  assurance
that it's really you."
     Jurt  opened  his  mouth  and  said  something,  but I couldn't hear it
because he faded fast and his words  went  away  with  him.  Something  flew
toward  me  as  this occurred; there was no need to parry it, but I couldn't
stop the reflex.
     Along with two moldering corpses and Jurt's little finger, a  dozen  or
so roses lay scattered on the floor at my feet, there at the rainbow's end.



CHAPTER 5

     As  we  walked  along  the  beach in the direction of the harbor, Coral
finally spoke:
     "Does that sort of thing happen around here very often?"
     "You should come by on a bad day," I said.
     "If you don't mind telling me, I'd like to hear what it was all about."
     "I guess I owe you an explanation," I agreed, "because  I  wronged  you
back there, whether you know it or not."
     "You're serious."
     "Yep,"
     "Go on. I'm really curious."
     "It's a long story . . . ," I began again.
     She looked ahead to the harbor, then up to Kolvir's heights.
     ". . . A long walk, too," she said.
     ".  .  .  And you're a daughter of the prime minister of a country with
which we have somewhat touchy relations at the moment."
     "What do you mean?"
     "Some of the things that are happening may represent kind of  sensitive
information."
     She put her hand on my shoulder and halted. She stared into my eyes.
     "I can keep a secret," she told me. "After all, you know mine."
     I congratulated myself on having finally learned my relatives' trick of
controlling  facial  expression  even when puzzled as all hell. She had said
something back in the cave when I had addressed  her  as  if  she  were  the
entity, something that sounded as if she believed I had. discovered a secret
concerning her.
     So I gave her a wry smile and nodded.
     "Just so," I said.
     "You're not planning on ravaging our country or anything like that, are
you?" she asked.
     "To my knowledge, no. And I don't think it likely either."
     "Well, then. You can only speak from your knowledge, can't you?"
     "True," I agreed.
     "So let's hear the story."
     "All right."
     As  we walked along the strand and I spoke, to the accompaniment of the
waves' deep notes, I could not help but  remember  again  my  father's  long
narrative.  Was  it  a family trait, I wondered, to go autobiographical at a
time of troubles if the right listener turned  up?  For  I  realized  I  was
elaborating my telling beyond the bounds of necessity. And why should she be
the right listener, anyhow?
     When we reached the port district, I realized I was hungry, anyway, and
I still  had  a  lot  of  telling  to  do. In that it was still daylight and
doubtless considerably safer than when I'd made my nighttime visit, I  found
my  way  over  to  Harbor  Road-which  was even dirtier in strong light-and,
having learned that Coral was hungry, too, I took us on around to  the  rear
of  the  cove, pausing for a few minutes to watch a many-roasted vessel with
golden sails round the sea wall and head in. Then we  followed  the  curving
way  to  the  western shore, and I was able to locate Seabreeze Lane without
any trouble. It was still early enough. that we passed a few sober  sailors.
At  one  point  a  heavy,  black-bearded man with an interesting scar on his
right cheek began to approach us, but a smaller man caught up with him first
and whispered something in his ear. They both fumed away.
     "Hey," I said. "What did he want?"
     "Nothin'," the smaller man said. "He don't want nothin'." He studied me
for a moment and nodded. Then, "I saw you here the other night," he added.
     "Oh," I said, as they continued to the next corner, turned it, and were
gone.
     "What was that all about?" Coral said.
     "I didn't get to that part of the story yet."
     But I remembered it vividly when we  passed  the  place  where  it  had
occurred. No signs of that conflict remained.
     I almost passed what had been Bloody Bill's, though, because a new sign
hung above  the  door.  It read "Bloody Andy's," in fresh green letters. The
place was just the same inside, however,  except  for  the  man  behind  the
counter,  who  was  taller and thinner than the shaggy, cragfaced individual
who had served me last time. His name, I learned, was Jak, and he was Andy's
brother. He sold us a bottle of Bayle's Piss and put in our  order  for  two
fish dinners through the hole in the wall. My former table was vacant and we
took  it.  I  laid  my  sword  belt on the chair to my right, with the blade
partly drawn, as I had been taught etiquette required here.
     "I like this place," she said. "It's . . . different."
     "Uh . . . yes," I agreed, glancing at two passed-out drunks-one to  the
front   of   the  establishment,  one  to  the  rear-and  three  shifty-eyed
individuals conversing in low voices off in one corner. A few broken bottles
and suspi- cious stains were upon the floor, and some not-too-subtle artwork
of an amorous nature hung on the far wall. "The food's quite good," I added.
     "I've never been in a restaurant like this," she continued, watching  a
black cat, who rolled in from a rear room, wrestling with an enormous rat.
     "It  has its devotees, but it's a well-kept secret among discriminating
diners."
     I continued my  tale  through  a  meal  even  better  than  the  one  I
remembered.  When the door opened much later to admit a small man with a bad
limp and a dirty  bandage  about  his  head  I  noticed  that  daylight  was
beginning  to  wane.  I had just finished my story and it seemed a good time
to- be leaving.
     I said as much, but she put her hand on mine.
     "You know I'm not your entity," she said, "but if you need any kind  of
help I can give you, I'll do it."
     "You're a good listener," I said. "Thanks. We'd better be going now."
     We  passed  out of Death Alley without, incident and made our way along
Harbor Road over to Vine. The sun was getting ready  to  set  as  we  headed
upward,  and the cobbles passed 'through a variety of bright earth tones and
fire colors. Street and pedestrian traffic was light. Cooking smells drifted
on the air; leaves. rattled along the road; .a small yellow dragon rode  the
air  currents  high  overhead; curtains of rainbow light rippled high in the
north beyond the palace. I kept waiting, expecting more questions from Coral
than the few she had asked. They never came. If I'd just heard my  story,  I
think  I'd  have a lot of questions, unless I were totally overpowered by it
or somehow understood it thoroughly.
     "When we get back to the palace . . . ?" she said then.
     "Yes?"
     ". . . You will take me to see the Pattern, won't you?"
     I laughed.
     . . . Or unless something else were occupying my mind.
     "Right away? First thing in the door?" I asked.
     "Yes.
     "Sure," I said.
     Then, that off her mind, "Your story changes my picture of the  world,"
she said, "and I wouldn't presume to advise you. . . ." ,
     "But-" I continued.
     ". . . If seems that the Keep of the Four Worlds, holds the answers you
want.  Everything  else  may  fall into place when you learn what's going on
there. But I don't understand why you can't just do a card for it and  trump
in."
     "Good  question. There are parts of the Courts of Chaos to which no one
can trump because they change constantly and  cannot  be  represented  in  a
permanent   fashion.  The  same  applies  to  the  place  where  I  situated
Ghostwheel. Now, the terrain around the Keep fluctuates quite a bit, but I'm
not positive that's the reason for  the  blockage.  The  place  is  a  power
center,  and  I  think  it possible that someone diverted some of that power
into a shielding spell. A good  enough  magician  might  be  able  to  drill
through  it  with  a Trump, but I've a feeling that the force required would
probably set off some psychic ; alarm and destroy any element of surprise."
     "What does the place look like, anyway?'' she asked.
     "Well . . . ," I began. "Here." I took my notebook and Scripto from  my
shirt  pocket and sketched. "See, all of this area is volcanic." I scribbled
in a few fumaroles and wisps of smoke. "And this  part  is  Ice  Age."  More
scribbles. "Ocean here, mountains here. . . ."
     "Then  it  sounds as if your best bet is to use the Pattern again," she
said, studying the drawing and shaking her head.
     "Yes."
     "Do you think you'll be doing it soon?"
     "Possibly."
     "How will you attack them?"
     "I'm still working on that."
     "If there's any sort of way that I can help you, I meant what I said."
     "There isn't."
     "Don't be so sure. I'm well trained. I'm resourceful. I even know a few
spells."
     "Thanks," I said. "But no."
     "No discussion?"
     "Nope."
     "If you change your mind. . . ."
     "I won't."
     ". . . Let me know."
     We reached the Concourse, moved along it. The winds grew more  blustery
here and something cold touched my cheek. Then again. . . .
     "Snow!"  Coral  announced,  just  as I realized that a few middle-sized
flakes were drifting past  us,  vanishing  immediately  when  they  hit  the
ground.
     "If  your party had arrived at the proper time," I observed, "you might
not have had your walk."
     "Sometimes I'm lucky," she said.
     It was snowing fairly hard by the time we reached the  palace  grounds.
We  used  the  postern  gate again, pausing on the walkway to gaze back down
over the light-dotted town, half screened by falling flakes. I knew she kept
looking  longer  than  I  did,  because  I  turned  to  gaze  at  her.   She
appeared-happy,  I  guess-as  if  she  were  pasting  the  scene in a mental
scrapbook. So I leaned over and kissed her cheek, because it seemed  like  a
good idea.
     "Oh," she said, fuming to face me. "You surprised me."
     "Good,"I  told  her.  "I  hate to telegraph these things. Let's get the
troops in out of the cold."
     She smiled and took my arm.
     Inside, the guard told me, "Llewella wants to know whether you two will
be joining them all for dinner."
     "When is dinner?" I asked him.
     "In about an hour and a half, I believe."
     I glanced at Coral, who shrugged.
     "I guess so," I said.
     "Front dining room, upstairs," he told me. "Shall I pass the word to my
sergeant-he's due by soon-and have him deliver it? Or do you want to-"
     "Yes," I said. "Do that."
     "Care to wash up, change clothes . . . ?" I began, as we walked away.
     "The Pattern," she said.
     "It would involve a lot more stairs," I told her.
     She turned toward me, her face tightening, but saw that I was smiling.
     "This way," I said, leading her to the main hall and through it.
     I didn't recognize the guard at the end of the brief corridor that  led
up  to  the  stair.  He  knew who I was, though, glanced curiously at Coral,
opened the door, found us a lantern, and lit it.
     "I'm told there's a loose step," he remarked as he passed me the light.
     "Which one is it?" He shook his head.
     "Prince Gerard's reported it several times," he said, "but no one  else
seems to notice it."
     "Okay," I said. "Thanks."
     This  time  Coral didn't object to my going first. Of the two, this was
more intimidating than the stairway on the cliff face,  mainly  because  you
can't see bottom and after a few paces you can't see much of anything beyond
the  shell  of  light  within  which you move as you wind your way down. And
there's a heavy sense of vastness all about you. I've never seen  the  place
illuminated,  but I gather that the impression is not incorrect. It's a very
big cavern, and you go round and  round  and  down  in  the  middle  of  it,
wondering when you'll reach the bottom.
     After  a  time,  Coral  cleared  her throat, then, "Could we stop for a
minute?" she asked.
     "Sure," I said, halting. "Out of breath?"
     "No," she said. "How much farther?"
     "I don't know," I replied. "It seems a different distance each  time  I
come  this  way.  If  you  want  to  go  back and have dinner, we can see it
tomorrow. You've had a busy day."
     "No," she answered. "But I wouldn't mind your holding me for a minute."
     It seemed an awkward place to get romantic, so I cleverly deduced  that
there was another reason, said nothing, and obliged.
     It took me a long while to realize that she was crying.
     She was very good at concealing it.
     "What's the matter?" I finally asked.
     "Nothing,"  she  replied.  "Nervous  reaction, maybe. Primitive reflex.
Darkness. Claustrophobia. Like that."
     "Let's go back."
     "No"
     So we started down again.
     About a half minute later I saw something white  near  the  side  of  a
lower  step.  I  slowed.  Then I realized that it was only a handkerchief. A
little nearer, however, and I saw that it was held in  place  by  a  dagger.
Also,  there were markings upon it. I halted, reached out, flattened it, and
read. "THIS ONE, DAMN IT! -GERARD," It said.
     "Careful here," I said to Coral.
     I prepared to step over it, but on an impulse I tested it lightly  with
one  foot. No squeaks. I shifted more weight onto it. Nothing. It felt fine.
I stood on it. The same. I shrugged.
     "Careful, anyway," I said.
     Nothing happened when she stepped on it either, and we  kept  going.  A
little  later,  I  saw a flicker in the distance below. It was moving, and I
guessed someone was doing  a  patrol.  What  for?  I  wondered.  Were  there
prisoners  to  be  tended  and  wat╓hed? Were certain cave mouths considered
vulnerable points? And what about the business of locking the chamber of the
Pattern and hanging the key on the  wall  near  the  door?  Was  there  some
possible  danger  from  that  quarter?  How? Why? I realized that I ought to
pursue these questions one of these days.
     When we reached the bottom the guard was nowhere in sight, however. The
table, the racks,  and  a  few  foot  lockers-which  constituted  the  guard
station-were  illuminated  by a number of lanterns, but the guard was not at
his post. Too bad. It would be interesting to ask what the orders called for
in the event of an emergencyhopefully also specifying the  possible  natures
of various emergencies. For the first time, though, I noticed a rope hanging
down  from  the darkness into the dimness beside a weapons rack. I drew upon
it ever so gently and it yielded, to be followed a moment later by  a  faint
metallic  sound  from  somewhere high overhead. Interesting. Obviously, this
was the alarm.
     "Which . . . way?" Coral asked.
     "Oh, come on," I said, taking her hand, and I led her off to the right.
     I kept waiting for echoes as we moved, but none came.  Periodically,  I
raised  the  light.  The  darkness would recede a bit then, but nothing came
into view beyond an . additional area of floor.
     Coral seemed to be slowing now, and I felt a certain tension in her arm
as she hung back. I plodded on and she kept moving, however.
     Finally, "It shouldn't be too much  longer,"  I  said,  as  the  echoes
began, very faintly.
     "Good,"  she  replied,  but  she did not increase her pace. At last the
gray wall of the cavern came into view, and far off to my left was the  dark
opening of the tunnel mouth I sought: I changed course and headed toward it.
When we finally reached it and entered, I felt her flinch.
     "If I'd known it would bother you this much-" I began.
     "I'm  really all right," she answered, "and I do want to see it. I just
didn't realize that getting there would be this . . . involved. "
     "Well, the worst of it is over. Soon now," I said.
     We came to the first side passage to the left fairly quickly  and  went
on  by.  There was another shortly thereafter, and I slowed and extended the
lantern toward it.
     "Who knows?" I commented.. "That could take you  through  some  strange
route back to the beach."
     "I'd rather not check it out."
     We walked for some time before we passed the third opening. I gave it a
quick glance. There was a vein of some bright mineral partway back in it.
     I  speeded  up  and she kept pace, our footsteps ringing loudly now. We
passed the fourth opening. The fifth. . . .  From  somewhere,  it  seemed  I
heard faint strains of music.
     She  glanced at me inquiringly when we neared the sixth passageway, but
I just kept going. It was the seventh that I wanted,  and  when  we  finally
came  to  it  I turned, took a few paces, halted, and raised the lantern. We
stood before a big metal-bound door.
     I took the key down from the hook on the wall to my right, inserting it
in the lock, turned it, withdrew it, and rehung it. Then I put  my  shoulder
against  the  door  and  pushed  hard.  There  followed  a  long  moment  of
resistance, then slow movement accompanied shortly by  a  complaint  from  a
tight  hinge.  Frakir  tightened  upon my wrist, but I kept pushing till the
door was opened wide. Then I stood to the side and held it for Coral.
     She moved a few steps past me into that strange chamber and  halted.  I
stepped away and let the door swing shut, then came up beside her.
     "So that's it," she remarked.
     Roughly  elliptical,  the  intricately  wound  oval form of the Pattern
glowed blue-white within the floor. I  set  the  lantern  aside.  It  wasn't
really  necessary,  the glow from the Pattern providing more than sufficient
illumination. I stroked Frakir, calming her. A jet of sparks rose at the far
end of the great design, subsided quickly, occurred again nearer to us.  The
chamber  seemed  filled with a half familiar pulsing I had never consciously
noted before. On an impulse-to satisfy  a  long-held  point  of  curiosity-I
summoned the Sign of the Logrus.
     This was a mistake.
     Immediately  the  image  of the Logrus flared before me, sparks erupted
along the entire length of the Pattern, and a high-pitched banshee wail rose
from somewhere. Frakir went wild, my ears felt as if icicles had been driven
into them, and the brightness of the writhing Sign hurt my eyes. I  banished
the Logrus in that instant, and the turmoil began to subside.
     "What," she asked me, "was that?"
     I tried to smile, didn't quite manage it.
     "A little experiment I'd always meant to try," I told her.
     "Did you learn anything from it?"
     "Not to do it again, perhaps," I answered.
     "Or at least not till the company's left," she said."That hurt.''
     She  moved  nearer  to the edge of the Pattern, which had calmed itself
again.
     "Eerie," she observed. "Like a light in a dream. But it's gorgeous. And
all of you have to walk it to come into your heritage?"
     "Yes." She moved slowly  to  the  right,  following  its  perimeter.  I
followed  her  as she strolled, her gaze roving across the bright expanse of
arcs and turns, short straight lines, long sweeping curves.
     "I assume it is difficult?"
     "Yes. The trick is to keep pushing and not to stop trying even  if  you
stop moving," I replied.
     We  walked  on,  to  the right, circling slowly around to the rear. The
design seemed to be within the floor rather than upon it, seen as through  a
layer of glass. But nowhere was the surface slippery.
     We  paused  for  a  minute  or so while she took its measure from a new
angle.
     "So how are you responding to it?" I finally asked.
     "Esthetically," she said.
     "Anything else?"
     "Power," she said. "It seems to radiate something."
     She leaned forward and waved her hand above  the  nearest  line.  "It's
almost a physical pressure," she added then.
     We  moved farther, passing along the back length of the grand design. I
could see across the Pattern, to the place where the lantern glowed  on  the
floor  near  to the entranceway. Its light was negligible beside the greater
illumination we regarded now.
     Shortly, Coral halted again. She pointed.
     "What is this single line, which seems to end right here?" she asked.
     "It's not the end," I said. "It's the  beginning.  That  is  the  place
where one commences the walking of the Pattern."
     She moved nearer, passing her hand above it also.
     "Yes," she said after a moment. "I can feel that it starts here."
     For how long we stood there, I am uncertain. Then she reached out, took
hold of my hand and squeezed it.
     "Thanks," she said, "for everything."
     I  was  about to ask her why that had such a final sound about it, when
she moved forward and set her foot upon the line.
     "No!" I cried. "Stop!"
     But it was  too  late.  Her  foot  was  already  in  place,  brightness
outlining the sole of her boot.
     "Don't move!" I said. "Whatever you do, stay still!" She did as I said,
holding her position. I licked my lips, which suddenly seemed very dry.
     "Now,  try to raise the foot you placed upon the line and draw it back.
Can you do it?"
     "No," she replied.
     I knelt beside her and studied it. Theoretically, once you'd  set  foot
upon  the  Pattern  there  was  no  turning  back.  You had no choice but to
continue and either make it through or be destroyed somewhere along the way.
On the other hand, she should already be dead. Theoretically, again,  anyone
not of the blood of Amber shouldn't be able to set foot upon it and live. So
much for theory.
     "Hell of a time to ask," I said. "But why'd you do it?
     "You  indicated  to  me back in the cave that my guess was correct. You
said that you knew what I was."
     I recalled what I'd said, but that was with reference to  my  guess  at
her  being  the  body-shafting  entity. What could she have taken it to mean
that had to do with the Pattern? But even as I sought  after  a  spell  that
might free her from the Pattern's hold, the obvious answer to things drifted
into my mind.
     "Your connection with the House . . . ?" I said softly.
     "King  Oberon  supposedly  had  an  affair  with my mother before I was
born," she said. "The timing would have been right. It  was  only  a  rumor,
though.  I  couldn't  get anyone to provide details. So I was never certain.
But I dreamed of it being true. I wanted it to be true. I hoped to find some
tunnel that would bring me to this place. I wanted to sneak in and walk  the
Pattern  and  have  the  shadows  unfold  before  me. But I was afraid, too,
because I knew that if I were wrong I would die. Then, when  you  said  what
you said, you answered my dream. But I did not stop being afraid. I am still
afraid. Only now I'm afraid that I won't be strong enough to make it."
     That  sense  of  familiarity I had felt when I first met her. . - . . I
suddenly realized that it was a general family resemblance that  had  caused
it.  Her  nose  and brow reminded me a bit of Fiona, her chin and cheekbones
something of Flora. Her hair and eyes and height and  build  were  her  own,
though. But she certainly did not resemble her nominal father or sister.
     I thought again of a faintly leering portrait of my grandfather which I
had often  studied,  in  an upstairs hallway, to the west. The lecherous old
bastard really got around. Giving  him  his  due,  though,  he  was  a  very
goodlooking man. . . .
     I sighed and rose to my feet. I laid a hand upon her shoulder.
     "Listen,  Coral,"  I said. "All of us were well briefed before we tried
it. I am going to tell you about it before you take another step, and  while
I  speak  you  may feel energy flowing from me into you. I want you to be as
strong as possible. When you take your next step I do not want you  to  stop
again  until you have reached the middle. I may call out instructions to you
as you move along, also. Do whatever I  say  immediately,  without  thinking
about it.
     "First  I  will tell you about the Veils, the places of resistance. . .
."
     For how long I spoke, I do not know.
     I watched as she approached the First Veil.
     "Ignore the chill and the shocks," I said. "They can't hurt you.  Don't
let  the  sparks  distract  you. You're about to hit major resistance. Don't
start breathing rapidly."
     I watched her push her way through.
     "Good," I said, as she came onto an easier  stretch,  deciding  against
telling  her that the next Veil was far worse. "By the way, don't think that
you're going crazy. Shortly, it will begin playing head games with you-"
     "It already has," she responded. "What should I do?"
     "It's probably mostly memories. Just  let  them  flow,  and  keep  your
attention on the path."
     She  continued,  and  I  talked her through the Second Veil. The sparks
reached almost to her shoulders before she was out  of  it.  I  watched  her
struggle  through arc after arc, then tricky curves and long, sweeping ones,
turns, reversals. There were times when she moved quickly,  times  when  she
was  slowed  almost  to a standstill. But she kept moving. She had the idea,
and it seemed she had the will. I did not think that she  really  needed  me
now.  I  was  certain that I had nothing left to offer, that the outcome was
entirely in her own hands.
     So I shut up and watched, irritated with but unable to prevent  my  own
leaning  and  turning, shifting and pressing, as if I were out there myself,
anticipating, compensating.
     When she came to the Grand Curve she was a living flame:  Her  progress
was  very  slow,  but  there  was  a  relentless quality to it. Whatever the
outcome, I knew that she was being changed, had been changed  already,  that
the  Pattern  was  inscribing itself upon her, and that she was very near to
the end of its statement. I almost cried out as she seemed  to  stop  for  a
moment,  but  the  words  died  in  my  throat  as  she shuddered once, then
continued. I wiped my brow on my sleeve as she approached  the  Final  Veil.
Whatever  the  outcome, she had proved her suspicions. Only a child of Amber
could have survived as she had.
     I do not know how long it took her to pierce the last Veil. Her  effort
became  timeless,  and  I was caught up in that protracted moment. She was a
burning study in  extreme  slow  motion,  the  nimbus  that  enshrouded  her
lighting up the entire chamber like a great blue candle.
     And  then she was through and onto that final short arc, the last three
steps of which may well be the most difficult part of  the  entire  Pattern.
Some  sort of psychic surface tension seems joined with the physical inertia
one encounters just before the point of emergence.
     Again, I thought she had stoppped, but it was only  an  appearance.  It
was  like  watching someone doing tai chi, the painful slowness of that trio
of paces. But she completed it and moved again. If  the  final  step  didn't
kill her, then she was home free. Then we could talk. . . .
     That  final  moment  went  on  and  on and on. Then I saw her foot move
forward and depart the Pattern. Shortly, the other  foot  followed  and  she
stood panting at the center. "Congratulations!" I shouted.
     She  waved  weakly with her right hand while slowly raising her left to
cover her eyes. She stood thus for the a better part of a  minute,  and  one
who  has  walked  the  Pattern  understands  the feeling. I did not call out
again, but let her recover, giving her the silence in  which  to  enjoy  her
triumph.
     The  Pattern  seemed to be glowing more brightly just then, as it often
does immediately after being traversed. This gave a fairyland quality to the
grotto-all blue light and shadow-and made a mirror of that small, still pool
in the far corner where blind fish swim. I tried to think ahead to what this
act might mean, for Coral, for Amber.... She straightened suddenly.
     "I'm going to live," she announced.
     "Good," I replied. "You have a choice now, you know."
     "What do you mean?" she asked.
     "You are now in a position to command  the  Pattern  to  transport  you
anywhere,"  I  explained.  "So  you could just have it deposit you back here
again, or you could save yourself a long walk by having  it  return  you  to
your  suite  right  now.  As much as I enjoy your company, I'd recommend the
latter since you're probably pretty tired. Then you can soak in a nice  warm
bath  and  take  your  time dressing for dinner. I'll meet you in the dining
room. Okay?"
     I saw that she was smiling as she shook her head.
     "I'm not going to waste an opportunity like this,'' she said.
     "Listen, I know the feeling," I told  her.  "But  I  think  you  should
restrain  yourself.  Rushing  off  someplace  weird  could be dangerous, and
coming back could be tricky when you haven't  had  any  training  in  shadow
walking."
     "It's  just sort of a will and expectation thing, isn't it?" she asked.
"You kind of impose images on the environment as you go along, don't you?"
     "It's trickier than that," I said. "You have to learn to capitalize  on
certain  features  as  points  of departure. Normally, one is accompanied on
one's first shadow walk by someone with experience-"
     "Okay, I get the idea."
     "Not enough," I said. "Ideas  are  fine,  but  there's  feedback,  too.
There's  a  certain  feeling  you  get when it begins working. That can't be
taught. It has to be experienced-and until you're sure  of  it,  you  should
have someone along for a guide."
     "Seems like trial and error would do."
     "Maybe," I answered. "But supposing you wound up in danger? That'd be a
hell of a time to start learning. Kind of distracting-"
     "All  right.  You  made  your  point.  Fortunately, I'm not planning on
anything that would put me in such a position. "
     "What are you planning?"
     She straightened and gestured widely.
     "Ever since I learned about  the  Pattern,  there's  been  something  I
wanted to try if I got this far," she said.
     "What might that be?"
     "I'm going to ask it to send me where I should go."
     "I don't understand."
     "I'm going to leave the choice up to the Pattern."
     I shook my head.
     "It  doesn't  work that way," I told her. "You have to give it an order
to transport you."
     "How do you know that?"
     "It's just the way it works."
     "Have you ever tried what I'm saying?"
     "No. Nothing would happen."
     "Has anyone you know of ever tried it?"
     "It would be a waste of time. Look, you're talking as if the Pattern is
somehow sentient, is capable  of  coming  to  a  decision  on  its  own  and
executing it."
     "Yes," she replied. "And it must know me real well after what I've just
been through with it. So I'm just going to ask its advice and-"
     "Wait!" I said.
     "Yes?"
     "On  the  off chance that something happens, how do you plan on getting
back?"
     "I'll walk, I guess. So you're admitting  that  something  could
happen?"
     "Yes," I said. "It's conceivable that you have an unconscious desire to
visit  a  place, and that it will read that and take you there if you give a
transport order. That won't prove that the Pattern  is  sentient  just  that
it's  sensitive.  Now,  if it were me standing them, I'd be afraid to take a
chance like that. Supposing I have suicidal tendencies  I'm  not  aware  of?
Or-"
     "You're reaching," she answered. "You're really reaching."
     "I'm just counseling you to play it safe.You have your whole life to go
exploring. It would be silly to-"
     "Enough!"  she said. "My mind's made up, and that's it. It feels right.
See you later, Merlin."
     "Wait!" I cried again. "All right. Do it if you must. But let  me  give
you something first."
     "What?"
     "A means of getting out of a tight spot in a hurry. Here."
     I  withdrew  my  Trumps, shuffled out my own card. Then I unfastened my
dagger and sheath from my belt. I wrapped my card around the haft  and  tied
it there with my handkerchief.
     "You have an idea how to use a Trump?"
     "You  just  stare  and  think of the person till there's contact, don't
you?"
     "That'll do," I said. "Here's mine: Take it with you. Call me when  you
want to come home, and I'll bring you back."
     I tossed it out across the Pattern, underhand. She caught it easily and
hung it on her belt on the side opposite her own.
     "Thanks," she said, straightening. "I guess I'll give it a try now."
     "Just in case it really works, don't stay long. Okay?"
     "Okay," she answered, and she closed her eyes.
     An instant later she was gone. Oh, my.
     I  moved  to  the edge of the Pattern and held my hand above it until I
could feel the forces stirring there.
     "You'd better know what you're doing," I said. "I want her back."
     A spark shot upward and tickled my palm.
     "You trying to tell me you're really sentient?"
     Everything swirled about me. The dizziness passed in  an  instant,  and
the  first  thing  I  noticed  then was that the lantern was beside my right
foot. When I looked about I realized that I was standing on the  other  side
of the Pattern from where I had been and was now near the door.
     "I was within your field and I'm already attuned," I said. "It was just
my unconscious desire to get out."
     Then I hefted the lantern, locked the door behind me, `
     and  hung  the key back on its hook. I still didn't trust the thing. If
it had really wanted to be helpful, it would have sent  me  directly  to  my
quarters and saved me all those stairs.
     I  hurried  along  the tunnel. It was by far the most interesting first
date I'd ever had.


CHAPTER 6

     As I passed out of the main hall and  headed  along  the  back  hallway
which would take me to any of a number of stairs, a fellow in black leathers
and  various  pieces  of rusty and shiny chain emerged from a corridor to my
right, halted, and stared at me. His hair was of an orange  Mohawk  cut  and
there  were  several  silver  rings in his left ear near what looked like an
electrical outlet of some sort.
     "Merlin?" he said. "You okay?"
     "For the moment," I replied as I drew  nearer,  trying  to  place  him,
there in the dimness.
     "Martin!" I said. "You're . . . changed."
     He chuckled.
     "I'm  just back from a very interesting shadow," he said. "Spent over a
year there-one of those places where time runs like hell."
     "I'd judge-just guessing-that it was high-tech, urban...."
     "Right."
     "I thought you were a country boy."
     "I got over it. Now I know why my dad likes cities and noise."
     "You a musician, too?"
     "Some. Different sounds, though. You going to be at dinner?"
     "I was planning on it. As soon as I get cleaned up and changed."
     "See you there, then. We've a lot, of things to talk about. "
     "Sure thing, Cousin."
     He clasped my shoulder and released it as I passed. His grip was  still
strong.
     I  walked on. Before I'd gone very far, I felt the beginning of a Trump
contact. I halted and reached quickly, figuring  it  was  Coral  wanting  to
return. Instead, my eyes met those of Mandor, who smiled faintly.
     "Ah, very good," he said. "You are alone and apparently safe."
     As  things  came  clearer  I  saw  that  Fiona was standing beside him,
standing very close as a matter of fact.
     "I'm okay," I said. "I'm back in Amber. You all right?"
     "Intact," he said, looking past me, though there was not  much  to  see
beyond  wall  and  a  bit  of  tapestry. "Would you care to come through?" I
asked.
     "I'd love to see Amber," he replied. "But that pleasure  will  have  to
await another occasion. We are somewhat occupied at the moment."
     "You've discovered the cause of the disturbances?" I asked.
     He glanced at Fiona, then back at me.
     "Yes  and  no," he said. "We've some interesting leads but no certainty
at the moment."
     "Uh, what can I do for you then?" I asked.
     Fiona extended her index finger and suddenly  became  much  clearer.  I
realized  that  she  must  have  reached out and touched my Trump for better
contact.
     "We've had an encounter  with  a  manifestation  of  that  machine  you
built," she said. "Ghostwheel."
     "Yes?" I said.
     "You're right, it's sentient-social AI as well as technical. "
     "I was already certain it could pass the Turing test."
     "Oh,  no  doubt  about  that,"  she responded, "since by definition the
Turing test requires a machine capable of lying  to  people  and  misleading
them."
     "What are you getting at, Fiona?" I asked.
     "It's  not  just social AI. It's downright antisocial," she replied. "I
think your machine is crazy."
     "What did it do?" I asked. "Attack you?"
     "No, nothing physical. It's wacky and  mendacious  and  insulting,  and
we're  too busy to go into details right now. I'm not saying it couldn't get
nasty, though. I don't know. We just wanted to warn you not to trust it."
     I smiled.
     "That's it? End of message?" I said.
     "For now," she answered, lowering her finger and growing dim.
     I shifted my gaze to Mandor and was about to explain that I had built a
host of safeguards into the thing, so that not just anybody could access it.
Mainly, though, I wanted to tell him about Jurt. But our  communication  was
suddenly severed, as I felt another presence reaching toward me.
     I  was  intrigued  by  the  sensation. I had occasionally wondered what
would occur if someone tried for a Trump contact when I was already in touch
with someone else via a Trump. Would it turn into a conference  call?  Would
someone get a busy signal? Would it put the other party on hold? I'd doubted
I'd ever find out, though. It just seemed statistically unlikely. However. .
. .
     "Merlin, baby. I'm okay."
     "Luke!"
     Mandor and Fiona were definitely gone. "I'm really okay now, Merle."
     "You sure?"
     "Yeah,  as  soon as I started coming down I switched to a fast lane. In
this shadow it's been several days since I've seen you."
     He was wearing sunglasses and green swim trunks. He  was  seated  at  a
small  table  beside  a  swimming pool in the shade of a great umbrella, the
remains of a large lunch spread before. him. A lady in a blue  bikini  dived
into the pool and passed from my line of sight.
     "Well, I'm glad to hear about that and-"
     "So  what  happened  to me, anyhow? I remember you said something about
someone slipping me some acid when I was a prisoner back  at  the  Keep.  Is
that how it went?"
     "It seems very likely."
     "I  guess  that's  what  happens  when  you drink the water," he mused.
"Okay. What's been going on while I've been out of it?"
     Knowing how much to tell him was always a problem.  So,  "Where  do  we
stand?" I asked.
     "Oh. That," he said.
     "Yeah."
     "Well, I've had a chance to do a lot of thinking," he replied, "and I'm
going  to  call  it  quits. Honor has been satisfied. It's pointless to keep
pushing this thing against everybody else. But I'm not about to  put  myself
in Random's hands for a kangaroo trial. Now it's your turn: Where do I stand
so far as Amber's concerned? Should I be looking over my shoulder?"
     "Nobody's said anything yet, one way or the other. But Random is out of
town now  and  I  just  got back myself. '' I haven't really had a chance to
learn what the others' feelings might be on this thing."
     He removed his sunglasses and studied me. "The fact that  Random's  out
of town. . . ."
     "No, I know he's not after you," I said, "because he's in Kash-" `and I
tried to stop it just a syllable too late.
     "Kashfa?"
     "So I understand."
     "What  the  hell's  he  doing  there? Amber was never interested in the
place before."
     "There's been a . . . death," I explained. "Some kind of shake-up going
on."
     "Ha!" Luke remarked. "That bastard finally bought it. Good! But. . .  .
Hey! Why's Amber moving in so suddenlike, huh?"
     "Don't know," I said.
     He  chuckled.  "Rhetorical  question," he said. "I can see what's going
on. I've got to admit Random's got style. Listen, when you find out  who  he
puts  on  the throne let me know, will you? I like to keep abreast of doings
in the old hometown. "
     "Oh, sure," I said, trying unsuccessfully  to  determine  whether  such
information could be harmful. It would become public knowledge very soon, if
it wasn't already.
     "So  what else is going on? That other person who was Vinta Bayle . . .
?"
     "Gone," I said. "I don't know where."
     "Very strange," he mused. "I don't think we've seen the  last  of  her.
She was Gail, too. I'm sure. Let me know if she comes back, will you?"
     ``Okay. You want to ask her out again?"
     He  shrugged,  then  smiled. "I could think of worse ways to spend some
time."
     "You're lucky she didn't try to take you out, literally."
     "I'm not so sure she would've," he replied. "We always got along pretty
well. Anyhow, none of this is the main reason I called. . . ."
     I nodded, having already guessed as much.
     "How's my mother doing?" he asked.
     "Hasn't stirred," I answered. "She's safe."
     "That's something," he said. "You know, it's kind of undignified for  a
queen to be in that position. A coatrack. Jeez! "
     "I agree," I agreed. "But what's the alternative?"
     "Well, I'd sort of like to . . . get her freed," he said.
     "What'll it take?"
     ``You raise a very thorny issue," I stated.
     "I sort of figured that."
     "I've  a  strong  feeling  she's  the one behind this revenge business,
Luke, that she's the one who put you up to going after everybody. Like  with
that  bomb.  Like  encouraging  you  to set up that private army with modern
weapons, to use against Amber. Like trying for a hit  on  me  every  spring.
Like-"
     "Okay, okay. You're right. I don't deny it. But things have changed-"
     "Yeah. Her plans fell through and we've got her."
     "That's  not  what  I  meant.  I'm changed. I understand her now, and I
understand myself better. She can't push me around that way anymore."
     "Why is that?"
     "That trip I was on. . . . It shook loose  my  thinking  quite  a  bit.
About  her  and  me.  I've had several days now to mull over what some of it
meant, and I don't think she can pull the same crap on me that she used to."
     I recalled the red-haired woman tied to the stake, tormented by demons.
There was a resemblance, now I thought of it.
     "But she's still my mother," he went on, "and I don't like leaving  her
in  the  position she's in. What kind of deal; might be possible for turning
her loose?"
     "I don't know, Luke." I answered. "The matter hasn't come up yet." .
     "Well, she's your prisoner, actually."
     "But her plans were directed against all of us."
     "True, but I won't be helping her with them anymore.
     She really needs someone like me for carrying them out."
     "Right. And if she doesn't have you to help, what's to prevent her from
finding someone like you, as you put it? She'd still be dangerous if we  let
her go."
     "But you know about her now. That would crimp her style quite a bit."
     "It might just make her more devious."
     He  sighed.  "I  suppose there's some truth in that," he admitted. "But
she's as venal as most people. It's just  a  matter  of  finding  the  right
price."
     "I can't see Amber buying someone off that way."
     "I can."
     "Not when that person is already a prisoner here."
     "That does complicate matters a little," he acknowledged. "But I hardly
think  it's  an insurmountable barrier. Not if she's more useful to you free
than as a piece of furniture."
     "You've lost me," I said. "What are you proposing?"
     "Nothing yet. I'm just sounding you out."
     "Fair enough. But offhand, I can't see a situation such as you describe
arising. More valuable to us free than a prisoner. . . .  I  guess  we'd  go
where the value lies: But these are just words."
     "Just  trying  to  plant a seed or two while I work on it. What is your
greatest concern right now?"
     "Me? Personally? You really want to know?"
     "You bet."
     "Okay. My mad brother Jurt  has  apparently  allied  himself  with  the
sorcerer Mask back at the Keep. The two of them are out to get me. Jurt made
an  attempt  just this afternoon, but I can see it's really a challenge from
Mask. I'm going to take them on soon."
     "Hey, I didn't know you had a brother!"
     "Half brother. I have a couple of others, too. But I can get along with
them. Jurt's been after me for a long time."
     "That's really something. You never mentioned them."
     "We never talked family. Remember?"
     "Yeah. But you've got me puzzled  now.  Who's  this  Mask?  I  seem  to
remember your mentioning him before. It's really Sharu Garrul, isn't it?"
     I shook my head.
     "When  I brought your mother out of the citadel she left the company of
a similarly stricken old guy with RINALDO carved on his leg. I  was  trading
spells with Mask at the time."
     "Most  strange,"  Luke  said.  "'Then  he's a usurper. And he's the one
slipped me the acid?"
     "That seems most likely."
     "Then I have a score to settle with him, too-apart from what he did  to
my mother. How tough is Jurt?"
     "Well, he's nasty. But he's kind of clumsy, too. At least, he's screwed
up whenever we've, fought and left; a piece of himself behind."
     "He could also be learning from his mistakes, you know."
     "That's  true.  And  he  said  something kind of cryptic today, now you
mention it. He talked as if he were about to become very powerful."
     "Uh-oh," Luke said. "Sounds as if this Mask is using him  as  a  guinea
pig."
     "For what?"
     "The  Fount  of  Power,  man.  There's a steady, pulsing source of pure
energy inside the Citadel, you know. Inter-Shadow stuff. Comes from the four
worlds jamming together there."
     "I know. I've seen it in action."
     "I've got a feeling that this Mask is still in the process of getting a
handle on it."
     "He had a pretty good grip when we met."
     "Yeah, but there's more to it than plugging into a wall  outlet.  There
are  all  sorts  of  subtleties  he's  probably  just  becoming aware of and
exploring."
     "Such as?"
     "Bathing a person in it will, if he's properly  protected,  do  wonders
for  strength, stamina, and magical abilities. That part's easy for a person
with some training to learn. I've been through it myself.  But  old  Sharu's
notes  were  in  his  lab,  and  there  was  something more in them - way of
replacing part  of  the  body  with  energy,  really  packing  it  in.  Very
dangerous.  Easily  fatal. But if it works you get something special, a kind
of superman, a sort of living Trump."
     "I've heard that term before, Luke. . . ."
     "Probably," he replied. "My father undertook the process, with  himself
as the subject-"
     "That's it!" I said. "Corwin claimed that Brand had become some sort of
living Trump. Made it almost impossible to nail him."
     Luke gritted his teeth.
     "Sorry,"  I  said.  "But that's where I heard about it. So that was the
secret of Brand's power. . . . "
     Luke nodded.
     "I get the impression this Mask thinks he knows how it was done and  is
getting ready to try it on your brother."
     "Shit!"  I  observed.  "That's all I need. Jurt as a magical being or a
natural force-or whatever the hell. This is serious. How much  do  you  know
about the process?"
     "Oh,  I  know most of it, in theory. I wouldn't mess with it, though. I
think it takes away something of your humanity. You don't much give  a  shit
about  other  people  or human values afterward. I think that's part of what
happened to my father."
     What could I say? Maybe that part was true and maybe it wasn't.  I  was
sure  Luke  wanted  to  believe  in  some  external  cause  for his father's
treachery. I knew I'd  never  contradict  him  on  it,  even  if  I  learned
differently. And so I laughed.
     "With Jurt," I said, "there'd be no way of telling the difference."
     Luke  smiled.  Then,  "You  could  get dead going up against a guy like
that, along with a sorcerer, on their own turf."
     "What choice have I got?" I asked. "They're after me.  Better  to  move
now. Jurt hasn't had the treatment yet. Does it take long?"
     "Well,  there  are  fairly  elaborate  preliminaries,  but  the subject
doesn't have to be present for some of them. It all depends on how far along
Mask is with the work."
     "I'd better move pretty fast then."
     "I won't have you going in there alone," he said. "It could be suicide.
I know the place. I also have a small force of mercs  bivouacked  in  Shadow
and  ready  for action on short notice. If we can get them in, they can hold
off the guards, maybe even take them out.''
     "Will that fancy ammo work there?"
     "No. We tried it when I pulled the glider attack. It'll have to be hand
to hand. Body armor and machetes, maybe. I'll have to work it out."
     "We could use the Pattern to get in, but the troop  can't  .  .  .  and
Trumps aren't reliable for that place."
     "I know. I'll have to work on that, too."
     "Then  it  would  be you and me against Jurt and Mask. If I tell any of
the others here, they'll try to stop me till Random gets back, and that  may
be too late".
     He  smiled.  "You  know, my mother would really be useful in there," he
said. "She knows more about the Fount than I do."
     "No!" I said. "She tried, to kill me. ".
     "Easy, man. Easy," he said. "Hear me out."
     "Besides, she lost to Mask last time  they  met.  That's  why  she's  a
coatrack."
     "All  the  more  reason  for  her  to be wary now. Anyway, it had to be
trickery, not skill. She's good. Mask must have surprised her.  She'd  be  a
real asset, Merle."
     "No! She wants all of us dead!"
     "Details,"  he  explained.  "After  Caine,  the  rest  of  you are just
symbolic enemies. Mask is a real one, who took something away from  her  and
still has it. Given the choice, she'll go after Mask."
     "And if we're successful, she'll turn on Amber afterward."
     "Not at all," he said. "That's the beauty of my plan.''
     "I don't want to hear about it. "
     "Because  you already know you'll agree, right? I just figured a way to
solve all your problems. Give her the Keep after it's liberated, as  a  kind
of peace offering, to forget her differences with you guys."
     "Just hand her this terrible power?"
     "If  she  were  going  to use it against you, she'd have done it a long
time ago. She's afraid to employ it in the extreme.  With  Kashfa  down  the
tubes,  she'll  grab  at  the  chance to salvage something. That's where the
value lies."
     "You really think so?"
     "Better Queen of the Keep than a coatrack in Amber."
     "Damn you, Luke. You always make the stupidest  things  sound  sort  of
attractive."
     "It's an art," he replied. "What do you say?"
     "I've got to think about it," I said.
     "Better think fast, then. Jurt may be bathing in that glow right now."
     "Don't  pressure  me, man. I said I'll think about it. This is only one
of my problems. I'm going to eat dinner now and mull things over. "
     "Want to tell me about your other problems, too? Maybe I can work  them
into the package some way."
     "No, damn it! I'll call you back . . . soon. Okay?"
     "Okay. But I'd better be around when you snap Mom out of it, to kind of
smooth  things  over.  You  have figured out how to break the spell, haven't
you?"
     "Yes."
     "Glad to know that. I wasn't sure how to do it, and I can stop  working
on  it  now.  I'm going to finish here and go shape up the troops," he said,
eyeing the lady in the bikini who had just emerged from the pool. "Call me."
     "Okay," I said, and he was gone.
     Damn. Amazing. No wonder Luke kept winning those sales awards. I had to
admit it was a good pitch, despite my feelings about Jasra. And  Random  had
not  ordered  me  to  keep  her  a  prisoner. Of course, he had not had much
opportunity to tell me anything the last time we had  been  together.  Would
she  really  behave  as Luke said, though? It made a sort of sense, but then
people seldom keep company with rationality at times when they should.
     I passed along the hallway and decided to use the back stair. As I made
the turn, I saw that there was a figure standing near  the  top.  It  was  a
woman,  and  she was looking the other way. She had on a full-length red-and
yellow gown. Her hair was very dark and she had lovely shoulders. . . .
     She turned when she heard my tread, and I saw that it  was  Nayda.  She
studied my face.
     "Lord  Merlin,"  she  said,  "can  you  tell  me  where my sister is? I
understand she went off with you earlier."
     "She was admiring some art, and then she had a little errand she wanted
to run afterward," I replied. "I'm not sure exactly where she was going, but
she gave the impression she'd be back pretty soon."
     "All right," she said. "It's just that it's getting near to dinnertime,
and we'd expected her to be joining us. Did she enjoy her afternoon?"
     "I believe she did," I said.
     "She's been a bit moody recently. We were hoping this trip would  cheer
her up. She was looking forward to it quite a bit."
     "She seemed pretty cheerfulll when I left her," I admitted.
     "Oh, where was that?"
     "Near here," I said.
     "Where all did you go?"
     "We  had  a  long walk in and about town," I explained. "I showed her a
bit of the palace, also."
     "Then she's in the palace right now?"
     "She was the last time I saw her. But she might have stepped out. "
     "I see," she said. "I'm sorry I didn't really get to talk to you at any
length earlier. I feel as if I've known you for a long while."
     "Oh?" I said. "Why is that?"
     "I read through your file several times. It's kind of fascinating."
     "File?"
     "It's no secret that we keep files on people we're likely to  encounter
in  our  line  of work. There's a file on everyone in the House of Amber, of
course, even those who don't have much to do with diplomacy."
     "I'd never thought about it," I said, "but it figures."
     "Your early days are glossed over, of course, and your recent  troubles
are very confusing."
     "They're  confusing  to  me,  too,"  I  said. "You trying to update the
file?"
     "No, just curious. If your problems have ramifications that may involve
Begma, we have an interest in them."
     "How is it that you know of them at all?"
     "We have very good intelligence sources. Small kingdoms often do."
     I nodded.
     "I won't press you on your sources, but we're not having a fire sale on
classified data."
     "You misunderstand me," she said. "I'm not trying to update  that  file
either.  I  was  trying  to  discover  whether  I might be able to offer you
assistance."
     "Thank you. I appreciate that," I told her. "I can't  really  think  of
any way you could help me, though."
     She smiled, showing what seemed a set of perfect teeth.
     "I  can't  be more precise without knowing more," she said. "But if you
decide that you do want help-or if you just want to talk-come and see me."
     "Well taken," I said. "I'll see you at dinner."
     "Later, too, I hope," she said, as I passed her  and  turned  down  the
hall.
     What  had  she  meant  by  that  last  bit? I wondered. Was she talking
assignation? If so, her motives  seemed  awfully  transparent.  Or  was  she
merely expressing her desire for information? I was not certain.
     As  I  passed along the hallway in the direction of my rooms I noted an
odd lighting phenomenon ahead of me: A bright white band about six or  eight
inches in width ran up both walls, across the ceiling, and over the floor. I
slowed as I neared it, wondering whether someone had introduced a new method
of illuminating the place in my absence.
     As I stepped over the band on the floor, everything disappeared, except
for the  light  itself,  which  resolved into a perfect circle, flipped once
about me and settled on a level with my feet,  myself  at  its  center.  The
world appeared beyond the circle, suddenly, and it looked as if it were made
of green glass formed into a dome. The surface on which I stood was reddish,
irregular and moist in the pale light. It was not until a large fish swam by
that I realized I might be underwater, standing on a ridge of coral.
     "This  is  pretty  as all hell," I said, "but I was trying to get to my
apartment."
     "Just showing off a bit," came a familiar voice  which  sounded  eerily
all about my magic circle. "Am I a god?"
     "You can call yourself whatever you want," I said."Nobody will disagree
with you."
     "It might be fun being a god."
     "Then what does that make me?" I asked.
     "That's a difficult theological question."
     "Theological,  my  ass.  I'm  a computer engineer, and you know I built
you, Ghost."
     A sound like a sigh filled my submarine cell.
     "It's hard to get away from one's roots."
     "Why try? What's wrong with roots? All of the best plants have them."
     "Pretty bloom above, mire and muck below."
     "In your case it's metal and an interesting cryogenic setup-and quite a
few other things-all of them very clean. "
     "Maybe it's mire and muck that I need, then."
     "You feeling all right, Ghost?"
     "I'm still trying to find myself."
     "Everyone goes through phases like that. It'll pass."
     "Really?"
     "Really."
     "When? How? Why?"
     "It would be cheating to tell. Besides, it's different for everyone."
     A whole school of fish swam by-little black-and-redstriped guys.
     "I can't quite swing the omniscience business . . ." Ghost said after a
time.
     "That's okay. Who needs it?" I said.
     ". . . And I'm still working on omnipotence."
     "That one's hard, too," I agreed.
     "You're very understanding, Dad."
     "I try. You got any special problems?"
     "You mean, apart from the existential?"
     "Yeah."
     "No. I brought you here to warn you about a fellow named Mandor. He's-"
     "He's my brother," I said. There was silence.
     Then, "That would make him my uncle, wouldn't it?"
     "I guess so."
     "How about the lady with him? She-"
     "Fiona's my aunt."
     "My great-aunt. Oh, my!"
     "What's wrong?"
     "It's bad form to speak ill of relatives, isn't it?"
     "Not in Amber," I said. "In Amber we do it all the time."
     The circle of light flipped again. We were back in the hallway.
     "Now that we're in Amber," he said, "I want to speak  ill  of  them.  I
wouldn't  trust  them  if  I  were you. I think they're a little crazy. Also
insulting and mendacious."
     I laughed. "You're becoming a true Amberite."
     "I am?"
     "Yes. That's the way we are. Nothing to worry  about.  What  came  down
between you, anyhow?"
     "I'd rather work it out on my own, if you don't mind."
     "Whatever you think is best."
     "I don't really need to warn you about them?"
     "No."
     "Okay.  That  was my main concern. I guess I'll go and try the mire and
muck bit now-"
     "Wait."
     "What?"
     "You seem pretty good at transporting things through Shadow these days.
"
     "I seem to be improving, yes."
     "What about a small band of warriors and their leader?"
     "I think I could manage that."
     "And me."
     "Of course. Where are they and where do you want go?"
     I fished in my pocket, found Luke's Trump, held it before me.
     "But . . . He's the one you warned me not to trust", Ghost said.
     "It's okay now," I  told  him.  "Just  for  this  matter.  Nothin  else
though.Things have changed a bit."
     "I don't understand. But if you say so."
     "Can you run him down and set things up?"
     "I should be able to. Where do you want to go?"
     "Do you know the Keep of the Four Worlds?"
     "Yes.  But that's a dangerous place, Dad. Very tricky coming and going.
And that's where the red-haired lady tried to lay a power lock on me."
     " Jasra."
     "I never knew her name."
     "She's Luke's mother," I explained, waving his Trump.
     "Bad blood," Ghost stated. "Maybe we shouldn't have anything to do with
either of them."
     "She might be coming with us," I said.
     "Oh, no. That's a dangerous lady. You don't want her along.  Especially
not in a place where she's strong. She might try to grab me again. She might
succeed."
     "She'll  be  too  occupied with other matters," I said, "and I may need
her. So start thinking of her as part of the package."
     "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"
     "I'm afraid so."
     "When do you want to go there?"
     "That depends in part on when Luke's troops will be  ready.  Why  don't
you go and find out?"
     "All right. But I still think you might be making a mistake, going into
that place with those people."
     "I need someone who can help, and the die is damned well cast," I said.
     Ghost coalesced to a point and winked out.
     I  drew  a  deep  breath,  changed  my mind about sighing, and moved on
toward my nearest door, which was not that much farther up the  hall.  As  I
was reaching for it I felt the movement of a Trump contact. Coral?
     I opened myself to it. Mandor appeared before me again.
     "Are  you all right?" he asked immediately. "We were cut off in such an
odd fashion."
     "I'm fine," I told him.  "We  were  cut  off  in  a  once-in-a-lifetime
fashion. Not to worry."
     "You seem a trifle agitated."
     "That's  because  it's an awfully long walk from downstairs to upstairs
with all the powers of the universe converging to slow me."
     "I don't understand."
     "It's been a rough day," I said. "See you later."
     "I did want to talk with you some more, about those stones and the  new
Pattern and-"
     "Later," I said. "I'm waiting on an incoming call."
     "Sorry. No rush. I'll check back."
     He broke the contact and I reached for the latch. I wondered whether it
would  solve  everybody's  problems  if I could turn Ghost into an answering
service.


CHAPTER 7

     I hung my cloak on Jasra and my weapons belt on the bedpost. I  cleaned
my  boots,  washed  my  hands  and  face,  hunted up a fancy ivory shirt-alI
ruffled, brocaded, frogged-and  put  it  on,  along  with  a  pair  of  gray
trousers.  Then  I  brushed  off my deep purple jacket, the one on which I'd
once laid a spell to make the wearer seem a little more charming, witty, and
trustworthy than is actually the case. It seemed a good occasion for getting
some use out of it.
     As I was brushing my hair there came a knock on the door.
     "Just a minute," I called.
     I finished up-which left me ready to go  and  also,  probably,  running
late-then went to the door, unbarred it, and opened it.
     Bill  Roth  stood  there  in  browns  and  reds,  looking like an aging
condottiere.
     "Bill!" I said, clasping his hand, arm, and shoulder  and  leading  him
in. "Good to see you. I'm just back from some troubles and about to take off
after more. I didn't know whether you were here in the palace now or what. I
was going to look you up again as soon as things slowed a bit."
     He smiled and punched my shoulder lightly.
     "I'll  be at dinner," he replied, "and Hendon said you'd be there, too.
I thought I'd come up and walk over with you,  though,  since  those  Begman
people will be there.
     "Oh? You got some news?"
     "Yes. Any fresh word on Luke?"
     "I was just talking to him. He says the vendetta's off."
     "Any chance of his wanting to justify himself at that hearing you asked
me about?"
     "Not from the way he sounded."
     "Too  bad.  I've  bean doing a lot of research, and there are some good
precendents for the vendetta defense-like, there was your uncle  Osric,  who
took  on  the  whole  House  of  Karen  over  the death of a relative on his
mother's side. Oberon was particularly friendly with Karen  in  those  days,
too,  and  Osric  offed  three  of  them. Oberon acquitted him at a hearing,
though, basing his decision on earlier cases, and he even  went  further  by
stating a kind of general rule-"
     "Oberon  also  sent  him off to the front Iines in a particularly nasty
war," I interrupted, "from which he did not return."
     "I wasn't aware of that part," Bill said, "but he did come off well  in
court."
     "I'll have to mention it to Luke," I said.
     "Which part?" he asked.
     "Both," I answered.
     "That  wasn't  the main thing I came to tell you," he went on. "There's
something going on at a military level."
     "What are you talking about?"
     "It's even easier to show you," he explained. "It should  only  take  a
minute."
     "Okay. Let's go," I agreed, and I followed him out into the hall.
     He  led  the  way  down  the back stair and turned left at its foot. We
moved on past the kitchen and followed  another  hallway  which  turned  off
toward  the  rear.  As we did, I heard some rattling sounds from up ahead. I
glanced at Bill, who nodded.
     "That's what I heard earlier," he told me,  "when  I  was  passing  by.
That's  why  I  took  a  walk  up  this way. Everything around here makes me
curious."
     I nodded, understanding the feeling. Especially when I  knew  that  the
sounds  were  coming  from  the  main armory. Benedict stood in the midst of
activity, peering at his thumbnail through a  rifle  barrel.  He  looked  up
immediately  and our eyes met. Perhaps a dozen men moved about him, carrying
weapons, cleaning weapons, stacking weapons.
     "I thought you were in Kashfa," I said.
     "Was," he replied.
     I gave him a chance to continue, but nothing was forthcoming.  Benedict
has never been noted for loquacity.
     "Looks  like  you're  getting  ready  for  something  close to home," I
remarked, knowing that gunpowder was useless here and that the special  ammo
we had only worked in the area of Amber and certain adjacent kingdoms.
     "Always best to be safe," he said.
     "Would you care to elaborate on that?" I asked.
     "Not  now,"  he  answered, a reply twice as long as I'd anticipated and
holding out hope of future enlightenment.
     "Should we all be digging in?" I asked: "Fortifying  the  town?  Arming
ourselves? Raising-"
     "It won't come to that," he said. "Just go on about your business."
     "But-"
     He  turned away. I'd a feeling the conversation was over. I was sure of
it when he ignored my next several questions. I shrugged and turned back  to
Bill.
     "Let's go eat," I said.
     As  we  walked back up the hall, Bill said softly, "Any;:: idea what it
means?"
     "Dalt's in the neighborhood," I told him.
     "Benedict was in Begma with  Random.  Dalt  could  be  causing  trouble
there."
     "I've a feeling he's nearer."
     "If Dalt were to capture Random. . . ."
     "Impossible," I said, feeling a slight chill at the idea.
     "Random  can  trump back here anytime he wants. No. When I talked about
defending Amber, and Benedict said, `It won't  come  to  that,'  I  got  the
impression  he was talking about something close at hand. Something he feels
he can control."
     "I see what you mean," he agreed. "But then he told you not  to  bother
fortifying."
     "If  Benedict  feels  we  don't  need to fortify, then we don't need to
fortify."
     "Waltz and drink champagne while the cannons boom?"
     "If Benedict says it's okay."
     "You really trust that guy. What would you do without him?"
     "Be more nervous," I said.
     He shook his head. "Excuse  me,"  he  said.  "I'm  not  used  to  being
acquainted with legends."
     "You don't believe me?"
     "I shouldn't believe you, but I do believe you. That's the trouble." He
was silent as we turned the corner and headed back toward the stair. Then he
added, "It was that way whenever I was around your father, too."
     "Bill,"  I  said, as we began to climb. "You knew my dad back before he
regained his memory, when he was just plain old Carl Corey. Maybe I've  been
going  about  this  thing wrong. Is there anything you can recall about that
phase of his life which might explain where he is now?"
     He halted a moment and looked at me.
     "Don't think I haven't thought about that angle,  Merle.  Many  a  time
I've wondered whether he might have been involved in something as Corey that
he'd  have  felt  obliged  to  follow  through on once his business here was
finished. But he was  a  very  secretive  man,  even  in  that  incarnation.
Paradoxical, too. He'd done a lot of hitches in a lot of different varieties
of military, which seems logical

     enough.  But he sometimes wrote music, which goes against that hard-ass
image."
     "He'd lived a long time. He'd learned a lot, felt lot."
     "Exactly, and that's what makes it hard to guess why he might have been
involved in. Once or twice when he'd; had a few drinks he'd  mention  people
in the arts an sciences I'd never have guessed him to be acquainted with. He
was  never  just  plain  Carl  Corey.  He had a few centuries worth of Earth
memory when I knew him. That makes for a character too complex to be  easily
predictable.  I  just  don't know what he might have gone back to-if he went
back."
     We continued on up the stairway. Why did I feel  that  Bill  knew  more
than he was telling me?
     I  heard  music  as  we  neared  the  dining room, and when we entered,
Llewella gave me a nasty look. I saw that food was  being  kept  warm  at  a
serving  table  off  against the far wall, and no one was seated yet. People
stood about talking, drinks in  hand,  and  most  of  them  glanced  in  our
direction  as we entered. Three musicians were playing, off to my right. The
dining table was to my  left,  near  the  big  window  in  the  south  wall,
providing  a  glorious  view  across  the  town  below. It was still snowing
lightly, casting a spectral veil over the entire bright prospect.
     Llewella approached quickly.
     "You've kept everybody waiting," she whispered. "Where's the girl?"
     "Coral?"
     "Who else?"
     "I'm not sure where she's gotten off to," I said. "We parted company  a
couple of hours ago."
     "Well, is she coming or isn't she?"
     "I'm not sure."
     "We  can't  keep  things  waiting  any  longer," she said. "And now the
seating arrangement's screwed. What did you do, wear her out?"
     "Llewella. . . ."
     She muttered something I  didn't  understand  in  some  lisping  Rebman
dialect.  Just  as  well, probably. She fumed away then and moved off toward
Vialle.
     "You in a heap of trouble, boy," Bill commented at my side. "Let's  hit
the bar while she's reassigning places."
     But the wine steward was already approaching with a couple of drinks on
a tray.
     "Bayle's Best," he observed as we took them.
     I sipped and saw that he was right, which heartened me a bit.
     "I  don't recognize all of these people," Bill said. "Who's that fellow
with the red sash, over by Vialle?"
     "That's Orkuz, the Begman prime minister," I told him, "and the  rather
attractive  lady  in the yellow-and-red dress who's talking to Martin is his
daughter Nayda. Coral-the one I just got chewed out about-is her sister. "
     "Uh-huh. And who's the husky blond lady batting her eyes at Gerard?"
     "I don't know," I said. "And I don't know that lady and the guy over to
the right of Orkuz either."
     We drifted inward, and Gerard, looking perhaps a  trifle  uncomfortable
in layers of ruffled finery, introduced us to the lady he was with as Dretha
Gannell,  assistant to the Begman ambassador. The ambassador, it turned out,
was the tall lady standing near Orkuz-and her name, I  gathered,  was  Ferla
Quist.  The  fellow with her was her secretary, whose name sounded something
like Cade. While we were looking in that direction,  Gerard  tried  slipping
off  and  leaving  us  with  Ferla.  But she caught his sleeve and asked him
something about the fleet. I smiled and nodded and  moved  away.  Bill  came
along.
     "Goodness!  Martin's  changed!" he announced suddenly. "He Looks like a
one-man rock video. I almost didn't recognize him. Just last week-"
     "It's been over a year," I  said,  "for  him.  He's  been  off  finding
himself on some street scene."
     "I wonder if he's finished?"
     "Didn't  get  a  chance  to  ask  him  that;" I replied, but a peculiar
thought occurred to me. I shelved it.
     The music died just then, and Llewella cleared the throat and indicated
Hendon, who announced the new seating arrangement. I was at the foot of  the
table,  and  -I  learned later that Coral was to have been seated to my left
and Cade to my right. I also learned later that Llewella had  tried  to  get
hold  of  Flora at the last minute to sit in Coral's place, but Flora wasn't
taking any calls.
     As it was, Vialle, at the head, had Llewella seated to  her  right  and
Orkuz  to her left, with Gerard, Dretha, and Bill below Llewella, and Ferla,
Martin, Cade, and Nayda below Orkuz. I found myself escorting Nayda  to  the
table and seating her to my right, while Bill settled himself at my left.
     "Fuss, fuss, fuss," Bill muttered softly, and I nodded; then introduced
him to  Nayda  as  counsel  to  the House of Amber. She looked impressed and
asked him about his work. He proceeded to charm her with a story about  once
having  represented  the  interests of a dog in an estate, settlement, which
had nothing to do with Amber but was a good story. Got  her  to  laughing  a
bit, and also Cade, who was listening in.
     The  first  course  was  served  and the musicians began playing again,
softly,  which  shortened  the  distance  our  voices  carried  and  reduced
conversation  to  a  more  intimate  level.  At  this,  Bill signaled he had
something he wanted to tell me, but Nayda had beaten him by a second or  two
and I was already listening to her.
     "About  Coral,"  she  said  softly.  "Are you sure she's all right? She
wasn't feeling ill when you parted-of anything like that-was she?"
     "No," I answered. "She seemed healthy enough."
     "Strange," she said. "I had the impression she wad looking  forward  to
things like this dinner."
     "She's  obviously  taking  longer than she'd intended in whatever she's
about," I observed.
     "What exactly was she about?" Nayda asked. "Where did you part?"
     "Here in the palace," I replied. "I was showing her around. She  wanted
to spend more time with certain features of the place than I could spare. So
I came on ahead.
     "I don't think she could have forgotten dinner."
     "I think she got caught up by the power of an artistic piece."
     "So she's definitely on the premises?"
     "Now,  that's  hard  to say. As I said before, a person can always step
out."
     "You mean you're not sure exactly where she is?" I nodded.
     "I'm not certain where she is at this moment," I said. "She could  well
be back in her room changing her clothes."
     "I'll  check  after dinner," she said, "if she hasn't shown up by then.
If that should be the case, will you help me find her?"
     "I was planning on looking for her anyway," I answered, "if she doesn't
put in an appearance soon."
     She nodded and continued eating. Very awkward.
     Beyond the fact that I didn't want to distress  her,  I  couldn't  very
well  tell  her  what  had  happened  without its becoming apparent that her
sister was indeed an illegitimate daughter of Oberon.  At  a  time  such  as
this,  when  I  had  been  cautioned about saying anything that might strain
relations between Amber and Begma,  I  was  not  about  to  confirm  to  the
daughter  of  the Begman prime minister the rumor that her mother had had an
affair with the late king of Amber. Maybe it was  an  open  secret  back  in
Begma  and nobody gave a damn. But maybe it wasn't. I didn't want to disturb
Random for advice, partly because he might be extremely occupied  in  Kashfa
just  now;  but  mainly  because  he might also start asking me about my own
immediate plans and problems, and I would not lie to him. That could get  me
into  too  much  trouble.  Such a conversation might well also result in his
forbidding my attack on the Keep. The only other person I could  tell  about
Coral  and get some sort of official response from, as to how far I might go
in informing her family, was Vialle. Unfortunately,  Vialle  was  completely
occupied as hostess at the moment.
     I sighed and returned to my dinner.
     Bill  caught my attention and leaned a little in my direction. I leaned
a little, too.
     "Yes?" I said.
     "There were some things I wanted to tell you," he began. "I was  hoping
for some leisure, some quiet, and some privacy, though."
     I chuckled.
     "Exactly," he continued. "I believe this is the best we're going to get
for a  time. Fortunately, voices don't seem to be carrying if one keeps them
down. I couldn't make out what you and Nayda were  talking  about.  So  it's
probably okay, so long as the musicians keep playing."
     I nodded, took a few more bites.
     "Thing is, the Begmans shouldn't hear about it, on the one hand. But on
the other,  I  feel  that  perhaps  you  ought  to  know,  because  of  your
involvement with Luke and Jasra. So what's your schedule?  I'd  rather  tell
you  later, but if you're going to be tied up, I can give you the gist of it
now."
     I glanced at Nayda and Cade. They seemed totally  occupied  with  their
food,  and  I  didn't  think they could overhear us. Unfortunately, I didn't
have any sort of sheltering spells hung.
     "Go ahead," I whispered from behind my wine glass.
     "First," he said, "Random sent me a whole slew of papers  to  go  over.
They're the draft of an agreement whereby Amber will grant Kashfa privileged
trade  status,  the  same as Begma. So they'll definitely be coming into the
Golden Circle."
     "I see," I said. "That doesn't come as a complete  surprise.  But  it's
good to know for sure what's going on."
     He nodded.
     "There's a lot more to it, though," he said.
     Just  then  the  musicians stopped playing and I could hear voices from
all around the table again. I glanced off  to  the  right  and  saw  that  a
steward  had  just  taken  the  players a food tray and some wine. They were
setting their instruments aside and taking a break. They had  probably  been
playing for some time before I'd arrived and were doubtless due a rest.
     Bill chuckled. "Later," he said.
     "Right."  There  followed  a  funny  little  fruit dish with an amazing
sauce. As I spooned it away, Nayda caught my attention with a gesture and  I
leaned toward her again.
     "So what about tonight?" she whispered.
     "What do you mean? I said I'd look for her if she doesn't show up."
     She  shook  her  head. "I wasn't referring to that," she said. "I meant
later. Will you have time to stop by and talk?"
     "About what?"
     "According to your file you've been in a bit of trouble recently,  with
someone trying to get you."
     I  began  wondering  about that damned file. But, "It's out of date," I
said. "Whatever's in there has already been cleared up. "
     "Really? Then nobody's after you just now?"
     "I wouldn't say  that,"  I  replied.  "The  cast  of  characters  keeps
changing."
     "So somebody still has you marked?"
     I studied her face.
     "You're  a  nice lady, Nayda," I said, "but I've got to ask, What is it
to you? Everybody has problems. I just have more than usual at  the  moment.
I'll work them out."


     "Or die trying?"
     "Maybe. I hope not. But what's your interest?"
     She  glanced  at  Cade, who seemed busy with his food,. "It is possible
that I could help you. "
     "In what fashion?"
     She smiled.
     "A process of elimination," she stated.
     "Oh? That refers to a person or persons?"
     "Indeed."
     "You have some special means of going about this sort of business?"
     She continued to smile.
     "Yes, it's good for removing problems caused by people," she continued.
"All I'll need are their names and locations."
     "Some sort of secret weapon?"
     She glanced at Cade again, since I had raised my voice a bit.
     "You might call it that," she answered.
     "An interesting proposal," I said. "But you still ,,  haven't  answered
my first question."
     "Refresh my memory."
     We  were  interrupted  by the wine steward, who came around topping off
goblets, and then by another toast. The first had been  to  Vialle,  led  by
Llewella.  This  one was proposed by Orkuz, to "the ancient alliance between
Amber and Begma." I drank to that, and I heard Bill mutter; "It's  going  to
get a bit mire strained."
     "The alliance?" I said. ,..
     "Yep."
     I  glanced  at  Nayda,  who  was  staring  at  me,  clearly expecting a
resumption of our sotto voces. Bill noted this, too, and turned  away.  Just
then  Cade  began  talking  to  Nayda, however, so I finished what was on my
plate and took a sip of wine while I waited. In a little while the plate was
whisked away, to be replaced shortly by another.
     I glanced at Bill who glanced at Nayda and Cade, then said,  "Wait  for
the music."
     I  nodded. In a sudden moment of silence I overheard Dretha say, "Is it
true that King Oberon's ghost is sometimes seen?" Gerard  grunted  something
that  sounded  like  an  affirmative just as they were drowned out again. My
mind being a lot fuller than my stomach, I kept eating. Cade, trying  to  be
diplomatic  or  just conversational, turned my way a little later, addressed
me and asked my views on the Eregnor situation. He jerked suddenly then  and
looked at Nayda. I'd a strong feeling she'd just kicked him under the table,
which  was  fine  with  me  because  I didn't know what the hell the Eregnor
situation was. I mutterred something about there being things to be said for
both sides of most matters, which seemed diplomatic enough for anything.  If
it  were  something  barbed,  I  supposed  I  could  have  countered with an
innocent-sounding observation about the Begman party's  early  arrival,  but
Eregnor  might actually be some tedious conversation piece that Nayda didn't
want to get into because it would cut off our own discussion.  Also,  I'd  a
feeling  that  Llewella  might  suddenly  materialize  and kick me under the
table.
     A thought hit suddenly then. Sometimes I'm a  little  slow.  Obviously,
they  had  known  Random  wasn't here, and from what I already knew and from
what Bill had just said, they weren't too happy  with  whatever  Random  was
about  in  the  neighboring  kingdom. Their early arrival seemed intended to
embarrass us in some fashion. Did that mean that whatever Nayda was offering
me was part of some scheme that fitted  in  with  their  general  diplomatic
strategy  on this matter? If so, why me? I was a very poor choice, in that I
had no say whatsoever concerning Amber's foreign policy. Were they aware  of
this?  They must be, if their intelligence service were as good as Nayda had
indicated. I was baffled, and I was half tempted to ask Bill  his  views  on
the Eregnor situation. But then. he might have kicked me under the table.


     The musicians, having finished snacking, resumed the entertainment with
"Greensleeves,"  and  Nayda  and  Bill both leaned toward me simultaneously,
then glanced up, their gazes meeting. Both smiled.
     "Ladies first," Bill said loudly.
     She nodded to him.
     Then, "Have a chance to think about my offer?" she asked me.
     "Some," I said, "but I had a question. Remember?
     "What was it?"
     "It's kind of you to want to do me a favor," I said, "but at times such
as this, one must be excused for checking the price tag."
     "What if I wem to say that your good will would be sufficient?"
     "What if I were to say that my good will isn't worth much at the policy
level here?"
     She shrugged. "Small price for a small return. I already knew that. But
you're related to everybody in this place. Nothing may ever happen, but it's
conceivable that someone might ask your opinion of us. I'd like you to  know
you  have  friends  in  Begma  and to feel kindly disposed toward us if that
occurred."
     I studied her very serious expression. There was more to it than  that,
and  we  both  knew it. Only I didn't know what might be on the horizon, and
she obviously did.
     I reached out and stroked her cheek once with the back of my hand.
     "I am expected to say something nice about you folks if someone  should
ask  me, that's all, and for this you will go out and kill someone for me if
I just supply the particulars. Right?"
     "In a word, yes," she replied.
     "It makes me wonder why you  think  you  can  manage  an  assassination
better than we could. We're old hands at it.
     "We  have,  as  you  put  it,  a  secret  weapon," she said. "But I was
thinking that this is a personal matter for you, not a state matter-and that
you might not want any of the others involved. Also, I can provide a service
that will not be traceable."
     Bag of worms time again. Was she implying that she thought  I  did  not
trust  all of the others here-or that I should not? What did she know that I
didn't? Or was she just, guessing, based  on  Amber's  history  of  intrigue
within the family? Or was she intentionally trying to stir up a generational
conflict? Would that suit Begma's purpose in some fashion? Or. . . . Was she
guessing  that  such  a  situation  existed  and offering to remove a family
member for me? And if so, did she think I'd be stupid enough to get  someone
else  to do the job? Or even to discuss such a notion and thereby give Begma
a shot at sufficient evidence to have some kind of hold over me? Or. . . .
     I drew back from the view. It pleased me that my thought processes were
finally working properly for the company my family keeps. (Both my families,
actually.) It had taken me a long while to get the hang of it. It felt good.
     A simple refusal would foreclose all of the above. But,  on  the  other
hand,  if  I  were  to string her along a bit, she might prove a tantalizing
source of information.
     So, "Would you go after anyone I would name?" I said. "Anyone?"
     She studied my face very carefully. Then, "Yes," she answered.
     "You must excuse me again," I responded, "but  doing  it  for  such  an
intangible as my good will causes me to wonder about your good faith."
     Her  face  reddened. Whether it was a simple blush or anger I could not
be certain, because she looked away  immediately.  This  didn't  bother  me,
though, because I was certain it was a buyer's market.
     I  returned  my  attention  to my food and was able to put away several
mouthfuls before she was back again. "Does this mean you won't  be  stopping
by tonight?" she asked.



     "I can't," I said. "I am going to be completely occupied."
     "I  can  believe  you  ane very busy," she said. "But does that mean we
will not be able to talk at all?"
     "It depends entirely on how things break," I said. "I have an awful lot
going on just now, and I may be leaving town soon."
     She started slightly. I was certain she considered asking  me  where  I
was going, but thought better of it.
     Then, "This is awkward," she said. "Have you refused my offer?"
     "Is the deal only good for this evening?" I asked.
     "No, but it was my understanding you were in some peril. The sooner you
move against your enemy, the sooner your sleep is untroubled."
     "You feel I am in danger here in Amber?"
     She  hesitated  a moment, then said, "No one is safe, anywhere, from an
enemy of sufficient determination and skill."
     "Do you feel the threat to be a local one?" I inquired.
     "I asked you to name the party," she  stated.  "You  are  in  the  best
position to know."
     I drew back immediately. It was too simple an entrapment, and obviously
she'd already smelled it.
     "You've given me much to think about," I answered, and I returned to my
food.
     After  a time, I saw that Bill was looking at me as if he wanted to say
something. I gave him a minuscule shake of  my  head,  which  he  seemed  to
understand.
     "Breakfast,  then?"  I  heard  her  say.  "This trip you spoke of could
mpresent a time of vulnerability. It would be good to settle this before you
depart."
     "Nayda," I said, as soon as I had swallowed, "I would like to be  clear
on  the  matter  of  my  benefactors.  If  I  were to discuss this with your
father-"
     "No!" she interrupted. "He knows nothing about it!"
     "Thank you. You must admit my curiosity as to the level at  which  this
plan originates."
     "There  is no need to look any further," she stated. "It is entirely my
idea."
     "Same of your earlier statements  cause  me  to  infer  that  you  have
special connections within the Begman intelligence community."
     "No," she said, "only the ordinary ones. The offer is my own."
     "But someone would have to . . . effectuate this design."
     "That is the province of the secret weapon."
     "I would have to know more about it."
     "I've  offered  you a service and I've promised you total discretion. I
will go no further as to means."
     "If this idea is wholly your own, it  would  seem  that  you  stand  to
benefit from it personally. How? What's in it for you?"
     She  looked away. She was silent for a long time. "Your file," she said
at last. "It was . . . fascinating reading it. You're one of the few  people
here close to my own age, and you've led such an interesting life. You can't
imagine how dull most of the things I have to read are-agricultural reports,
trade  figures,  appropriations studies. I have no social life whatsoever. I
am always on call. Every party I attend is really a state  function  in  one
form  or another. I read your file over and over and I wondered about you. I
. . . I have something of a crush on you. I know it sounds silly,  but  it's
true.  When  I saw some of the recent reports and realized that you might be
in great danger, I decided I would help you if I could. I have access to all
sorts of state secrets. One of them would  provide  me  with  the  means  of
helping you. Using it would benefit you without damaging Begma, but it would
be disloyal of me to discuss it further. I've always wanted to meet you, and
I  was  very  jealous  of my sister when you took her out today. And I still
wish you'd stop by later."
     I stared at her. Then I raised my wineglass to her and took a drink.


     "You are . . . amazing," I said. I couldn't think of anything  else  to
say.  It  was  either  an on-the-spot fabrication or it was true. If it were
true, it was somewhat pathetic; if not, I thought it a rather clever bit  of
quick  thinking,  calculated to hit me in that wonderfully vulnerable place,
the ego. She deserved either my sympathy or  my  wariest  admiration.  So  I
added,  "I'd  like  to meet the person who wrote the reports. There may be a
great creative talent going to waste in a government office."
     She smiled, raised her own glass and touched it to mine.
     "Think about it," she said.
     "I can honestly say I won't forget you," I told her.
     We both returned to our food, and I spent the next five minutes  or  so
catching  up.  Bill  decently  allowed  me to do this. Also, I think, he was
waiting to be certain that my conversation with Nayda was finally concluded.
     At last he winked at me.
     "Got a minute?" he asked.
     "Afraid so," I said.
     "I won't even ask whether it was business or pleasure going on  on  the
other side."
     "It was a pleasure," I said, "but a strange business. Don't ask or I'll
miss dessert."
     "I'll  summarize,"  he  said. "The coronation in Kashfa will take place
tomorrow."
     "Not wasting any time, are we?"
     "No. The gentleman who will be taking the throne  is  Arkans,  Duke  of
Shadburne.  He's  been  in  and out of various Kashfan governments in fairly
responsible positions any number of times over the years. He actually  knows
how  things work, and he's distantly related to one of the earlier monarchs.
Didn't get along well with Jasra's crowd  and  pretty  much  stayed  at  his
country  place the whole time she was in power. He didn't bother her and she
didn't bother him."
     "Sounds reasonable."
     "In fact, he actually shared her sentiments on the  Eregnor  situation,
as the Begmans are well aware-"
     "Just what," I asked, "is the Eregnor situation?"
     "It's  their  Alsace-Lorraine,"  he  said,  "a large, rich area between
Kashfa and Begma. It has changed hands back and forth so many times over the
centuries that both countries make reasonable-sounding claims  to  it.  Even
the  inhabitants  of  the area aren't all that firm on the matter. They have
relatives in both directions. I'm not even sure they care which side  claims
them,  so  long as their taxes don't go up. I think Begma's claim might be a
little stronger, but I could argue the case either way,"
     "And Kashfa holds it now; and Arkans says they'll damn well keep it."
     "Right. Which  is  the  same  thing  Jasra  said.  The  interim  ruler,
however-Jaston  was  his  name, military man-was actually willing to discuss
its status with the Begmans, before his unfortunate fall from the balcony. I
think he wanted to repair the treasury and was considering ceding  the  area
in  return for the settlement of some ancient war damage claims. Things were
actually well along and headed in that direction."
     "And . . . ?" I said.
     "In the papers I got from Random, Amber specifically recognizes  Kashfa
as  including  the  area  of  Eregnor.  Arkans had insisted that go into the
treaty. Usually-from everything I've been able to find in the archives-Amber
avoids getting involved in  touchy  situations  like  this  between  allies.
Oberon  seldom  went looking for trouble. But Random seems to be in a hurry,
and he let this. guy drive a hard bargain."
     "He's overreacting," I said, "not that I blame him. He remembers  Brand
too well."
     Bill nodded.
     "I'm just the hired help," he said. "I don't want to have an opinion."
     "Well, anything else I should know about Arkans?"
     "Oh,  there  are lots of other things the Begmans don't like about him,
but that's the big one-right when they thought they were making some headway
on an issue that's been a national pastime  for  generations.  They've  even
gone  to  war  over the matter in the past. Don't doubt that that's why they
came rushing to town. Govern yourself accordingly."
     He raised his goblet an╥ took a drink.
     A little later Vialle said something to Llewella, rose to her feet, and
announced that she had to see  to  something,  that  she'd  be  right  back.
Llewella  started  to  get  up  also  but Vialle put a hand on her shoulder,
whispered something, and departed.
     "Wonder what that could be?" Bill said.
     "Don't know," I answered.
     He smiled.
     "Shall we speculate?"
     "My mind's on cruise control," I told him.
     Nayda gave me a long stare. I met it and shrugged.
     Another little while, and plates were cleared  and  more  were  coming.
Whatever  it was looked good. Before I could find out for certain, though, a
member of the general house staff entered and approached.
     "Lord Merlin," she said, "the queen would like to see you."
     I was on my feet immediately. "Where is she?"
     "I'll take you to her."
     I excused myself from my companions, borrowing the  line  that  I'd  be
right  back,  wondering  if  it were true. I followed her out and around the
corner to a small sitting room, where she  left  me  with  Vialle,  who  was
seated  in  an  uncomfortable-looking  high-backed  chair  of  dark wood and
leather, held together with cast iron studs. If she'd wanted  muscle,  she'd
have  sent  for Gerard. If she'd wanted a mind full of history and political
connivance, Llewella would be here. So I was  guessing  it  involved  magic,
since I was the authority in residence.
     But I was wrong.
     "I'd  like to speak to you," she said, "concerning a small state of war
in which we, seem about to become engage.

CHAPTER 8

     After a pleasant time with a  pretty  lady,  a  series  of  stimulating
hallway  conversations,  and  a  relaxing dinner with family and friends, it
seemed  almost  fitting  that  it  be  time  for  something  different   and
distracting.  The  idea  of  a small war seemed, at least, better than a big
one, though I did not say that to Vialle. A moment's careful thought, and  I
shaped the query:
     "What's going on?"
     "Dalt's  men  are  dug  in  near  the western edge of Arden," she said.
"Julian's are strung out facing them. Benedict has taken  Julian  additional
men  and  weapons. He says he can execute a flanking movement that will take
Dalt's line apart. But I told him not to."
     "I don't understand. Why not?"
     "Men will die," she said.
     "That's the way it is in war. Sometimes you have no choice."
     "But we do have a choice, of  sorts,"  she  said,  "one  that  I  don't
understand.  And I do want to understand it before I give an order that will
result in numerous of deaths."
     "What is the choice?" I asked.
     "I came here to respond to a Trump message from Julian," she said.  "He
had  just  spoken  with  Dalt  under a flag of truce. Dalt told him that his
objective was not, at this time, the destruction of Amber.  He  pointed  out
that  he could conduct an expensive attack, though, in terms of our manpower
and equipment. He said he'd rather save himself and us the expense, however.
What he really wants is for us to turn two prisoners over to him-Rinaldo and
Jasra."
     "Huh?" I said. "Even if we wanted to, we can't give him Luke. He's  not
here."
     "That  is  what  Julian  told  him.  He seemed very surprised. For some
reason, he believed we had Rinaldo in custody."
     "Well, we're not obliged to provide the man with an education. I gather
he's bean something of a pain for years. I  think  Benedict  has  the  right
answer for him."
     "I did not call you in for advice," she said.
     "Sorry," I told her. "It's just that I don't like seeing someone trying
to pull  a  stunt  like  this  and  actually  believing  he  has a chance of
success."
     "He has no chance of success," Vialle stated. "But if we kill him  now,
we learn nothing. I would like to find out what is behind this."
     "Have Benedict bring him in. I have spells that will open him up."
     She shook her head.
     "Too  risky,"  she  explained.  "Once bullets start flying, there's the
chance one might find him. Then we lose even though we win."
     "I don't understand what it is that you want of me."
     "He asked Julian to get in touch with us and  relay  his  demand.  He's
promised  to  hold the truce until we give him some sort of official answer.
Julian says he has the impression that Dalt would settle for either  one  of
them."
     "I don't want to give him Jasra either."
     "Neither  do  I. What I do want very badly is to know what is going on.
There would be small point in releasing Jasra and asking her, since this  is
a  recent  development.  I want to know whether you have means of getting in
touch with Rinaldo. I want to talk to him."
     "Well, uh . . . yes," I said. "I have a Trump for him."


     "Use it."
     I got it out. I regarded it. I moved my mind into that special area  of
alertness and calling. The picture changed came alive. . . .
     It  was  twilight,  and  Luke stood near a campfire. H had on his green
outfit, a light brown cloak about his shoulders clasped  with  that  Phoenix
pin.
     "Merle," he said. "I can move the troops pretty fast.. When do you want
to hit the place and-"
     "Put it on hold," I interrupted. "This is something different. "
     "What?"
     "Dalt's  at  the  gates; and Vialle wants to talk to you before we take
him apart."
     "Dalt? There? Amber?"
     "Yes, yes, and yes. He says he'll go and play someplace else if we give
him the two things he wants most in the world: you and your mother."
     "That's crazy."
     "Yeah. We think so, too. Will you talk to the queen about it?"
     "Sure. Bring me thr-" He hesitated and looked into my eyes.
     I smiled.
     He extended his hand. I reached forward and took it. Suddenly,  he  was
there. He looked about, saw Vialle. Immediately, he unclasped his sword belt
and  passed  it  to  me.  He  approached her, dropped to his right knee, and
lowered his head.
     "Your Majesty," he said. "I've come."
     She reached forward and touched him.
     "Raise your head," she said.
     He did, and her sensitive fingers slid over the plane and arches of his
face.
     "Strength," she said, "and sorrow. . .  .  So  you're  Rinaldo.  You've
brought us some grief."
     "It works both ways, Your Majesty."
     "Yes,  of  course," she replied. "Wrongs done and wrongs avenged have a
way of spilling over on the innocent. How far will it go this time?"
     "This thing with Dalt?" he asked.
     "No. This thing with you."
     "Oh," he said. "It's  over.  I've  done  with  it.  No  more  bombs  or
ambushes. I've already told Merlin that."
     "You've known him for several years?"
     "Yes. "
     "You've become friends?"
     "He's one of the reasons I'm calling it off."
     "You  must  trust  him,  to come here. I respect that," she said. "Take
this."
     She removed a ring she wore upon her right forefinger. The band was  of
gold,  the  stone  a  milky  green; the prongs of its setting caught it in a
fashion to suggest some mantic spider guarding dreamland  treasures  against
the daybreak world.
     "Your Majesty. . . ."
     "Wear it;" she said.
     "I  will,"  he  replied, slipping it upon the little finger of his left
hand. "Thank you. "
     "Rise. I want you to know exactly what has occurred."
     He got to his feet, and she began telling him what  she  had  told  me,
concerning  Dalt's  arrival,  his  forces' disposition, his demands, while I
stood stunned at the implications of what she had done. She had just  placed
Luke under her protection. Everyone in Amber knew that ring. I wondered what
Random  would think. I realized then that there would not be a hearing. Poor
Bill. I believe he was really looking forward to arguing Luke's case.
     "Yes, I know Dalt," I heard him saying. "Once we shared . .  .  certain
goals.  But  he's changed. He tried to kill me the last time we met. I'm not
sure why. At first I thought the wizard of the Keep  had  taken  control  of
him."
     "And now?"
     "Now,  I  just  don't understand. I've a feeling he's on a leash, but I
don't know who holds it."


     "Why not the wizard?"
     "It makes no sense to go to these lengths to claim me when  he  had  me
and let me go just a few days ago. He could simply have left me in my cell."
     "True," she replied. "What is this wizard's name?"
     "Mask," he answered. "Merlin knows more about him than I do."
     "Merlin," she said. "Who is this Mask?"
     "He's the wizard who took the Keep of the Four Worlds away from Jasra,"
I explained,  "who,  in  turn, had taken it away from Shah Ganul, who is now
also a coatrack. Mask wears a blue mask and  seems  to  draw  power  from  a
strange  fountain in the citadel there. Doesn't seem to like me much either.
That's about all I can tell you."
     I'd omitted mentioning my plan to head that way for  a  showdown  soon,
because of Jurt's involvement, for the same reason I hadn't wanted Random to
know  about  it.  I  was  certain Luke had tossed me the question because he
wasn't sure how far I wanted it taken.
     "That doesn't  really  tell  us  much,"  she  decided,  "as  to  Dalt's
involvement."
     "There may not be a connection," I said. "I gather Dalt is a mercenary,
and their  relationship could have been a one-time thing. He could either be
working for someone else now or pulling something on his own."
     "I can't see why anybody wants us badly enough to go to  such  dramatic
lengths,"  Luke  said.  "But  I've  a score to settle with that guy, and I'm
going to combine business with pleasure. "
     "What do you mean?" she asked.
     "I assume there's a way to get down there in a hurry," he said.
     "One could always trump through to Julian," I said, but what  have  you
got in mind, Luke?"
     "I want to talk to Dalt."
     "It's too dangerous," she said, "since you're what he wants."
     Luke grinned. "It could be a bit dangerous for Dalt, too," he replied.
     "Wait a minute," I said. "If you've got more in mind than just talking,
you could blow this truce. Vialle's trying to avoid a conflict here."
     "There  won't be any conflict," Luke said. "Look, I've known Dalt since
we were kids, and I think he's bluffing. He does that sometimes.  He  hasn't
got  the  kind  of  force  to  risk another attack on Amber. Your guys would
slaughter him. If he wants Mom or me, I think he'd be  willing  to  tell  me
why, and that's what we want to find out, isn't it?"
     "Well, yes," I said. "But-"
     "Let  me  go,"  he  said to Vialle, "and I'll find a way to get him off
your back. I promise."
     "You tempt me," she told him. "But I don't like your talk  of  settling
accounts  with  him  at  this  time.  As  Merlin  said, I want to avoid this
conflict-for more than one reason."
     "I promise not to let it go that far," he stated. "I can read the dice.
I'm good at playing things by ear. I'm willing to postpone gratification."
     "Merlin . . . ?" she said.
     "He's right, in that," I answered. "He's the deadliest salesman in  the
southwest."
     "I'm afraid I don't understand the concept."
     "It's  a  highly  specialized  art,  back  on that Shadow Earth we both
inhabited. In fact, he's using it on you right now."
     "Do you think he can do what he says?"
     "I think he's very good at getting what he wants."
     "Exactly," Luke observed. "And since we both want the same thing  here,
I think the future looks bright for all of us."
     "I  see  what  you mean," she said. "How much danger would this put you
near, Rinaldo?"
     "I'll be as safe as I am right here in Amber," he said.
     She smiled.


     "All right, I'll speak to Julian," she agreed, "and you can go  to  him
and see what you can learn from Dalt."
     "A  moment,"  I  requested, "It's been snowing on and off, and that's a
pretty nasty wind out there. Luke just came in from a more temperate  clime,
and  it's  a pretty flimsy-looking cloak he has on. Let me get him something
warmer. I've a nice heavy one he can take, if he finds it suitable."
     "Go ahead," she said.
     "We'll be right back."
     She pursed her lips, then nodded.
     I passed Luke his weapons belt and he buckled it on. I  knew  that  she
knew  I  just  wanted  to  talk  to him alone for a few minutes. And she was
certainly aware that I knew it. And we  both  knew  she  trusted  me,  which
brightens my existence, as well as complicating it.
     As  we  passed  along the hallway toward my rooms, I'd intended to fill
Luke in concerning the upcoming coronation in Kashfa, as well as a few other
matters. I waited, however, till we were well away firm  the  sitting  room,
because  Vialle  has  inordinately  acute hearing. This, though, gave Luke a
foot in the door, and he began to speak first.
     "What a strange, development," he said. Then, "I like her, but  I've  a
feeling she knows more than she's telling."
     "Probably true," I answered. "I guess we're all like that."
     "You, too?"
     "These days, yes. It's gotten that way."
     "You  know  anything  more  about this situation that I should be aware
of?"
     I shook my head. "This is very new, and she gave you the whole story  I
know. Would you, perchance, know something about it that we don't?"
     "Nope,"  he  said.  "It  came as a surprise to me, too. But I've got to
pursue it."
     "I guess so."
     We were nearing my stretch of corridor  now,  and  I  felt  obliged  to
prepare him.
     "We'll  be  to my rooms in a minute," I said, "and I just wanted you to
know your mother's in  there.  She's  safe,  but  you  won't  find  her  too
talkative."
     "I'm  familiar with the results of that spell," he said. "I also recall
that you said you know how to lift it. So. . That leads into the next topic.
I've been thinking. This interlude is slowing us down a bit in our plan  for
going after Mask and your brother."
     "Not all that much," I responded.
     "We  don't  really  know how long this is going to take me, though," he
went on. "Supposing it drags out a bit? Or supposing  something  happens  to
really slow me down?"
     I gave him a quick glance.
     "Like, what have you got in mind?" I asked.
     "I  don't  know. I'm just supposing. Okay? I like to plan ahead. Say we
get delayed on this attack. . . ."
     "All right. Say that," I said, as we neared my door.
     "What I'm getting at," he continued, "is, what  if  we  get  there  too
late?  Supposing we arrive and your brother has already undergone the ritual
that turns him into hell on wheels?"
     I unlocked my door, opened it, and held it for  him.  I  did  not  like
entertaining  the  possibility  he had just described, because I recalled my
father's stories of the times he'd encountered Brand and faced that  uncanny
power.
     Luke  stepped  inside.  I  snapped my fingers and a number of oil lamps
came to life, their flames dancing for a moment before settling to a glowing
steadiness.
     Jasra was there in plain sight before  him,  holding  a  number  of  my
garments  on  outstretched arms. I was concerned for a moment as to what his
reaction might be.
     He halted, studying her, then  advanced,  his  speculations  concerning
Jurt  forgotten. He regarded her for perhaps ten seconds, and I found myself
growing uncomfortable. Then he chuckled.
     "She always lide being decorative," he said, "but to  combine  it  with
being  useful  was generally beyond her. You've got to hand it to Mask, even
though she probably won't catch the moral of it."
     He turned away and faced me.
     "No, she'll probably wake up mean as cat piss and looking for  trouble,
"  he  reflected.  Then,  "She  doesn't  seem  to  be holding that cloak you
mentioned."
     "I'll get it."
     I moved to an armoire, opened it, and fetched out a dark fur one. As we
traded, he ran his hand over it.
     "Manticore?" he asked.
     "Dire wolf," I said.
     I hung his within and closed the dorr while he donned mine.
     "As I was saying when we came in here," he offered, "supposing I  don't
come back?"
     "You weren't saying that," I corrected.
     "Not  in  so manu words, " he admitted. "But whether it's a small delay
or the big one, what difference does it make? The point  is,  what  if  Jurt
goes through with the ritual and succeeds in obtaining the powers he's after
before  we can do anything about it? And supposing I'm not around right then
to give you a hand?"
     "That's a lot of supposing." I said.
     "That's what separates us from the losers, man. Nice cloak."
     He moved toward the door, glanced back at me, at Jasra.
     "Okay," I said. "You go down there, Dalt cuts off your head and uses it
for a football, then Jurt shows up ten  feet  tall  and  farting  fire.  I'm
supposing. How does that separate us from the losers?"
     He  stepped  out  into  the  hall.  I followed him, snapping my fingers
again, leaving Jasra to the darkness.
     "It's a matter of knowing your options," he told me, as I  secured  the
door.
     I fell into step beside him as he headed back down the hall.
     "A   person   who   acquires  that  kind  of  power  also  picks  up  a
vulnerability, by way of its source," he said.
     "What dows that mean?" I asked.
     "Specifically, I don't know," he told me. "But the power  in  the  Keep
can  be  used  against a person who is empowered by the Keep. I learned that
much in Sharu's notes. But Mom took them away before I read them all, and  I
never saw them again. Never trust - that's her motto. I think."
     "You're saying...?"
     "I'm saying that if something happens to me and he comes up a winner in
this game, I believe she knows some special way of destroying him."
     "Oh."
     "I'm also pretty sure that she'll have to be asked very nicely."
     "Somehow, I think I already knew that."
     He gave a humorless chuckle.
     "So  you tell her that I've ended the vendetta, that I'm satisfied, and
then offer her the citadel in return for her help."
     "What if she says that's not enough?"
     "Hell! Turn her back into a coatrack then! It's not as if the guy can't
be killed. My dad still died with an arrow through his throat,  despite  his
fancy  powers.  A  deathstroke  is  still  a  deathstroke.  It's  just  that
delivering it to a guy like that is a lot harder."
     "You really think that'll be enough?" I said.
     He halted and looked at me, frowning.
     "She'll argue, but of course she'll agree," he said. "It'll be  a  step
up  in  the  world. And she'll want revenge on Mask as much as that piece of
her former holdings. But to answer your question, don't trust her. No matter
what she promises, she'll never be happy with  less  than  she  had  before.
She'll  be  scheming. She'll be a good ally till the job's done. Then you've
got to think about protecting yourself against her. Unless..."
     "Unless what?"
     "Unless I come up with something to sweeten the pot."
     "Like what?"
     "I don't  know  yet.  But  don't  lift  that  spell  until  things  are
definitely settled between Dalt and me. Okay?"
     He resumed walking.
     "Wait a minute," I said "What are you planning?"
     "Nothing  special," he answered. "Like I told the queen, I'm just goint
go play things by ear."
     "I sometimes get the feeling you're as devious as you make her  out  to
be," I said.
     "I hope so," he replied. "But there's a difference. I'm honest."
     "I don't know that I'd buy a used car from you, Luke."
     "Every  deal  I make is special," he said, "and for you it's always top
of the line."
     I glanced at him, saw that he kept his expressioin under control.
     "What else can I say?" he added, indicating the  sitting  room  with  a
quick gesture.
     "Nothing, now," I answered, and we entered there.
     Vialle turned her head in our direction as we came in, hr expression as
unreadable as Luke's.
     "I take it you are properly attired now?" she asked.
     "I am indeed," he answered.
     "Then  let's  be  about this," she said, raising her left hand, which I
saw to contain a Trump. "Come over here, please."
     Luke approached her and I followed him. I could see then  that  it  was
Julian's Trump that she held.
     "Place your hand upon mu shoulder," she told him.
     "All right."
     He  did,  and  she  reached,  found  Julian  and began speaking to him.
Shortly, Luke was party to the conversation, explaining what he intended  to
do. I overheard Vialle saying that the plan had her approval.
     Moments  later I saw Luke raise his free hand and extend it. I also saw
the shadowy figure of Julian reaching forward, though I was not part of  the
Trump  nexus. This was because I had summoned my Logrus Sight and had become
sensitive to such things. I needed it  for  the  timing,  not  wanting  Luke
whisked away before I could move.
     I let my hand fall upon his shoulder and I moved forward as he did.
     "Merlin! What are you doing?" I heard Vialle call.
     "I'd  like  to  see  what  happens," I said. "I'll come right home when
things are concluded," and the rainbow gate closed behind me.
     We stood within the flickering of oil lamps inside a large  tent.  From
outside,  I couild hear the wind and the sounds of stirring branches. Julian
stood  facing  us.  He  let  Luke's  hand  fall  and  regarded  him  without
expression.
     "So you are Caine's killer," he said.
     "I am," Luke replied.
     And   I   was  remembering  that  Caine  and  Julian  had  always  been
particularly close. If Julian were to kill Luke  and  cry  vendetta,  I  was
certain  that  Random  would  merely nod and agree. Perhaps he'd even smile.
Hard to say. If I were Random, I would greet Luke's removal with a sight  of
relief.  In fact, that was one of the reasons I'd come along. Supposing this
whole deal were a setup? I couild'n picture Vialle as a part of it, but  she
could  easily  have  been  deceived  by  Julian and Benedict. Supposing Dalt
wasn't even out there?
     Or suppose he were - and that what he'd really  asked  for  was  Luke's
head?  After  all, he had tried to kill Luke fairly recently. I had to admit
the possibility now, and I also had to admit that Julian was the most likely
candidate to be a willing party to such a design. For the good of Amber.
     Julian's gaze met mine, and I wore as affectless a mask as his own.
     "Good evening, Merlin," he said. "Do you have a special  part  in  this
plan?"
     "I'm an observer," I answered. "Anything else I may do will be dictated
by circumstance."
     From somewhere outside I heard the growling of a hellhound.
     ``So long as you keep out of the,way," Julian said.
     I smiled.
     "Sorcerers have special ways of avoiding notice, " I replied.
     He  studied  me  again,  wondering, I am certain, whether that involved
some sort of threat-to defend Luke or avenge him.
     Then he shrugged and turned  away  to  where  a  small  table  held  an
unrolled  map, weighted in place with a rock and a dagger. He indicated that
Luke should join him there, and I followed when he did.
     It was a map of the western fringe of Arden, and he'  pointed  out  our
position on it. Garnath lay to our sout-southwest, Amber to the southeast.
     "Our troops are situated here;" he said, with a movement of his finger.
"And Dalt's  are  here."  He described another line, roughly paralleling our
own.
     "What about Benedict's force?" I inquired.
     He glanced at me, showing the slightest of frowns.
     "It is good for Luke to know that there is such a  force,"  he  stated,
"but not its size, location, or objective. That way, if Dalt were to capture
and  question  him,  i"  he'd  have  a lot to worry about and nothing to act
upon."
     Luke nodded. "Good idea," he said.
     Julian pointed again, to a spot midway between the lines. "This is  the
place  where  I  met with him when we spoke earlier," he explained. "It is a
clear, level area, in view of both sides during daylight. I'd suggest we use
it again, for your meeting."
     "All right," Luke said, and  I  noticed  that  as  he  spoke,  Julian's
fingertips caressed the handle of the dagger that lay before him. Then I saw
that  Luke's right hand, in casual movement, had come to rest upon his belt,
slightly to the left and near to his own dagger.
     Simultaneously, then, Luke and Julian smiled at each other, and held it
several seconds too long. Luke was bigger than Julian, and  I  knew  he  was
fast  and strong. But Julian had centuries of experience with weapons behind
him. I wondered how I would intervene if  either  made  a  move  toward  the
other,  because  I  knew  that  I would try to stop them. But they let their
hands fall to their sides then, as if by sudden agreement, and Julian  said,
"Let me offer you a glass of wine."
     "Don't  mind if I do," Luke replied, and I wondered whether my presence
had kept them from fighting. Probably not. I'd the feeling that  Julian  had
just  wanted to make his feelings clear, and Luke had wanted to let him know
he didn't give a damn. I really don't know which one I'd have bet on.
     Julian placed three cups upon the table, filled them with Bayle's Best,
gestured for us to help ourselves as he corked the bottle,  then  picked  up
the  remaining cup and took a swallow before either of us could do more than
sniff ours. A quick assurance that we weren't being  poisoned  and  that  he
wanted to talk business.
     "When I met with him we each brought two retainers along," he said.
     "Armed?" I asked.
     He nodded.
     "More for show, really."
     "Were you mounted or on foot?" Luke asked.
     "On  foot,"  he  replied.  "We each left our lines at the same time and
proceeded at the same pace till we met there in the middle, several  hundred
paces from either side."
     "I see," Luke said. "No hitches?"
     "None. We talked and returned."
     "When was this?"


     "Around sundown. "
     "Did he seem to be a man in a normal state of mind?"
     "I'd say. I count a certain arrogant posturing and a few insults toward
Amber as normal for Dalt."
     "Understandable,"  Luke  said. "And he wanted me or my mother, or both?
And failing to get us, he threatened to attack?"
     "Yes."
     "Did he give any indication as to why he wants us?"
     "None," Julian replied.
     Luke took a sip of his wine.
     "Did he specify whether he wanted us dead or alive?" he asked.
     "Yes. He wants you alive," Julian answered.
     "What are your impressions?"
     "If I give you to him, I'm rid of you," Julian said. "If I spit in  his
eye and take him on in battle, I'm rid
     of him. Either way, I come out ahead."
     Then  his gaze moved to the wine cup, which Luke had picked up with his
left hand, and for an instant his eyes widened. I realized he had just  then
noticed that Luke was wearing Vialle's ring.
     "It looks as if I get to kill Dalt, anyway," he concluded.
     "By  impressions,"  Luke went on, unperturbed. "I meant, do you believe
he will really attack? Do  you  have  any  idea  where  he  came  from?  Any
indication where he might be headed when he leaves here-if he leaves?"
     Julian swirled his wine in his cup.
     "I have to go under the assumption that he means what he says and plans
to attack.  When  we  first  became  aware  of  his  troop movements, he was
advancing from the general direction of Begma and  Kashfa-probably  Eregnor,
since  he  hangs  out  there  a lot. Your guess is as good as anyone's as to
where he wants to go if he leaves here."
     Luke took a quick swallow of wine a fraction of a second too  late  for
it to conceal what appeared to be a sudden smile. No, I realized right then,
Luke's  guess  was not as good as anyone else's. It was probably a hell of a
lot better. I took a quick drink myself, though I'm not sure what expression
I might have been concealing.
     "You can sleep here," Julian said. "If you're hungry,  I'll  have  some
food brought in. We'll set up this meeting for you at daybreak."
     Luke shook his head.
     "Now,"  Luke said, with another subtle but obvious display of the ring.
"We want it set up right away."
     Julian studied him for several pulsebeats. Then, "You'll not be in  the
clearest  sight  of  either  side  in  the dark, especially with snow coming
down," he said. "Some little misunderstanding could  result  in  an  attack,
from either side."
     "If both of my companions bore large torches-and if both of his did the
same-"  he suggested, "we ought to be visible to both sides at a few hundred
yards."
     "Possibly," Julian said. "All right. I'll have the message sent to  his
camp, and I'll choose two retainers to accompany you."
     "I  already  know who I want to have with me," Luke said. "Yourself and
Merlin here."
     "You are a curious individual," Julian observed. "But yes, I  agree.  I
would like to be there when whatever happens, happens."
     Julian moved to the front of his tent, opened the flap, and summoned an
officer with whom he spoke for several minutes. In this space, I asked, "You
know what you're doing, Luke?"
     "Certainly," he replied.
     "I've  a feeling this is a little more than playing it by ear," I said.
"Any reason why you can't tell me your plan?"
     He appraised me for a moment, then said, "I only recently realized that
I, too, am a son of Amber. We've met, and we've seen  that  we're  too  much
like each other. Okay. That's good. It means we can do business, right?"


     I allowed myself to frown. I wasn't sure what he was trying to say.
     He clasped my shoulder lightly.
     "Don't  worry,"  he  said. "You can trust me. Not that you have a great
deal of choice at this point. But you may a a  bit  later.  I  want  you  to
remember then that, whatever happens, you must not interfere."
     "What do you think is going to happen?"
     "We  haven't the time or the privacy to speculate," he said. "So let it
go, and remember everything I said this evening."
     "As you said, I haven't much choice at this point."
     "I want you to remember it later," he said, as Julian lowered the  flap
and turned toward us.
     "I'll  take  you  up on that meal," Luke called to him. "How about you,
Merle? Hungry?"
     "Lord, no!" I replied. "I just sat through a state dinner. "
     "Oh?" he inquired almost too casually. "What was the; ocasion?"
     I began to laugh. It was too much for one day. I was about to tell  him
that we hadn't the time or the rivacy. But Julian had just reopened the tent
flap and was calling for an orderly, and I wanted to throw a few curve balls
through Luke's broken field just to see what they did to his composure.
     "Oh,  it  was  for  the  Begman  prime minister, Orkuz, and some of his
staff," I explained.
     He waited while I pretended to take  a  long  drink  of  wine.  Then  I
lowered it and said, "That's all."
     "Come on, Merlin. What's it about? I've been relatively square with you
recently."
     "Oh?" I said.
     For a minute I didn't think he'd see the humor in it; but then he began
to laugh, too.
     "Sometimes  the  mills  of  the  gods  grind too damned fast and we get
buried in grist," he observed. "Look, how about giving me this one for free.
I don't have anything brief to trade right now. What's he want?"
     "You'll bear in mind that this is classified until tomorrow?"
     "Okay. What happens tomorrow?"
     "Arkans, Duke of Shadburne, gets crowned in Kashfa. "
     "Holy shit!" Luke said. He glanced at Julian, then back  at  me.  "That
was  a  damned  clever  choice  on  Random's part," he said after a time. "I
didn't think he'd move this fast."
     He stared off into some vanishing point for a long while. Then he said,
"Thanks."
     "Well, does it help or hurt?" I asked.
     "Me, or Kashfa?" he said.
     "I hadn't split it down that fine."
     "That's okay, because I'm not sure how to take this. I need to do  some
thinking. Get the big picture."
     I stared at him and he smiled again.
     "It is interesting," he added. "You got anything else for me?"
     "That's enough," I said.
     "Yeah,  probably  you're right," he agreed. "Don't want to overload the
systems. Think we're losing touch with the simple things, old buddy?"
     "Not so long as we know each other," I said.
     Julian dropped the flap, returned to us, and sought his wine cup.
     "Your food will be along in a few minutes," he told Luke.
     "Thanks. "
     "According to Benedict," he said, "you told Random that Dalt is  a  son
of Oberon."
     "I  did,"  Luke  acknowledged.  "One who's walked the Pattern, at that.
Does it make a difference?"
     Julian shrugged.
     "Won't be the first time I've wanted to kill a  relative,"  he  stated.
"By the way, you're my nephew, aren't you?"


     "Right . . . uncle."
     Julian swirled the contents of his cup again.
     "Well,  welcome  to  Amber,"  he said. "I heard a banshee last night. I
wonder if there's any connection?"
     "Change," Luke said. "They mean things are changing and they  wail  for
.what's being lost."
     "Death. They mean death, don't they?"
     "Not always. Sometimes they just show up at turning points for dramatic
effect."
     "Too bad," Julian said. "But one can always hope."
     I  thought Luke was going to say something else, but Julian began again
before he could.
     "How well did you know your father?" he asked.
     Luke stiffened slightly, but answered, "Maybe not well as most. I don't
know. He was like a salesman. Always coming and going. Didn't  usually  stay
with us long."
     Julian nodded.
     "What was he like, near the end?" he inguired.
     Luke studied his hands.
     "Well,  he  wasn't exactly normal, if that's what you mean," he finally
said. "Like I was telling Merlin earlier, I think the process  he  undertook
to gain his powers might have unbalanced him some."
     "I never heard that story."
     Luke shrugged.
     "The details aren't all that important just the results."
     "You're saying he wasn't a bad father before that?"
     "Hell,  I  don't  know. I never had another father to a compare him to.
Why do you ask?"
     "Curiosity. It's a part of his life I knew nothing about."
     "Well, what kind of brother was he?"
     "Wild," Julian said. "We didn't get along all that well. So  we  pretty
much  stayed  out of each other's ways. He was smart, though. Talented, too.
Had a flare for the arts. I was just trying to figure  how  much  you  might
take after him. "
     Luke turned his hands palms upward. "Beats me," he said.
     "Well,  no  matter,"  Julian  replied, setting down his cup and turning
toward the front of the tent  again.  "I  believe  your  food  is  about  to
arrive."
     He  moved  off in that direction. I could hear the tiny crystals of ice
rattling against the  canvas  overhead,  and  a  few  growls  from  outside:
concerto for wind and hellhound. No banshees, though. Not yet.



CHAPTER 9

     I  walked  a pace or so behind Luke, a couple of yards off to his left,
trying to keep even with Julian, who was over to the right. The torch I bore
was a big thing, about six tapering feet of pitchy wood,  sharpened  at  its
terminus  to  make  it  easy  to  drive  into the ground. I held it at arm's
distance, because the oily flames licked and lashed  in  all  directions  in
accord  with  vagaries of the wind. Sharp, icy flakes fell upon my cheek, my
forehead, my hands, with a few catching in my eyebrows and lashes. I blinked
vigorously as the heat of the torch melted them and they ran into  my  eyes.
The  grasses  beneath  my  feet  were  sufficiently  cold to give a brittle,
crunching sensation every time I took a step. Directly ahead I could see the
slow advance of two other torches toward us, and the shadowy figure of a man
who walked between them. I blinked and waited for the flow from one  or  the
other  of his torches to give me a better look. I'd only seen him once, very
briefly, via Trump, back at Arbor House. His hair  looked  golden,  or  even
coppery,  by  what light there was upon it, but I remembered it as a kind of
dirty blond by natural light. His eyes, I recalled, were green, though there
was no way I could see that now. I did begin to realize for the first  time,
however,  that  he  was pretty big-either that or he had chosen fairly short
torchbearers. He had been alone that one time I'd seen him, and I had had no
standard for comparison. As the light from our torches  reached  him  I  saw
that  he  had  on  a  heavy, green sleeveless doublet without a collar, over
something black and also heavy, with sleeves that extended down his arms  to
vanish  within  green  gauntlets.  His trousers were black, as were the high
boots they entered; his cloak was black and lined with an emerald green that
caught our light as the cloak furled about him in shifting, oily  landscapes
of  yellow  and  red. He wore a heavy circular medallion, which looked to be
gold, on a chain about his neck; and though I could not make out the details
of its device, I was certain that it bore a Lion rending a Unicorn. He  came
to a halt about ten or twelve paces from Luke, who stopped an instant later.
Dalt  gestured,  and his retainers drove the butts of their torches into the
ground. Julian and I immediately did the same, and we remained near them, as
Dalt's men were doing. Then Dalt nodded to  Luke,  and  they  both  advanced
again, meeting at the center of the box formed by the lights, clasping right
forearms, staring into each other's eyes. Luke's back was to me, but I could
see  Dalt's  face.  He showed no signs of emotion, but his lips were already
moving. I couldn't hear a word that was being said, between the wind and the
fact that they seemed intentionally to  be  keeping  it  low.  At  least,  I
finally  had  a point of reference for Dalt's size. Luke is about six three,
and I could see that Dalt was several inches taller. I  glanced  at  Julian,
but  he  was  not  looking my way. I wondered how many eyes regarded us from
both sides of the field.
     Julian is always a bad person to check for  reactions.  He  was  simply
watching  the  two  of  them,  expressionless, stolid. I cultivated the same
attitude, and the minutes passed, the snow kept falling.
     After a long while Luke turned away and headed  back  toward  us.  Dalt
moved  off  toward  one of his torchbearers. Luke stopped midway between us,
and Julian and I moved to join him.
     "What's up?" I asked him.
     "Oh," he said, "I think I found a way of settling this without a war."


     "Great," I said. "What did you sell him?"
     "I sold him on the idea of fighting a duel with  me  to  determine  how
this thing goes," he explained.
     "God  damn it, Luke! " I said. "That guy's a pro! And I'm sure he's got
our genetic package for strength. And he's been living in the field all this
time. He's probably in top shape. And he outweighs you and outreaches you."
     Luke grinned.
     "So, I might get lucky," he said. He looked at Julian. "Anyway, if  you
can  get  a  message  back  to the lines and tell them not to attack when we
start this thing, Dalt's side will be holding still for it, too."
     Julian looked over to where one of Dalt's torchbearers had started back
toward his lines. He turned toward his own side then and executed  a  number
of hand signals. Shortly, a man emerged from cover and began jogs toward us.
     "Luke;" I said. ``This is crazy. The only way you're going to win is to
get Benedict for a second and then break a leg."
     "Merle," he said, "let it go. This is between Dalt and me. Okay?"
     "I've  got  a  bunch  of fairly fresh spells," I said. "We can let this
thing start, and then I'll hit him with one at the right time. It'll look as
if you did it."
     "No!" he said. "This really is a matter of honor. So you've got to stay
out of it."
     "Okay," I said, "if that's how you want it."
     "Besides, nobody's going to die," he explained. "Neither  of  us  wants
that  right now, and it's part of the deal. We're too valuable to each other
alive. No weapons. Strictly mano a mono. " .
     "Just what," Julian inquired, "is the deal?"
     "If Dalt whips my ass," Luke replied, "I'm his prisoner. He'll withdraw
his force and I'll accompany him."
     "Luke, you're crazy!" I said.
     Julian glared at me.
     "Continue," he said.
     "If I win, he's my prisoner," he went on. "He  goes  back  with  me  to
Amber,  or  anywhere else I care to transport him, and his officers withdraw
his troops."
     "The only way of assuring such a withdrawal," Julian said, "is  to  let
them know that if they don't they're doomed."
     "Of course," Luke said. "That's why I told him that Benedict is waiting
in the  wings to roll down on him. I'm sure it's the only reason he's agreed
to do this."
     "Most astute," Julian observed. "Either way, Amber wins. What  are  you
trying to buy with this, Rinaldo, for yourself?"
     Luke smiled.
     "Think about it," he said.
     "There is more to you than I'd thought, Nephew," he replied. "Move over
there to my right, would you?"
     "Why?"
     "To  block  his  view  of  me, of course. I've got to let Benedict know
what's going on."
     Luke moved while Julian located his Trumps  and  ╔s  shuffled  out  the
proper  one. In the meantime the runner from our lines had come up and stood
waiting. Julian put away all of the cards but one then,  and  commenced  his
communication.  It  lasted  for  a minute or so, then Julian paused to speak
with  the  runner  and  send  him  back.  Immediately,  he   continued   the
conversation  with  the  card. When he finally stopped talking or seeming to
listen, he did not restore the Trump to the inner pocket where he  kept  the
others,  but  retained it in his hand out of sight. I realized then that the
contact would not be broken, that he would stay in touch with Benedict until
this business was finished, so that Benedict would know in an  instant  what
it was that he must do.
     Luke unfastened the cloak I'd lent him, came over, and handed it to me.
     "Hold this till I'm done, will you?" he said.
     "Yes," I agreed, accepting it. "Good luck."
     He  smiled  briefly and turned away. Dalt was already moving toward the
center of the square.
     Luke advanced, also. He and Dalt both halted, facing each other,  while
there  were still several paces separating them. Dalt said something I could
not hear, and Luke's reply was lost to me, also.
     Then they raised their arms. Luke struck a boxer's stance,  and  Dalt's
hands came up in a wrestler's defense.Luke threw the first punch-or maybe it
was  just  a  feint;  either  way,  it  didn't land-toward Dalt's face. Dalt
brushed at it and stepped back, and Luke moved in  quickly  and  landed  two
blows  on  his midsection. Another shot at his face was blocked, though, and
Luke began to circle, jabbing. Dalt tried rushing twice then and got clipped
both times, a little trickle of blood coming from his lip after  the  second
one.  On  his  third  rush, though, he sent Luke sprawling but was unable to
crash down on top of him, as Luke was able to twist  partly  away  and  roll
when  he  hit. He tried kicking Dalt in the right kidney, though, as soon as
he'd scrambled to his feet, and Dalt caught his ankle and rose, bearing  him
over  backward.  Luke  landed  a kick on the side of his knee with his other
foot as he went down, but Dalt kept hold  of  the  foot,  bearing  down  and
beginning  to twist. Luke bent forward then, grimacing, and managed to catch
Dalt's right wrist with both hands and tear his  foot  free  of  the  larger
man's  grip.  He  doubled  and  moved forward then, still holding the wrist,
regaining his feet and straightening as he advanced,  passing  under  Dalt's
arm  on  his  right  side,  turning,  and  dragging him face downward to the
ground. He moved quickly then, bending the arm up into a hammerlock, holding
it with his right hand and seizing a handful of Dalt's hair with  his  left.
But  as he drew Dalt's head backward-preparatory, I was certain, to slamming
it a few times against the ground-I saw that it wasn't going to  work.  Dalt
stiffened,  and  his  arm  started to move downward. He was straightening it
against Luke's lock. Luke tried pushing Dalt's head  forward  several  times
then,  without effect. It became apparent that if he released either hand he
was in trouble, and he wasn't able to maintain the hold. Dalt was  just  too
damned  strong.  Seeing  this,  Luke  threw all of his weight against Dalt's
back, pushed, and sprang up. He wasn't quite fast enough,  however,  because
Dalt's  freed  arm  swung  around and clipped him across the left calf as he
moved away. Luke stumbled. Dalt was up and swinging immediately.  He  caught
Luke with a wild haymaker that knocked him over backward. This time, when he
threw  himself  upon  Luke, Luke was unable to roll free; he only managed to
turn his body partly. Dalt landed with considerable force, twisting  past  a
slow knee aimed toward his groin. Luke did not get his hands free in time to
defend  against  a  punch  that  caught  him on the left side of the jaw. He
turned with it and fell completely flat. Then his right hand snapped upward,
its heel striking the point of Dalt's chin, fingers hooking toward the eyes.
Dalt jerked his head back and slapped the hand away.  Luke  threw  a  hammer
blow  toward  his  temple with the other hand, and though it connected, Dalt
was already moving his head to the side, and I couldn't see that it had  any
effect.  Luke  dropped  both  elbows to the ground and pushed himself up and
forward, bowing. His forehead struck Dalt's facewhere, I  am  not  precisely
certain-before he fell back. Moments later, Dalt's nose began bleeding as he
reached  out  with  his left hand to grasp Luke by the neck. His right hand,
open, slapped Luke hard on the side of the head. I  saw  Luke's  teeth  just
before  it  landed, as he tried biting at the incoming hand, but the grip on
his neck prevented this. Dalt moved to repeat the blow, but this time Luke's
left arm came up and blocked it, while his right hand caught hold of  Dalt's
left  wrist  in  an  effort to pull it away from his neck. Dalt's right hand
snaked in past Luke's left then, to take hold, creating a two-handed grip on
Luke's neck, thumbs moving to depress the windpipe.
     I thought that might well be it. But Luke's right hand  suddenly  moved
to Dalt's left elbow, his left hand crossed both of Dalt's arms to seize the
left  forearm, and Luke twisted his body and cranked the elbow skyward. Dalt
went over to the left and Luke rolled to the right and regained his footing,
shaking his head as he did so. This time he did not try  kicking  Dalt,  who
was already recovering. Dalt again extended his arms, Luke raised his fists,
and they began circling once more.
     The  snow  continued  to fall, the wind to slacken and surge, sometimes
driving the icy flakes hard against faces, other times permitting  the  snow
to descend like a troubled curtain. I thought of all the troops about me and
wondered  for  a  moment  whether  I  would  find  myself in the middle of a
battlefield when this thing was finally over. The  fact  that  Benedict  was
ready  to  swoop  down  from somewhere and wreak extra havoc did not exactly
comfort me, even though  it  meant  that  my  side  would  probably  win.  I
remembered then that my being there was my own choice.
     "Come on, Luke!" I yelled. "Flatten him!"
     This produced a very odd effect. Immediately, Dalt's torchbearers began
shouting  encouragement  to  him.  Our  voices  must have carried though the
wind's lulls, for shortly there came waves of sound, which I at  first  took
to  be some distant part of the storm and only later realized to be shouting
coming from both lines. Only Julian remained silent, inscrutable.
     Luke continued to circle Dalt,  throwing  jabs  and  trying  occasional
combinations,  and  Dalt  kept  swatting away at them and trying to catch an
arm. Both of them had blood on their faces and both seemed a bit slower than
they had been earlier. I'd a feeling they'd both been hurt,  though  it  was
impossible  to  guess  to  what  extent. Luke had opened a small cut high on
Dalt's left cheek. Both of their faces were beginning to look puffy.
     Luke connected with another body combination, but it was  hard  to  say
how  much  force  there  was  behind the blows. Dalt took them stoically and
found extra energy somewhere to rush forward and attempt  to  grapple.  Luke
was  slow  in  withdrawing  and Dalt managed to draw him into a clinch. Both
tried kneeing the other; both turned their hips and avoided  it.  They  kept
tangling  arms  and  twisting as Dalt continued reaching after a better grip
and Luke kept defeating the efforts while attempting to free an arm wind get
in a punch. Both tried several forehead bashes and instep stompings, but all
of these were avoided by the  other.  Finally,  Luke  succeeded  in  hooking
Dalt's leg, driving him backward to the ground.
     Half  kneeling  atop  him  then,  Luke caught him with a left cross and
followed it immediately with a right. He tried for another  left  then,  and
Dalt  caught  his  fist,  surged upward and threw him back to the ground. As
Dalt hurled himself upon him again, his face a half mask of blood and  dirt,
Luke was somehow able to strike him beneath the heart, but this did not stop
Dalt's  right fist which came down like a falling rock on the side of Luke's
jaw. Dalt followed it with a weak left to the  other  side,  a  weak  right,
paused  to  suck  in  a  great breath, then landed a solid left. Luke's head
rolled to the side and he did not move.
     Dalt crouched there atop him, panting like a dog, studying his face  as
if   suspecting  some  trick,  his  right  hand  twitching  as  if  he  were
contemplating striking again.
     But nothing happened. They remained in that position for ten or fifteen
seconds before Dalt slowly drew himself erect, eased off of Luke  to  Luke's
left,  then rose carefully to his feet, swayed for a second and straightened
fully.
     I could almost taste the death spell I had hung earlier. It would  only
take a few seconds to nail him, and no one would be certain how he had died.
But I wondered what would happen if he were to collapse now, too. Would both
sides  attack?  It  was  neither  this  nor humanitarian considerations that
finally restrained me, however. Instead, it was Luke's words,  "This  really
is a matter of honor. So you've got to stay out of it," and, "Nobody's going
to die. . . . We're too valuable to each other alive."
     Okay.  There  was still no sound of trumpets. No rush of men to combat.
It seemed that things might actually go as had been agreed. This was the way
Luke had wanted it. I was not going to interfere.
     I watched as Dalt knelt and  began  to  raise  Luke  from  the  ground.
Immediately,  he  lowered  him,  then called to his two torchmen to come and
carry him. Dalt rose again and faced Julian as the men advanced.
     "I call upon you to observe the rest of our agreement," he said loudly.
     Julian inclined his head slightly.
     "We will, provided you do," he answered. "Have your men out of here  by
daybreak."
     "We leave now," Dalt replied, and he began to turn away.
     "Dalt!" I called out.
     He turned back and regarded me.
     "My  name  is  Merlin," I said. "We've met, though I don't know whether
you remember."
     He shook his head.
     I raised my right arm and pronounced my most useless and  at  the  same
time flashiest spell. The ground erupted before him, showering him with dirt
and  gravel.  He  stepped back and wiped his face, then looked down into the
rough trench that had appeared.
     "That is your grave," I said, "If Luke's death comes of this."
     He studied me again.
     "Next time I'll remember you," he said, and he turned and followed  the
men who were carrying Luke back to his lines.
     I  looked  over  at  Julian,  who  was  watching me. He turned away and
uprooted his torch. I did the same. I followed him back the way we had come.
     Later, in his tent, Julian observed, "That solves one problem. Possibly
two."
     "Maybe," I said.
     "It takes care of Dalt for the moment."
     "I guess."
     "Benedict tells me the man is already breaking camp."
     "I don't think we've seen the last of him."
     "If that's the best he can manage for an  army  these  days,  it  won't
matter."
     "Don't  you get the impression this was an impromptu mission?" I asked.
"I'd guess he pulled his force together very fast. It makes me think he  had
a tight schedule."
     "You may be right there. But he really gambled."
     "And he won."
     "Yes, he did. And you shouldn't have shown him your power, there at the
end:"
     "Why not?"
     "You'll have a wary enemy if you ever go after him."
     "He needed warning."
     "A  man  like that lives with risks. He calculates and he acts. However
he figures you, he won't change  his  plans  at  this  point.  Besides,  you
haven't  seen  the  last  of  Rinaldo  either.  He's the same way. Those two
understand each other. "
     "You may be right."
     "I am."
     "If the fight had gone the other way, do you think his army would  have
stood for it?" I asked.
     Julian shrugged. "He knew mine would if he won, because he knew I stood
to gain by it. That was sufficient."
     I nodded.
     "Excuse  me," he said. "I have to report this business to Vialle now. I
assume you'll want to trump through when I've finished?"
     "Yes. He produced a card and set about the business. And I found myself
wondering, not for the first time, just what it was that Vialle sensed  when
it came to a Trump contact. I always see the other person myself, and all of
the  others  say that they do, too. But Vialle, as I understood it, had been
blind from birth. I've always felt it would be impolite to ask her, and  for
that  matter it's occurred to me that her answer probably wouldn't make much
sense to a sighted person. I'll probably always wonder, though.
     As Julian addressed her shadowy presence,  I  turned  my  mind  to  the
future. I was going to have to do something about Mask and Jurt soon, and it
looked  now as if I'd be. doing it without Luke. Did I really want to follow
his advice and try to talk Jasra into an alliance against  them?  Would  the
benefits  really  be  worth the risk? And if Ididn't, how would I manage the
thing? Maybe I should make my way back to that strange  bar  and  see  about
renting the Jabberwock. Or the Vorpal Sword. Or both; Maybe -
     I  heard  my  name mentioned, and I drifted back to the present moment,
present problems. Julian was explaining something  to  Vialle,  but  I  knew
there  wasn't  all that much to explain. So I got to my feet, stretched, and
summoned the Logrus Sight.
     I saw her ghostly form clearly when I directed  my  vision  toward  the
area  before  Julian: She was in that same stiff chair where I had last seen
her. I wondered whether she had remained there the entire while or had  just
returned.  I  hoped  she'd  had  a  chance to go back and eat that dessert I
hadn't had a shot at.
     Julian glanced at me, then, "If you're ready to go, she's ready to take
you through," he said.
     I crossed over and stood beside him, dropping the Logrus  vision  as  I
did  so.  I  had  decided  it was not a good idea to bring the forces of the
Logrus and the Pattern into too great a proximity. I reached out and touched
the card, and Vialle's image sprang into full focus. A moment, and it was no
longer an image.
     "Anytime," she said, extending a hand. I reached out and took  hold  of
it gently.
     "So long, Julian," I said, as I stepped forward.
     He did not reply. Or if he did, I didn't catch it.
     "I  did  not  mean for things to go this way," she told me immediately,
not releasing my hand.
     "There was no way of foreseeing what happened," I said.
     "Luke knew," she replied. "It makes sense  now,  doesn't  it?  Some  of
those little remarks he made? He planned the challenge all along."
     "I guess so," I said.
     "He's gambling on something. I wish I knew what."
     "I  can't  help you on that," I answered. "He didn't say anything to me
about it."
     "But you will be the one with whom he will get in  touch,  eventually,"
she said. "I want to know immediately when you hear from him."
     "All right," I agreed.
     She released my hand.
     "It would seem there is nothing more to say, for the moment. "
     "Well,"  I  began,  "there  is another matter I think you ought to know
about."
     "Oh?"
     "It concerns Coral's not being present at dinner this evening."
     "Go on," she said.
     "You are aware that we took a long walk about town today?"
     "I am," she said.
     "We wound up below," I continued, "in the chamber of the Pattern. She'd
expressed a desire to see it."
     "Many visitors do. It is pretty much a matter of  judgment  whether  to
take  them.  Often  they  lose  interest,  though, when they learn about the
stairway."
     "I did tell her about it," I said, "but it didn't discourage her.  When
she got there, she set foot upon the Pattern-"
     "No!"  she  cried.  "You should have watched her more closely! All that
other trouble with Begma . . . and now this! Where is her body?"
     "Good question," I responded. "I don't know. But she was alive the last
time I saw her. You see, she claimed Oberon was her  father,  and  then  she
proceeded to walk the Pattern. When she'd finished, she had it transport her
somewhere.  Now,  her  sister-who  is  aware  that  we  went off together-is
concerned. She was pestering me through dinner as to where Coral might be."
     "What did you tell her?"
     "I told her that I'd left her sister enjoying some, of the beauties  of
the  palace  and  that she might be a bit late to dinner. As things wore on,
though, she seemed to grow more concerned and made me promise to search  for
her  tonight  if  she  didn't  turn up. I didn't want to talk about what had
really happened because I didn't want to go into  the  business  of  Coral's
parentage."
     "Understandable." she replied. "Oh, my."
     I waited, but she said nothing more. I continued to wait.
     Finally,  "I  was  not  aware  of the late king's affair in Begma," she
said, "so it is difficult to assess the impact of this revelation. Did Coral
give you any indication as to how long she intended to stay  away?  And  for
that matter, did you provide her with any means of return?"
     "I gave her my Trump," I said, "but she hasn't been in touch. I got the
impression she didn't intend to be away for too long, though."
     "This  could  be  serious," Vialle decided, "for reasons other than the
obvious. How does Nayda strike you?"
     "She seemed quite sensible,'' I said. "Also, I believe she rather likes
me."
     Vialle brooded a moment, then said, "If word of this gets to Orkuz,  he
could  well  get  the impression that we are holding her hostage against his
proper performance  in  any  negotiations  which  might  arise  out  of  the
situation in Kashfa."
     "You're right. I hadn't thought of that."
     "He will. People tend to think of such matters when dealing with us. So
what we  need  to  do  is  buy  some time and try to turn her up before this
begins looking suspicious."
     "I understand," I said.
     "Most likely, he will send to her quarters soon-if  he  hasn't  already
done  so-to  discover  why  she  was  not  present  at  dinner. If he can be
satisfied now, you will have the entire night in  which  to  try  to  locate
her."
     "How?"
     "You're  the magician. You figure it out. In the meantime, you say that
Nayda is sympathetic?"
     "Very much so. "
     "Good. It seems to me that the best course of action then would  be  to
attempt  to  enlist  her  aid.  I trust you to be tactful and do this in the
least distressing manner possible, of course-"
     "Naturally-" I began.
     "-because of her recent illness," she went on. "All we need to  do  now
is give the second daughter a heart attack."
     "Illness?" I inquired. "She hadn't mentioned anything about that."
     "I'd  imagine the memory is still distressing. She was apparently quite
close to death until very recently, then rallied suddenly  and  insisted  on
accompanying her father on this mission. He's the one who told me about it."
     "She seemed fine at dinner," I said lamely.
     "Well,  try  to keep her that way. I want you to go to her immediately,
tell her what happened as diplomatically as possible, and try to get her  to
cover for her sister while you search for her. There is, of course, the risk
that  she  will  not  believe  you  and  that she will go directly to Orkuz.
Perhaps you might employ a spell to prevent  this.  But  we  have  no  other
choice that I can see. Tell me whether I'm wrong."
     "You're not wrong," I said.
     "Then I suggest you be about it . . . and report back to me immediately
if there are any problems, or any progress, no matter what the hour."
     "I'm on my way," I said.
     I departed the room in a hum but shortly came to a halt. It occurred to
me that  while  I  knew  the  general area of the palace in which the Begman
party was quartered, I did not really know where Nayda's rooms were located.
I did not want to go back and ask Vialle  because  it  would  make  me  look
stupid for not having found out during dinner.
     It  took  me  the better part of ten minutes to turn up a member of the
palace staff able to give me directions - along with a smirk - and  then  to
follow them at a jog until I stood before Nayda's door.
     I  ran  my  hand  through  my hair, brushed off my trousers and jacket,
wiped my boots on the backs of my pants legs, took a  deep  breath,  smiled,
exhaled, and knocked.
     The  door  opened  a  few  moments later. It was Nayda. She returned my
smile and stepped aside.
     "Come in " she said.
     "I was expecting the maid," I told her as  I  entered.  "You  surprised
me."
     "Since I was expecting you, I sent her off to bed early," she replied.
     She  had changed into an outfit that looked like a gray sweat suit with
a black sash. She also had on a pair of black slipper, and she  had  removed
most  of  her  makeup.  Her hair was now drawn back severely and tied with a
black ribbon. She gestured toward a couch,  but  I  did  not  move  to  seat
myself.
     I  clasped  her  shoulder  lightly  and stared into her eyes. She moved
nearer.
     "How are you feeling?" I asked.
     "Find out," she said softly.
     I could not even permit myself a sigh. Duty called. I slipped  my  arms
around  her,  drew  her  to  me, and kissed her. I held the pose for several
seconds, then drew away, smiled again, and  said,  "You  feel  fine  to  me.
Listen, there are some things I did not tell you-"
     "Shall we sit down?" she said, taking my hand and leading me toward the
couch.
     Vialle had told me to be diplomatic, so I followed her.
     Immediately,  she  continued  our embrace and began to add refinements.
Danm! And me constrained to rush her out to cover for Coral. If  she  would,
I'd  be  happy  to  cover  her  afterward. Or any other interesting position
Begmans might go in for. I'd better ask quickly, though, I decided. A couple
of minutes more and it would be very undiplomatic to begin talking about her
sister. Today was just a bad day when it came to timing.
     "Before we get too involved here," I said, "I've got to ask a favor  of
you."
     "Ask me anything," she said.
     "I  think  there's  going  to  be a delay in turning up your sister," I
explained, "and I'd hate to worry your father. Do you know whether he's sent
to her rooms yet, or been by them, to check on her?"
     "I don't believe so. He strolled off with Gerard  and  Mr.  Roth  after
dinner. I don't think he's returned to his apartment yet. "
     "Could  you  possibly  find a way of giving him the impression that she
hasn't strayed? Buy me some time to find out where she's off to?"
     She looked amused.
     "And those things you haven't told me . . . ?"
     "I'll give you the whole story if you'll do this for me."
     She traced my jawline with her index finger.
     "All right," she said then. "We have a deal. Don't go away."
     She rose, crossed the room, and passed out into the hall,  leaving  the
door  a  few inches ajar. Why hadn't I had a nice normal affair since Julia?
The last woman I'd made love to had actually been under the control of  that
strange  body-shifting  entity.  Now  .  .  .  Now there was the faintest of
shadows across the couch, as I realized that I'd  rather  be  holding  Coral
than her sister. That was ridiculous. I'd only known her for half a day. . .
.
     There  had simply been too much activity since my return. I was getting
punchy. That had to be it.


     When she returned she seated herself on the couch again, but this  time
with  a couple of feet separating us. She seemed cheerful enough, though she
made no move to resume our earlier occupation.
     "It's taken care of," she said. "He will be misled, if he asks."
     "Thanks," I told her.
     "Now it's your turn," she stated. "Tell me things."
     "All right," I began, and I launched into the story of  Coral  and  the
Pattern.
     "No," she interrupted. "Start at the beginning, would you?"
     "What do you mean?"
     "Give  me  your  whole  day, from the time you left the palace togethet
until you parted."
     "That's silly," I protested.
     "Humor me," she said. "You owe me one, remember?"
     "Very well," I agreed, and I started again. I was able to skip over the
bit about blasting the table in the  caf╩,  but  when  I  glossed  over  the
business  in  the  sea  caves  by saying that we'd looked around in them and
found them pretty, she interrupted me.
     "Stop," she said. "You're leaving something out. What occurred  in  the
caves?"
     "What makes you say that?" I asked.
     "That  is  a  secret  I  do not care to share just now." she explained.
"Suffice it to say I have a means of spotchecking your veracity."
     "It's not relevant," I said. "It will just confuse  the  issue.  That's
why I omitted it."
     "You said you'd give me the whole afternoon."
     "All right, lady," I agreed, and I did.
     She  bit  her  lip while I told her about Jurt and the zombies, and she
licked idly at the beads of blood that appeared thereafter.
     "What are you going to do about him?" she asked suddenly.
     "That's my problem," I said then. "I promised you the afternoon, not my
memoirs and survival plans."
     "It's just that. . . . Remember, I offered to try to help you?"
     "What do you mean? Do you think you can nail Jurt for me? I've got news
for you: He's practically a candidate for godhood at the moment."
     "What do you mean by `godhood'?" she asked.
     I shook my head.
     "It would take most of the night to tell you this story  properly,  and
we  don't  have  the time, not if I'm going to start looking for Coral soon.
Just let me finish with the business about the Pattern, will you?"
     "Go ahead."
     I did, and she showed no surprise  whatsoever  at  the  matter  of  her
sister's  paternity. I was going to question her as to her lack of reaction.
Then I said, the hell with it. She's done what I wanted, and I  did  what  I
promised. She hasn't had a heart attack. And now it's time to go.
     "That's it," I said, and I added, "Thanks."
     I began to rise, and she moved quickly and was hugging me again.
     I  returned  her embrace for a moment, then said, "I'd really better be
going. ,Coral could be in danger."
     "The hell with her," she said. "Stay with me. We  have  more  important
things to talk about."
     I was surprised by her callousness, but I tried not to show it.
     "I've a duty to her," I said, "and I've got to see to it now."
     "All  right,"  she said, sighing. "I'd better come along and give you a
hand."
     "How?" I asked.
     "You'd be surprised," she told me, and she was on her feet and  smiling
a twisted smile.
     I nodded, feeling that she was probably right.

CHAPTER 10

     We hiked back along the hallway to my apartment. When I opened the door
and summoned  the  lights,  Nayda  did  a fast survey of the first room. She
froze when she saw my coatrack.
     "Queen Jasra!" she said.
     "Yep. She had a disagreement with a sorcerer named Mask," I  explained.
"Guess who won?"
     Nayda  raised  her  left  hand  and  moved  it in a slow pattern-behind
Jasra's neck and down her back, across her chest, then downward again. I did
not recognize any of the movements she was performing.
     "Don't tell me that you're a sorceress, too," I said.  "It  seems  that
everyone I run into these days has had some training in the Art."
     "I am not a sorceress," she answered, "and I've had no such training. I
have only one trick and it is not sorcery, but I use it for everything."
     "And what is that trick?" I asked.
     She  ignored  the  question,  then  said,  "My, she's certainly tightly
bound. The key lies somewhere in the region of her  solar  plexus.  Did  you
know that?"
     "Yes," I replied. "I understand the spell fully."
     "Why is she here?"
     "Partly  because  I  promised her son Rinaldo I'd rescue her from Mask,
and partly as an assurance against his good behavior."
     I pushed the door shut and secured it. When  I  turned  back,  she  was
facing me.
     "Have you seen him recently?" she said in a conversational tone.
     "Yes. Why?"
     "Oh, no special reason."
     "I thought we were trying to help each other, " I said.
     "I thought we were looking for my sister. "
     "It  can  wait  another  minute  if  you  know  something special about
Rinaldo."
     "I was just curious where he might be right now."
     I turned away and moved to the chest  where  I  keep  art  supplies.  I
removed  the  necessary items and took them to my drawing board. While I was
about it, I said, "I don't know where he is."
     I set up the piece of pasteboard, seated myself  and  closed  my  eyes,
summoning  a  mental  image  of  Coral, preliminary to beginning her sketch.
Again, I half wondered whether the  picture  in  my  mind,  along  with  the
appropriate  magical  endorsement,  would be sufficient for contact. But now
was not the time to mess around being experimental. I  opened  my  eyes  and
began  to  draw.  I used the techniques I'd learned in the Courts, which are
different yet similar to those employed in Amber. I was qualified to execute
them in either fashion, but I'm faster with the style I learned first.
     Nayda came over and stood near, watching, not asking whether I  minded.
As it was, I did not.
     "When did you see him last?" she asked.
     "Who?"
     "Luke."
     "This evening," I answered.
     "Where?"
     "He was here earlier.''
     "Is he here now?".
     " No."
     "Where did you last see him?"
     "In the forest of Arden. Why?"


     "It seams a strange place to part."
     I was working on Coral's eyebrows.
     "We parted under strange circumstances," I said.
     A little more work about the eyes, a bit on the her....
     "Strange? In what way?" she asked.
     More color to the cheeks. . . .
     "Never mind," I told her.
     "All right," she said. "It's probably not that important."
     I  decided  against rising to that bait, because I was suddenly getting
something. As had occasionally happened in the past, my concentration on the
Trump as I put the final touches to it was  sufficiently  intense  to  reach
through and....
     "Coral!" I said, as the features moved, perspectives shifted.
     "Merlin . . . ?" she answered. "I . . . I'm in trouble."
     Oddly, there was no background whatever. Just blackness. I felt Nayda's
hand upon my shoulder.
     "Are you all right?" I asked.
     "Yes. . . . It's dark here," she said. "Very dark."
     Of  course.  One  cannot  manipulate Shadow in the absence of light. Or
even see to use a Trump.
     "That's where the Pattern sent you?" I asked.
     "No," she answered.
     "Take my hand," I said. "You can tell me about it afterward.".
     I extended my hand and she reached toward it.
     "They-" she began.
     And with a stinging flash the contact was broken. I felt Nayda  stiffen
beside me.
     "What happened?" she asked.
     "I  don't know. We were suddenly blocked. I can't tell what forces were
involved."
     "What are you going to do?"
     "Try again in a little bit," I said. "If  it  were  a  reaction  thing,
resistance  will  probably  be  high  just now, and it may ease up later. At
least she says she's all right."
     I withdrew the packet of Trumps I normally carry, shufflied out Luke's.
Now seemed as good a time as any to see how he was faring. Nayda glanced  at
the card and smiled.
     "I thought you just saw him a little while ago," she said.
     "A lot can happen in a little while."
     "I'm certain a lot has happened."
     "You think you know something about what's going on with him?" I asked.
     "Yes. I do."
     I raised the Trump. "What?" I said.
     "I'd be willing to wager, you won't get through to him."
     "We'll see."
     I  concentrated  and I reached. I reached again. A minute or so later I
wiped my brow.
     "How'd you know?" I asked.
     "Luke's blocking you. I would, too . . . under the circumstances."
     "What circumstances?"
     She gave me a quirked smile, crossed to a chair, and sat down.
     "Now I have something to trade with you again," she said.
     "Again?"
     I studied her. Something jiggled and  fell  into  place.  "You've  been
calling him `Luke' rather than `Rinaldo,' " I said.
     "So I have."
     "I'd been wondering when you'd show up again."
     She continued to smile.
     "I  went  and  shot  my  eviction-notice  spell,"  I  observed.  "Can't
complain, though. It probably saved my life. Do I owe you that one, in  some
roundabout fashion?"


     "I'm not proud. I'll take it."
     "I'm  going to ask you again what you want, and if you say it's to help
me or to protect me, I'm going to turn you into a coatrack."
     She laughed.
     "I'd have guessed you'd take whatever help you could  get  right  now,"
she said.
     "A lot depends on what you mean by `help' ."
     "If  you'll  tell me what you have in mind, I'll tell you whether I can
be of any assistance."
     "All right," I said. "I'm going to change clothes while I talk, though.
I don't feel like storming a citadel dressed  like  this.  May  I  lend  you
something tougher than a sweat suit?"
     "I'm fine. Start at Arbor House, okay?"
     "Okay," I said, and I proceeded to fill her in while I garbed myself in
tougher  fare.  She was no longer a pretty lady to me, but rather a nebulous
entity in human form. She seated herself while I was talking and  stared  at
the  wall,  or  through  it, over steepled fingers. When I was finished, she
kept staring, and I went over to my drawing board, took  up  Coral's  Trump,
tried  again,  but couldn't get through. I tried Luke's card, also, with the
same results.
     As I was about to replace Luke's Trump, square the deck, and case it, I
glimpsed the next lower card and a  lightning  chain  of  recollections  and
speculations  flashed through my mind. I removed the card and focused on it.
I reached. . . .
     "Yes, Merlin?" he said moments later, seated at  a  small  table  on  a
terrace-evening  skyline of a city behind him-lowering what appeared to be a
cup of espresso to a tiny white saucer.
     "Right now. Hurry," I said. "Come to me."
     Nayda had begun to make a  low  growling  sound  just  as  the  contact
occurred,  and she was on her feet and moving toward me, her eyes fixed upon
the Trump, just as Mandor took my hand and stepped through. She halted  when
the  tall, black-garbed figure appeared before her. They regarded each other
without expression for a moment, and then  she  took  a  long  sliding  step
toward him, her hands beginning to rise. Immediately, from the depth of some
inner  cloak  pocket  where  his right hand was thrust, there came a single,
sharp, metallic click.
     Nayda froze.
     "Interesting," Mandor said, raising his left hand  and  passing  it  in
front  of her face. Her eyes did not follow it. "This is the one you told me
about earlier-Vinta; I believe, you called her?"
     "Yes, only now she's Nayda."
     He produced a small, dark metal ball from somewhere and  held  it  upon
the  palm  of  his left hand, which he extended before her. Slowly, the ball
began to move, describing a counterclockwise circle. Nayda emitted a  single
sound,  something  halfway between a cry and a gasp, and she dropped forward
to her hands and knees, head lowered. From where I stood I could see  saliva
dripping from her mouth.
     He  said something very fast, in an archaic form of Thari which I could
not follow. She responded in the affirmative.
     "I believe I've solved your mystery," he said then. "Do you recall your
lessons on Respondances and High Compellings?"
     "Sort of," I said. "Academically. I was never exactly swept away by the
subject."
     "Unfortunate," he stated. "You  should  report  back  to  Suhuy  for  a
postgraduate course sometime."
     "Are you trying to tell me . . . ?"
     "The  creature  you see before you, inhabiting a not unattractive human
form, is a ty'iga, " he explained.
     I stared. The ty'iga were a nornially  bodiless  race  of  demons  that
dwelled  in  the  blackness  beyond the Rim. I recalled being told that they
were very powerful and very difficult to control.


     "Uh . . , can you make this one stop slobbering on my carpet?" I said.
     "Of course," he replied, and he released the sphere, which fell to  the
floor  before  her.  It  did  not  bounce,  but  began  immediately to roll,
describing a rapid circuit about her.
     "Stand up," he said, "and stop releasing bodily fluids upon the floor."
     She did as he ordered, climbing to her feet, her expression vacant.
     "Seat yourself in that chair," he directed, indicating the one she  had
occupied but minutes earlier.
     She  complied, and the rolling ball adjusted itself to her progress and
continued its circle, about the chair now.
     "It cannot vacate that body," he said then, "unless I release it. And I
can cause it any amount of torment within my sphere of power. I can get  you
your answers now. Tell me what the questions are."
     "Can she hear us right now?"
     "Yes, but it cannot speak unless I permit it."
     "Well, there's no point to causing unnecessary pain. T'he threat itself
may be sufficient. I want to know why she's been following me about."
     "Very well," he said. "That is the question, ty'iga. Answer it!"
     "I follow him to protect him," she said, her voice flat.
     "I've already heard that one," I said. "I want to know why."
     "Why?" Mandor repeated.
     "I must," she answered.
     "Why must you?" he asked.
     "I.  .  .  ." Her teeth raked her lower lip and the blood began to flow
again.
     "Why?"
     Her face grew flushed and beads of perspiration appeared upon her brow.
Her eyes were still unfocused, but they brimmed with tears. A thin  line  of
blood  trickled down her chin. Mandor extended a clenched fist and pened it,
revealing another metal ball. He held this one about ten inches  before  her
brow, then released it. It hung in the air.
     "Let  the  doors of pain be opened," he said, and he flicked it lightly
with a fingertip.
     Immediately, the small sphere began to move. It passed about  her  head
in  a  slow ellipse, coming close to her temples on each orbit. She began to
wail.
     "Silence!" he said. "Suffer in silence!"
     The tears ran down her cheeks, the blood ran down her chin. . . .
     "Stop it!" I said.
     "Very well." He reached over and squeezed the ball for a moment between
the thumb and middle finger of his  left  hand.  When  he  released  it,  it
remained  stationary,  a  small  distance before her right ear. "Now you may
answer the question," he said. "That was but the smallest sample of  what  I
can do to you. I can push this to your total destruction."
     She opened her mouth but no words came forth. Only a gagging sound.
     "I  think we may be going about this wrong," I said. "Can you just have
her speak normally, rather than this question-and-answer business?"
     "You heard him," Mandor said. "It is my will, also."
     She gasped, then said, "My hands. . . . Please free them."
     "Go ahead," I said.
     "They are freed," Mandor stated.
     She flexed her fingers.
     "A handkerchief, a towel . . . ," she said softly.
     I drew open a drawer in a nearby dresser, took out a handkerchief. As I
moved to pass it to her, Mandor seized my wrist and  took  it  from  me.  He
tossed it to her and she caught it.
     "Don't reach within my sphere," he told me.
     "I wouldn't hurt him," she said, as she wiped her eyes, her cheeks, her
chin. "I told you, I mean only to protect him. "
     "We require more information than that," Mandor said, as he reached for
the sphere again.
     "Wait,"  I  said. Then, to her, "Can you at least tell me why you can't
tell me?"
     "No," she answered. "It would amount to the same thing."
     Suddenly I saw it as a strange  sort  of  programming  problem;  and  I
decided to try a different tack.
     "You  must  protect  me  at  all costs?" I said. "That is ;your primary
function?"
     "Yes. "
     "And you are not supposed to tell me who set you this task, or why?"
     "Yes."
     "Supposing the only way you could protect me would  be  by  telling  me
these things?"
     Her brow furrowed.
     "I . . . ," she said. "I don't. , . . The only way?"
     She  closed her eyes and raised her hands to her face. "I. . . . Then I
would have to tell you. "
     "Now we're getting somewhere," I said. "You would be willing to violate
the secondary order in order to carry out the primary one?"
     "Yes, but what you have described is not a real situation," she said.
     "I see one that is," Mandor said  suddenly.  "You  cannot  follow  that
order  if  you  cease  to exist. Therefore, you would be violating it if you
permit yourself to be destroyed. I will destroy you unless you answer  those
questions."
     She smiled.
     "I don't think so," she said.
     "Why not?"
     "Ask Merlin what the diplomatic situation would be if a daughter of the
Begman  prime  minister  were  found  dead  in  his  room  under  mysterious
circumstances-especially when he's already responsible for the disappearance
of her sister."
     Mandor frowned and looked at me.
     "I don't understand what that's all about," he said.
     "It doesn't matter," I told him. "She's lying. If something happens  to
her,  the real Nayda simply returns. I saw it happen with George Hansen, Meg
Devlin, and Vinta Bayle."
     "That is what would normally occur," she said, "except for  one  thing.
They  were  all  alive when I took possession of their bodies. But Nayda had
just died, following a severe  illness.  She  was  exactly  what  I  needed,
though,  so  I took possession and healed the body. She is not here anymore.
If I depart, you'll be left either with a corpse or a human vegetable."
     "You're bluffing," I said, but I remembered Vialle's saying that  Nayda
had been ill.
     "No," she said. "I'm not."
     "It doesn't matter," I told her.
     "Mandor,"  I  said,  turning  to  him,  "you said you can keep her from
vacating that body and following me?"
     "Yes," he replied.
     "Okay, Nayda," I said. "I am going somewhere and I am going  to  be  in
extreme  danger  there.  I am not going to permit you to follow me and carry
out your orders."
     "Don't," she answered.
     "You give me no choice but to  keep  you  pent  while  I  go  about  my
business."
     She sighed.
     "So  you've  found a way to get me to violate one order in order to get
me to carry out the other. Very clever."
     "Then you'll tell me what I want to know?"
     She shook her head.
     "I am physically unable to tell you," she said. "It is not a matter  of
will. But . . . I think I've found a way around it."
     "What is that?"


     "I  believe  I  could  confide  in a third party who alstt desires your
safety."
     "You mean-"
     "If you will leave the room for a time, I will try to tell your brother
those things I may not explain to you."
     My eyes met Mandor's. Then, "I'll step out in the hall for  a  bit,"  I
said.
     And  I  did. A lot of things bothered me as I studied a tapestry on the
wall, not the least being that I had never  told  her  that  Mandor  was  my
brother.
     When  my  door  opened  after  a  long  while,  Mandor  looked  in both
directions. He raised his hand when I began to move toward  him.  I  halted,
and  he  stepped outside and came toward me. He continued to glance about as
he advanced.
     "This is Amber palace?" he inquired.
     "Yes. Not the most fashionable wing, perhaps, but I call it home."
     "I'd like to see it under more relaxed circumstances," he said.
     I nodded. "It's a date. So tell me, what happened in there?"
     He looked away, discovered the tapestry, studied it.
     "It's very peculiar," he said. "I can't."
     "What do you mean?"
     "You still trust me, don't you?"
     "Of course."
     "Then trust me in this. I've a good reason for not telling you  what  I
learned."
     "Come on, Mandor! What the hell's going on?"
     "The  ty'iga  is  not  a  danger to you. It really does care about your
welfare."
     "So what else is new? I want to know why. "
     "Leave it," he said, "for now. It's better that way."
     I shook my head. I made a fist and looked around for something to hit.
     "I know how you feel, but I'm asking you to drop it," he said.
     "You mean the knowledge would hurt me in some way?"
     "I didn't say that."
     "Or do you mean that you're afraid to tell me?"
     "Drop it'" he said.
     I turned away and got control of myself.
     "You must have a good reason," I finally decided.
     "I do."
     "I'm not going to give up on this," I told him. "But I haven't the time
to pursue it further against this kind of resistance. Okay,  you  have  your
reasons and I have pressing business elsewhere."
     "She  mentioned  Jurt  and  Mask  and  the  Keep where Brand gained his
powers," he said.
     "Yes, that's where I'll be heading."
     "She expects to accompany you."
     "She is wrong."
     "I would counsel against taking her, too."
     "You'll keep her for me until I've taken care of things?"
     "No," he said, "because I'm coming with you. I'll put her into  a  very
deep trance, though, before we depart."
     "But  you  don't  know what's been going on since our dinner. A lot has
happened, and I just haven't the time to bring you up to date."
     "It doesn't matter," he said. "I know that it  involves  an  unfriendly
sorcerer,  Jurt,  and  a dangerous place. That's enough. I'll come along and
give you a hand."
     "But that may not be  enough,"  I  countered.  "We  may  not  be
enough."
     "Even so, I think the ty'iga could turn into a hindrance."
     "I  wasn't  referring  to her. I was thinking about the stiff lady near
the door.''
     "I'd meant to ask you about her. Some enemy you're I punishing?"


     "She had been an enemy, yes. And she's nasty, untrustworthy, and has  a
poisonous bite. She's also a deposed queen. I didn't freeze her, though. The
sorcerer  who's after me did it. She's the mother of a friend, and I rescued
her and brought her back here for safekeeping. I had no reason for releasing
her, until now."
     "Ah, as an ally against her old enemy."
     "Exactly. She's well acquainted with the place I'm  t  going.  But  she
doesn't  like  me  and  she's  not easy to deal with-and I don't really know
whether her son gave me enough ammunition to make her trustworthy."
     "Do you feel she'd be a real asset?"
     "Yes. I'd like to have all of that animus on my side. And I  understand
she's an accomplished sorceress."
     "If additional persuading is needed, there are only threats and bribes.
I've a  few  private  hells  I've designed and furnished-for purely esthetic
reasons. She might find a quick tour very impressive. On the other  hand,  I
could send for a pot of jewels."
     "I  don't  know," I said. "Her motivations are somewhat complex. Let me
handle this, as far as I'm able."
     "Of course. Those were only suggestions."
     "As I see it, the next order of business  is  to  rouse  her,  put  the
proposition to her, and attempt to judge her response."
     "There  is  no  one else you might bring along, from among your kinsmen
here?"
     "I' m afraid to let any of them know I' m going. It could easily result
in an order not to, until Random gets back.  I  haven't  the  time  to  wait
around."
     "I might summon some reinforcement from the Courts. "
     "Here? To Amber? I'd really be up shit creek if Random ever got wind of
that. He might start suspecting subversion."
     He smiled.
     "This place reminds me a bit of home," he remarked, turning back toward
my door.
     When  we entered, I saw that Nayda was still seated, her hands upon her
knees, staring at a metal ball that hovered about a  foot  before  her.  The
other continued its slow circuit down on the floor.
     Seeing  the  direction  of my gaze, Mandor remarked, "Very light trance
state. She can hear us. You can rouse her in an instant if you wish."
     I nodded and fumed away. Now it was Jasra's turn.
     I removed all of the garments I'd hung upon her and placed  them  on  a
chair  across  the room. Then I fetched a cloth and the basin and washed the
clown makeup off her face.
     "Am I forgetting anything?" I said, half to myself.
     "A glass of water and a mirror," Mandor stated.
     "What for?"
     "She may be thirsty," he replied, "and I can just tell she'll  want  to
look at herself."
     "You  may  have  a  point  there,"  I said, drawing up a small table. I
placed a pitcher and a goblet upon it; also, a hand mirror.
     "I'd also suggest you support her, in case she collapses when the spell
is removed."
     "True."
     I placed my left arm about her shoulders, thought of her  deadly  bite,
stepped back, and held her at arm's distance with the one hand.
     "If  she  bites me, it will knock me out almost instantly," I said. "Be
ready to defend yourself quickly if this occurs."
     Mandor tossed another metal ball into the air. It  hung  there  for  an
unnaturally  long  moment  at  the  top of its arc, then dropped back to his
hand.
     "All right," I said, and then I spoke the words that raised the spell.
     Nothing as dramatic as I'd feared ensued. She slumped and  I  supported
her.  "You're  safe,"  I  said,  and  added, "Rinaldo knows you're here," to
invoke the most familiar. "Here's a chair. Do you want some water?"
     "Yes," she replied, and I poured some and passed it to her.
     Her eyes were darting, taking in everything as she  drank.  I  wondered
whether  she'd recovered instantly and might not now be stalling for time as
she sipped, her mind racing, spells dancing  at  her  fingertips.  Her  eyes
returned more than once to Mandor, appraising, though she gave Nayda a long,
hard stare.
     Finally, she lowered the goblet and smiled.
     "I  take  it,  Merlin,  that  I  am  your  prisoner," she said, choking
slightly. She took another sip.
     "Guest," I replied.
     "Oh? How did this come  about?  Accepting  the  invitation  escapes  my
mind."
     "I  brought you here frem the citadel at the Keep of the Four Worlds in
a somewhat cataleptic condition," I said.
     "And where might `here' be?"
     "My apartment in the Palace of Amber. "
     "Prisoner, then," she stated.
     "Guest," I repeated.
     "In that case, I should be introduced, should I not?"
     "Excuse me. Mandor, I introduce Her Highness Jasra, Queen  of  Kashfa."
(I  intentionally  omitted  the "Most Royal" part.) "Your Majesty, I request
leave to present my brother, Lord Mandor."
     She inclined her head, and Mandor approached, dropped to one knee,  and
raised her hand to his lips. He's better at such courtly gestures than I am,
not  even  sniffing  the back of her hand for the scent of bitter almonds. I
could tell that  she  liked  his  manner-and  she  continued  to  study  him
afterward.
     "I  was  not aware," she observed, "that the royal house here contained
an individual named Mandor."
     "Mandor is heir to the dukedom of Sawall in the  Courts  of  Chaos,"  I
replied. Her eyes widened.
     "And you say he is your brother?"
     "Indeed."
     "You've  succeeded in surprising me," she stated. "I had forgotten your
double lineage."
     I smiled, nodded, stepped aside and gestured.
     "And this-" I began.
     "I am acquainted with Nayda,"  she  said.  "Why  is  the  girl  .  .  .
preoccupied?"
     "That  represents a matter of great complexity," I said, "and there are
other things I am certain you will find to be of much greater interest."
     She cocked an eyebrow at me.
     "Ah! That fragile, perishable  item-the  truth,"  she  said.  "When  it
surfaces  so quickly there is usually a claustrophobia of circumstance. What
is it that you want of me?"
     I held my smile.
     "It is good to appreciate circumstance," I said.
     "I appreciate the fact that I am in Amber and alive and not occupying a
cell, with  two  gentlemen  behaving  in  a  conciliatory  fashion.  I  also
appreciate  the  fact  that  I am not in the straits my most recent memories
indicate I should occupy. And I have you to thank for my deliverance?"
     "Yes."
     "Somehow I doubt it was a matter of altruism on your part."
     "I did it for Rinaldo. He tried getting you out once and got clobbered.
Then I figured a way that might work, and I tried it. It did."
     Her facial muscles tightened at the mention  of  her  son's  name.  I'd
decided she'd prefer hearing the one she'd given him, rather than "Luke."
     "Is he all right?" she asked.
     "Yes," I said, hoping it were so.
     "Then why is he not present?"
     "He's off somewhere with Dalt. I'm not sure as to his location. But-"


     Nayda made a small noise just then, and we glanced her way. But she did
not stir.  Mandor gave me an inquiring look, but I shook my head slightly. I
did not want her roused just then.
     "Bad influence, that barbarian,"  Jasra  observed,  choking  again  and
taking  another drink. "I'd so wanted Rinaldo to acquire more of the courtly
graces, rather than doing rude things on horseback much of  the  time,"  she
continued,  glancing  at  Mandor and granting him a small smile. "In this, I
was disappointed. Do you have s something stronger than water?"
     "Yes," I replied, and I uncorked a bottle of wine and poured some  into
a  goblet  for her. I glanced at Mandor and at the bottle then, but he shook
his head. "But you have to admit he did well  in  that  track  meet  against
UCLA,  in  his  sophomore  year,"  I  said,  not  to  let  her  put him down
completely. "A certain amount of that comes from the more vigorous  side  of
life."
     She smiled as she accepted the drink.
     "Yes.  He  broke  a  world record that day. I can still see him passing
over the final hurdle."
     "You were there?"
     "Oh, yes. I attended all of your meets. I even watched  you  run,"  she
said. "Not bad."
     She sipped the wine. .
     "Would you like me to send for a meal for you?" I asked.
     "No,  I'm not really hungry. We were talking about truth a little while
ago. . . ."
     "So we were. I gather there had been some sorcerous  exchange  back  at
the Keep, between you and Mask-"
     "Mask?" she said.
     "The blue-masked sorcerer who rules there now."
     "Oh, yes. Quite."
     "I do have the story right, don't I?"
     "Yes,  but  the  encounter was more than a little traumatic. Forgive my
hesitation. I was surprised and did not get my defenses up in time. That was
really all there was to it. It will not happen again."
     "I'm sure. But-"
     "Did you spirit me away?" she interrupted. "Or did you  actually  fight
with Mask to get me free?"
     "We fought," I said.
     "In what condition did you leave Mask?"
     "Buried under a pile of manure," I said.
     She chuckled.
     "Wonderful! I like a man with a sense of humor."
     "I have to go back," I added.
     "Oh? Why is that?"
     "Because Mask is now allied with an enemy of mine - man named Jurt, who
desires my death."
     She shrugged slightly.
     "If  Mask  is  no  match for you, I fail to see where Mask and this man
should represent a great problem." Mandor cleared his throat.
     "Begging your leave," he said. "But Jurt is a shape shifter  and  minor
sorcerer from the Courts. He also has power over Shadow."
     "I suppose that would make something of a difference," she said.
     "Not  as much as what the two of them apparently plan to accomplish," I
told her. "I believe that Mask intends running Jurt through the same  ritual
your late husband undertook-something involving the Fount of Power."
     "No!"  she  cried, and she was on her feet, the rest of the wine mixing
with Nayda's spittle and a few old bloodstains on the Tabriz  I'd  purchased
for its delicately detailed pastoral scene. "It must not happen again!"
     A  storm  came  and went behind her eyes. Then, for the first time, she
looked vulnerable.
     "I lost him because of that . . . ," she said.
     Then the moment was gone. The hardness returned.
     "I had not finished my wine," she said then, reseating herself.
     "I'll get you another glass," I told her.
     "And is that a mirror on the table?"



CHAPTER 11

     I waited till she was finished primping, glancing out of the window  at
the  snow  and  surreptitiously trying again to reach Coral or Luke while my
back was turned to her.
     No luck, though. When she put down the comb and  brush  she'd  borrowed
from  me  and  laid  the  mirror  beside  them,  I  gathered  she'd finished
organizing her thoughts as well as her hair and was ready to talk  again.  I
turned back slowly and strolled over.
     We  studied  each  other  while practicing expressionlessness, then she
asked, "Is anyone else in Amber aware that you have awakened me?"
     "No," I replied.
     "Good. That means I've a chance of leaving here alive. Presumably,  you
want my assistance against Mask and this Jurt?"
     "Yes. "
     "Exactly  what sort of help do you desire, and what are you prepared to
pay for it?"
     "I intend to penetrate the Keep and neutralize Mask and Jurt," I said.
     "'Neutralize'? That's one of those little euphemisms for `kill,'  isn't
it?"
     "I suppose so," I replied.
     "Amber has never been noted for its squeamishness," she said. "You have
been exposed  to  too  much  American  journalism.  So,  you are aware of my
familiarity with the Keep, and you want my help in killing the two of  them.
Correct?"
     I nodded.
     "Rinaldo  has  told  me that if we were to arrive too late and Jurt had
already undergone the transformational ritual, you might know a way  to  use
that same power against him," I explained.
     "He'd gotten further into those notes than -I'd realized," she said. "I
am going  to  have  to be frank with you then, since our lives may depend on
it: Yes, there is such a technique. But no, it won't be of any help  to  us.
Some  preparations  are required to turn the power to such an end. It is not
something I could simply reach out and do at a moment's notice."
     Mandor cleared his throat.
     "I'd rather not see Jurt dead," he stated, "if there's a possibility  I
could  take  him  back to the Courts as a prisoner. He could be disciplined.
There might be a way of neutralizing him  without  really  ...  neutralizing
him, as you put it."
     "And if there isn't?" I asked.
     "Then  I'll  help you to kill him," he said. "I have no illusions about
him, but I feel obliged to try something. I'm afraid that the  news  of  his
death could push our father over the edge."
     I  looked  away.  He could be right, and even though old Sawall's death
would mean his own succession to  the  title  and  control  of  considerable
holdings, I was certain he was not anxious to acquire them at that price."
     "I understand," I said. "I hadn't thought of that."
     "So  give  me  a  chance  to  subdue  him.  If I fail, I'll join you in
whatever must be done."
     "Agreed," I said, watching to see how Jasra was taking this.
     She was studying us, a curious expression on her face.
     " 'Our father'?" she said.
     "Yes," I replied. "I wasn't going to mention that, but  ,since  it  got
out, Jurt's our younger brother."
     Her eyes were alight now, at the scent of connivance.
     "This is a family power struggle, isn't it?" she asked.
     "I suppose you could put it that way," I said.
     "Not really," Mandor said.
     "And yours is an important family in the Courts?"
     Mandor shrugged. So did I. I'd a feeling she was trying to figure a way
to cash in on that end of it, too, and I decided to stonewall her.
     "We  were  discussing  the task at hand," I said. "I want to take us in
there and accept Mask's challenge. We stop Jurt if he gets in  the  way  and
give him to Mandor. If it is impossible simply to subdue him, we go the rest
of the way. Are you with us?"
     "We have not yet discussed the price," she said.
     "All  right," I acknowledged. "I've talked about this with Rinaldo, and
he told me to tell you that he's called the vendetta off.  He  feels  things
were  settled  with Amber when Caine died. He asked me to release you if you
would go along with this, and he suggested that  in  return  for  your  help
against  the  new lord of the citadel we restore the Keep of the Four Worlds
to your sovereignty. Bottom line, as he put it. What do you say?"
     She picked up the goblet and took a long,  slow  sip.  She'd  stall,  I
knew, trying to figure a way to squeeze more out of this deal.
     "You've spoken with Rinaldo very recently?" she said.
     "Yes."
     "I  am  not  clear as to why he is running about with Dalt; rather than
being here with us, if he is so much in agreement with this plan."
     I sighed.
     "Okay, I'll tell you the story," I said. "But if you're with us,  I  do
want to get moving soon."
     "Proceed," she said.
     So I recounted the evening's adventure in Arden, omitting only the fact
that Vialle  had  placed  Luke  under  her  protection. Nayda seemed to grow
progressively distressed as I  told  the  tale,  uttering  small  whimpering
sounds at odd intervals.
     When  I was finished, Jasra placed her hand upon Mandor's arm and rose,
brushing him lightly with her hip as she  passed,  and  she  went  to  stand
before Nayda.
     "Now  tell  me why the daughter of a high Begman official is restrained
here," she said.
     "She is possessed of a demon that enjoys interfering in my affairs,"  I
explained.
     "Really?  I've  often  wondered  what hobbies demons might pursue," she
observed. "But it seems  this  particular  demon  has  been  trying  to  say
something in which I might be interested. If you would be so good as to free
it for a moment's conversation I promise to consider your offer afterward."
     "Time is running," I said.
     "In that case my answer is no,'' she told me. "Lock me up someplace and
go to the Keep without me."
     I glanced at Mandor.
     "In  that I have not yet agreed to accept your offer," Jasra continued,
"Rinaldo would call this an entertainment expense."
     "I see no harm in it," Mandor said.
     "Then let her speak," I told him.
     "You may talk, ty'iga," he said.
     Her first words were not addressed to Jasra, however; but to me:
     "Merlin, you have to let me accompany you."
     I moved around to where I could see her face.
     "No way," I told her.
     "Why not?" she asked.
     "Because your penchant for protecting me will actually hinder me  in  a
situation where I will probably have to take some chances."
     "That is my nature," she responded.
     "And  my  problem," I said. "I mean you no ill. I'll be glad to talk to
you when this is all over, but you're going to have to sit this one out."
     Jasra cleared her throat.
     "Is that the entire message? Or is there something you wished  to  tell
me, also?" Jasra asked.
     There  followed a long silence, then, "Will you be accompanying them or
not?" Nayda inquired.
     Jasra took just as long to respond, obviously weighing her words:
     "This is a clandestine, personal operation," she said. "I am not at all
certain it would be countenanced by Merlin's seniors here in Amber. While it
is true  that  I  stand  to  gain  if  I  cooperate,  I  will  also  undergo
considerable  risk.  Of course, I want my freedom and the restoration of the
Keep. It is almost a fair trade.  But  he  also  asks  a  quitclaim  on  the
vendetta.  What assurance have I that this means anything here, and that the
hierarchy of Amber will not hunt me down as  a  troublemaker  afterward?  He
cannot speak for the others when he operates on the sly this way."
     Somehow,  it  had become a question addressed to me, and since it was a
very good question to which I did not really have an answer, I was glad that
the ty'iga had something to say:
     "I believe that I can persuade you  that  it  would  be  in  your  best
interest to agree to accompany them and to render every assistance you can,"
she offered.
     "Pray, begin," Jasra told her.
     "I would have to speak with you in private on this matter."
     Jasra smiled, out of her love for intrigue, I am certain.
     "It is agreeable to me," she said.
     "Mandor, force her to say it now," I said.
     "Wait!"  Jasra  declared. "I will have this private conversation or you
can forget about my help."
     I began wondering just how much help Jasra really  represented  if  she
couldn't  call  upon  the  Fount  to dispose of Jurt, should that become our
biggest problem. True, she knew the Keep. But I didn't even know for certain
how accomplished a sorceress she might be.


     On the other hand, I wanted this thing settled now, and one more  adept
could make the difference.
     "Nayda,"  I said, "are you planning something that could be damaging to
Amber?"
     ``No," she replied.
     "Mandor, what do ty'iga swear by?" I inquired.
     "They don't," he said.
     "What the hell," I said. "How much time do you want?"
     "Give us ten minutes," she told me.
     "Let's take a walk," I said to Mandor.
     "Surely," he agreed, tossing another metal ball toward Nayda. It joined
the others in orbit about her, a little above waist level.
     I fetched a key from my desk drawer before departing. And as soon as we
were in the hall I asked him, "Is there any way Jasra could free her?"
     "Not with the additional circuit of confinement I  established  on  the
way  out,"  he  replied. "Not many could figure a way past it, and certainly
not in ten minutes."
     "She's just full of secrets, that damned  ty'iga,"  I  said.  "Kind  of
makes me wonder who's really the prisoner here."
     "She's  only trading some bit of knowledge for Jasra's cooperation," he
said. "She wants the lady to accompany us if she can't go herself, since  it
will mean extra protection for you."
     "Then why can't we be present?"
     "Nothing that I learned from her sheds any tight on this," he said.
     "Well,  since  I  have a few minutes, there is a small errand I want to
run. Would you keep an eye on things here and take charge if she calls us in
before I get back?"
     He smiled.
     "If one of your relatives strolls by, should I introduce  myself  as  a
lord of Chaos?"
     "I thought you were also a lord of deception."
     "Of course," he said, and he clapped his hands and vanished.
     "I'll hurry," I said.
     "Cheerio," came his voice, from somewhere.
     I  hurried  off  up the hall. It was a little pilgrimage, I suppose-one
that I had not made in a long while. On the brink of an enterprise  such  as
this, it seemed somehow appropriate.
     When  I  reached  the  door,  I  stood outside it for a moment, my eyes
closed, visualizing the interior as last I had seen it. It was  my  father's
apartment. I had wandered through it on many occasions, trying to judge from
the  furnishings,  the  layout, his bookshelves, and his curious collections
something more than I already knew about the  man.  There  was  always  some
little  thing that caught my attention, that answered a question or raised a
new one-an inscription on the flyleaf of a book or a note  in  a  margin,  a
silver  hairbrush  bearing  the wrong set of initials, a daguerreotype of an
attractive brunette signed "To Carl, Love, Carolyn," a snapshot of my father
shaking hands with General MacArthur. . . .
     I unlocked the door and pushed it open.
     I did not move for several seconds, however, as a light  glowed  inside
the  place.  For more long moments I listened, but there were no sounds from
within. Slowly then, I entered. A number of candles burned upon the  dresser
set against the far wall. There was no one in sight.
     "Hello?" I called.out. "It's me. Merlin." There came no answer.
     I  drew  the  door closed behind me and moved forward. A bud vase stood
upon the dresser amid the candles.  It  contained  a  single  rose,  and  it
appeared  to  be  silver  in  color.  I  drew  nearer. Yes, it was real, not
artificial. And it was silver. In what shadow did such flowers grow?
     I picked up one of the candles by its, holder and moved away  with  it,
shielding  its flame with my hand. I crossed to my left and entered the next
room. Immediately, on opening the door, I saw that there was no need to have
brought the candle. More of them were burning here.
     "Hello?" I repeated.
     Again, no answer. No sounds of any sort.
     I set the candle upon a nearby table and crossed to the bed. I raised a
sleeve and let it fall. A silvery shirt was laid out  upon  the  counterpane
beside  a black pair of trousers-my father's colors. They had not been there
when last I had visited.
     I seated myself beside them and stared across the room into  a  shadowy
corner.  What was going on? Some bizarre household ritual? A haunting? or. .
. .
     "Corwin?" I said.
     In that I'd hardly expected a reply, I was  not  disappointed.  When  I
rose,  however,  I  bumped  against  a  heavy  object  hung upon the nearest
bedpost. I reached out and raised it for  a  better  view.  A  belt  with  a
sheathed weapon hung upon it. These had not been present last time either. I
gripped the haft and drew the blade.
     A  portion  of  the Pattern, contained within the gray metal, danced in
the candlelight. This was Grayswandir, sword of my father. What it was doing
back here now, I had no idea.
     And I realized with a pang that I could not stick around  to  see  what
might  be  going  on.  I had to get back to my own problems. Yes, timing was
definitely against me today.
     I resheathed Grayswandir.
     "Dad?" I said. "If you can hear me, I want to get together again. But I
have to go now. Good luck on whatever you're about."
     Then I departed the room, touched the  silver  rose  as  I  passed  and
locked the door behind me. As I turned away, I realized that I was shaking.
     I  passed  no one on the walk back, and when I approached my own door I
wondered whether I should enter, knock, or wait. Then something  touched  my
shoulder,  and  I  turned around but no one was there. When I turned forward
once again Mandor stood before me, his brow slightly creased.
     "What's the matter?" he asked. "You appear more troubled than when  you
left."
     "Something  totally  different,"  I  told  him, "I think. Any word from
inside yet?"
     "I heard a shriek from Jasra while you were  gone,"  he  said,  "and  I
burned  to  the door and opened it. But she was laughing and she asked me to
close it."
     "Either ty'igas know some good stories or the news is favorable."
     "So it would seem."
     A little later the door opened and Jasra nodded to us.
     "Our conversation is concluded," she said.
     I studied her as I entered the room. She looked  a  lot  more  cheerful
than  she  had  seemed  when  we'd left. There was a bit more of a crinkling
about the outer edges of her eyes, and she seemed almost to be fighting  the
corners of her mouth down into place.
     "I hope it was a fruitful interview," I said.
     "Yes. On the whole, I'd say it was that," she answered.
     A  glance  at  Nayda showed me that nothing had changed in terms of her
position or expression.
     "I'll have to be asking you for a  decision  now,"  I  said.  "I  can't
afford to cut things much closer than this."
     "What happens if I say no?" she asked.
     "I'll  have  you  conducts  to your quarters and inform the others that
you're up and about," I said.
     "As a guest?"
     "As a very well-protected guest."
     "I see. Well, I do not really care to inspect those  quarters.  I  have
decided to accompany you and assist you under the terms we discussed. ".
     I bowed to her.
     "Merlin!" Nayda said.
     "No!"  I  answered,  and  I  looked  to Mandor. He approached and stood
before Nayda.


     "It is best that you sleep now," he told her, and her eyes closed,  her
shoulders  slumped. "Where is a good place for her to rest deeply?" he asked
me.
     "Through there," I said, indicating the doorway to the next room.
     He took her by the hand and led her away. After a  time,  I  heard  him
speaking softly, and then there was only silence. He emerged a little later,
and  I went to the door and glanced inside. She was stretched out on my bed.
I did not see any of his metal spheres in the neighborhood.
     "She's out of it?" I said.
     "For a long time," he replied.
     I looked at Jasra, who was glancing down into the mirror.
     "Are you ready?" I inquired.
     She regarded me through lowered lashes.
     "How do you propose transporting us?" she asked.
     "Do you have an especially tricky means of getting us in?"
     "Not at the moment."
     "Then I will be calling upon the Ghostwheel to take us there."
     "Are you certain it is safe? I've conversed with that . . .  device.  I
am not sure it is trustworthy."
     "It's fine;" I. said. "Any spells you want to prime first?"
     "Not necessary. My . . . resources should be in good order."
     "Mandor?"
     I heard a clicking sound from somewhere within his cloak.
     "Ready," he said.
     I  withdrew the Ghostwheel Trump and studied it. I began my meditation.
Then  I  reached.  Nothing  happened.  I  tried  again,  recalling,  tuning,
expanding. I reached again, calling, feeling. . . .
     "The door . . . ," Jasra said.
     I  glanced  at  the  door to the hallway, but there was nothing unusual
about it. Then I looked at her and realized the direction of her gaze.
     The doorway to the next room, where Nayda slept, had begun to glow.  It
shone  with  a  yellow light, and even as I watched, it grew in intensity. A
spot of greater brightness then occurred at its center. Abruptly,  the  spot
began a slow up-and-down movement.
     Then  came  music,  from  where  I  was  not certain, and Ghost's voice
announced, "Follow the bouncing ball."
     "Stop it!" I said. "It's distracting!"
     The music went away. The circle of light grew still.
     "Sorry," Ghost said. "I  thought  you'd  find  a  little  comic  relief
relaxing. "
     "You  guessed  wrong,"  I  replied.  "I just want you to take us to the
citadel at the Keep of the Four Worlds."
     "Do you want the troops, also? I can't seem to locate Luke."
     "Just the three of us," I answered.
     "What about the one who sleeps next door?  I've  met  her  before.  She
doesn't scan right."
     "I know. She's not human. Let her sleep. "
     "Very well, then. Pass through the door."
     "Come  on,"  I  said  to  the  others,  picking  up my weapons belt and
buckling it on, adding my spare dagger, grabbing my cloak off a  chair,  and
drawing it over my shoulders.
     I  walked  toward  the  portal and Mandor and Jasra followed. I stepped
through, but the room was no longer there. Instead, there came a  moment  of
blurring,  and when my senses cleared, I was staring down and outward across
a great distance beneath a heavily overcast sky, a cold wind whipping at  my
garments.
     I  heard  an  exclamation from Mandor and, a moment later, another from
Jasra-behind me and to the left. The great ice field lay  bone-white  to  my
right,  and in the opposite direction a slate-gray sea tossed whitecaps like
serpents in a bucket of milk. Far below, before me, the dark ground simmered
and steamed.


     "Ghost!" I cried. "Where are you?"
     "Here," came a soft response, and I looked down to behold a  tiny  ring
of  light  near  the toe of my left boot. Directly ahead and below, the Keep
stood stark in the distance. There were no signs of life outside its  walls.
I  realized  that  I  must  be in the mountains, standing somewhere near the
place where I had held my lengthy colloquy with the old hermit named Dave.
     "I wanted you  to  take  us  into  the  citadel  within  the  Keep,"  I
explained. "Why did you bring us up here?"
     "I told you I don't like that place," Ghost answered. "I wanted to give
you a  chance to look it over and decide exactly where you wished to be sent
within. That way I can move very fast on the delivery, and not expose myself
overlong to forces I find distressing."
     I continued to study the Keep. A pair of twisters were  again  circling
the outer walls. If there had not been a moat, they would probably have done
a  good  job  of creating one. They stayed almost exactly 180 degrees apart,
and they took turns at illumination. The nearest one  grew  spark-shot  with
bolts  of  lightning, acquiring an eerie incandescence; then, as it began to
fade, the other brightened. They passed through this cycle several times  as
I watched.
     Jasra  made  a  small  noise, and I turned and asked her, "What's going
on?"
     "The ritual," she n'sponded. "Someone  is  playing  with  those  forces
right now."
     "Can you tell how far along they might be?" I asked.
     "Not  really.  They  could  just be starting, or they could be finished
already. All the poles of fire tell me is that everything is in place."
     "You call it then, Jasra," I told her. "Where  should  we  put  in  our
appearance?"
     "There  are  two long hallways leading to the chamber of the fountain,"
she said. "One is on the same level and the other  a  floor  above  it.  The
chamber itself is several stories high."
     "I recall that," I acknowledged.
     "If  they  are  working  directly  with the forces and we simply appear
within the chamber," she continued, "the advantage of surprise will only  be
momentary.  I  can't  say for certain what they might hit us with. Better to
approach along one of the two hallways and give me a chance  to  assess  the
situation.  Since  there  is a possibility that they could note our approach
along the lower hallway, the upper one would be best for all our purposes."
     "All right," I agreed. "Ghost, can you put us back a distance  in  that
upper hallway?"
     The circle spread, tilted, rose, stood high above us for a moment, then
dropped.
     "You  are . . . already . . . there," Ghost said, as my vision swam and
the circle of light passed over us, head to toe. "Good-bye."
     He was right. We were on target this time. We  stood  in  a  long,  dim
corridor,  its  walls of dark, hewn stone. Its one end was lost in darkness.
Its other led into an  area  of  illumination.  The  ceiling  was  of  rough
timbers,   the   heavy  cross-beams  softened  by  curtains  and  plumes  of
spider-webbing. A few blue wizard globes  flickered  within  wall  brackets,
shedding  a  pale  light  that  indicated  they  were near the ends of their
spells. Others had already gone dead. Near the brighter end of  the  hallway
some  of  these had been replaced by lanterns. From overhead came the sounds
of small things scurrying within the ceiling. The place smelled damp, musty.
But the air had an electric quality to  it,  as  though  we  were  breathing
ozone, with an edge-of event jitteriness permeating everything.
     I  shifted  to  Logrus  Sight, and immediately there was a considerable
brightening. Lines of force like glowing yellow cables ran everywhere.  They
provided  the  additional  illumination  I  now perceived. And every time my
movements intersected one, it  heightened  the  overall  tingling  effect  I
experienced.  I could see now that Jasra was standing at the intersection of
several of these and seemed to be drawing energy from them  into  her  body.
She was acquiring a glowing quality I was not certain my normal vision would
have  detected.  When  I  glanced  at  Mandor  I  saw the Sign of the Logrus
hovering before him also, which meant that he was aware of everything I  was
seeing.
     Jasra  began moving slowly along the corridor toward the lighted end. I
fell in behind her and slightly to her left. Mandor followed me,  moving  so
silently  I  had  to  glance back occasionally to assure myself he was still
with us. As we advanced I became aware of a certain throbbing sensation,  as
of  the  beating of a vast pulse. Whether this was being transmitted through
the floor or along those vibrating lines we continually encountered, I could
not say.
     I wondered whether our disturbing this net of forces was betraying  our
presence, and even our position, to the adept working with the stuff down at
the  Fount.  Or  was  his  concentration  on  the  task at hand sufficiently
distracting to permit us to approach undetected?
     "It has started?" I whispered to Jasra.
     "Yes," she replied.
     "How far along?"
     "The major phase could be completed. "
     A few paces more, and then she asked me, "What is your plan?"
     "If you're right, we attack immediately. Perhaps we should try to  take
out  Jurt  first-all  of  us,  I mean-if he's become that high-powered, that
dangerous."
     She licked her lips.
     "I'm probably best equipped to deal with him, because of my  connection
with  the Fount," she said then. "Better you don't get in my way. I'd rather
see you dealing with Mask while I'm about it. It might  be  better  to  keep
Mandor in reserve, to lend his aid to whichever of us might need it. "
     "I'll  go  along with your judgment," I said. "Mandor, did you hear all
that?"
     "Yes," he replied softly. "I'll do as she says."
     Then, "What happens if I destroy the Fount itself?" he asked Jasra.
     "I don't believe it can be done," she answered.
     He snorted, and I  could  see  the  dangerous  lines  along  which  his
thoughts were running.
     "Humor me and suppose," he said.
     She  was  silent  for  a time, then, "If you were able to shut it down;
even for a little while," she offered, "the  citadel  would  probably  fall.
I've  been  using its emanations to help hold this place up. It's old, and I
never got around to buttressing it where it needs it. The amount  of  energy
required  to  attack  the  Fount  successfully, though, would be much better
invested elsewhere."
     "Thanks," he said.
     She halted, extending a hand into one of the lines of force and closing
her eyes as if she were taking a pulse. "Very strong,"  she  said  a  little
later. "Someone is tapping it at deep levels now."
     She  began  moving  again.  The  light  at  the end of the hallway grew
brighter, then dimmer, brighter, dimmer. The shadows  retreated  and  flowed
back  repeatedly  as this occurred. I became aware of a sound something like
the humming of high wires. There was also an  intermittent  crackling  noise
coming  from that direction. I increased my pace as Jasra began to hurry. At
about that time there came  a  sound  of  laughter  from  up  ahead.  Frakir
tightened upon my wrist. Flakes of fire flashed past the corridor's mouth.
     "Damn, damn, damn," I heard Jasra saying.
     She raised her hand as we came into sight of the landing where Mask had
stood  at  the  time  of  our  encounter. I halted as she moved very slowly,
approaching the railing. There were stairs both to the right and  the  left,
leading downward to opposite sides of the chamber.
     She looked down for only an instant; then she threw herself back and to
the right,  rolling when she hit the floor. Taking out a piece of railing, a
ball of orange flame fled upward like a slow comet, passing through the area
she had just quitted. I rushed to her  side,  slipped  an  arm  beneath  her
shoulders, began to raise her.
     I felt her stiffen, as her head jerked slightly to the left. Somehow, I
already knew what I would see when I turned that way.
     Jurt stood there, stark naked save for his eye patch, glowing, smiling,
a pulse away from substantiality.
     "Good of you to drop by, brother," he said. "Sorry you can't stay."
     Sparks  danced at his fingertips as he swung his arm ip my direction. I
doubted that shaking hands was foremost; in his mind.
     The only response I could think of  was,  "Your  shoelace  is  untied,"
which of course didn't stop him, but it actually had him looking puzzled for
a second or two.


CHAPTER 12


     Jurt had never played football. I do not believe he expected me to come
up fast  and rush him; and when it happened, I don't think he anticipated my
coming in as low as I did.
     And as for clipping him just above the  knees  and  knocking  him  back
through  the  opening in the railing, I'm sure he was surprised. At least he
looked surprised as he  went  over  backward  and  plummeted,  sparks  still
dancing at his fingertips.
     I heard Jasra chuckle, even as he faded in mid-fall and vanished before
the floor got to spread him around a bit. Then, from the corner of my eye, I
saw her rise.
     "I'll  deal  with  him  now," she said, and, "No problem. He's clumsy,"
even as he appeared at the head of the stair to her right. "You take care of
Mask!"
     Mask was on the opposite side of the black stone fountain,  staring  up
at  me  through an orange and red geyser of flames. Below, in the basin, the
fires rippled yellow and white. When he scooped up  a  handfiil  and  worked
them together as a child might shape a snowball, they became an incandescent
blue. Then he threw it at me.
     I  sent  it  past  with  a simple parry. This was not Art, it was basic
energy work. But it served as a reminder, even as I saw  Jasra  perform  the
preliminary  gestures  to  a dangerous spell purely as a feint, bringing her
near enough to Jurt to trip him, pushing him backward down the stair.
     Not Art. Whoever enjoyed the luxury of  living  near  and  utilizing  a
power  source  such as this would doubtless get very sloppy as time went on,
only using the basic frames of spells as guides,  running  rivers  of  power
through them. One untutored, or extremely lazy, might possibly even dispense
with that much after a time and play directly with the raw forces, a kind of
shamanism,  as  opposed to the Higher Magic's purity-like that of a balanced
equation-producing a maximum effect from a minimum of effort.
     Jasra knew this. I could tell she'd received formal training  somewhere
along  the  line.  That  much was to the good anyway, I decided as I parried
another ball of fire and moved to my left.
     I began descending the stair-sideways-never taking my gaze off Mask.  I
was ready to defend or to strike in an instant.
     The  railing  began  to  glow  before  me,  then it burst into flame. I
retreated a pace and continued my descent. Hardly worth wasting a  spell  to
douse it. It was obviously meant for show rather than damage. . .
     Well. . . .
     There  was another possibility, I realized then, as I saw that Mask was
simply watching me, was  making  no  move  to  throw  anything  else  in  my
direction.
     It  could  also  be a test. Mask might simply be attempting to discover
whether I was limited to whatever spells I had brought with me-or whether  I
had  learned  to  tap  the  power  source here directly and would shortly be
slugging things out with him as Jurt and Jasra were now obviously  preparing
to  do.  Good.  Let  him  wonder.  A  finite  number  of  spells  against  a
near-limitless source of energy?
     Jurt suddenly appeared upon a windowsill, high and to my left.  He  had
time only for a brief frown before a curtain of fire was rung down upon him.
Both  he  and  the  curtain  were  gone  a moment later, and I heard Jasra's
laughter and his curse, followed by a crashing noise off to the  other  side
of the chamber.
     As  I  moved  to  descend  another  step, the stairway faded from view.
Suspecting illusion, I continued the slow downward movement of  my  foot.  I
encountered nothing, though, and finally extended my stride to pass over the
gap  and  on down to the next stair. It also vanished, howevex, as I shifted
my weight. There came a chuckle from Mask as I turned  my  movement  into  a
leap  to  avoid the area. Once I was committed to jumping, the stairs winked
out one by one as I passed over them.
     I was certain Mask's thinking must be- that if I had a  handle  on  the
local  power, reflex would cause me to betray that connection here. And if I
didn't it might still cause me to waste an escape spell.
     But I judged the distance to the now-visible floor. If no  more  stairs
vanished I might be able to catch a handhold on the next one, hang a moment,
then  drop.  That  would  be  perfectly safe. And if I missed, or if another
stair vanished . . . I still felt I would land reasonably intact. Better  to
use an entirely different sort of spell on the way down.
     I  caught the rearward edge of the farthest stair, dangled and dropped,
turning my body and speaking the words of a spell I call the Falling Wall.
     The fountain shuddered. The fires sloshed and splashed, overflowing the
basin on the side nearest Mask. And then Mask himself was thrown backward to
the floor as my spell continued its course of descent.
     Mask's arms rose before him as his body seemed to sop up  the  swirling
glow,  his hands to expel it. There was a bright arc between his hands, then
a shieldlike dome. He held it above him, warding off  the  final  collapsive
force  of my spell. I was already moving quickly in his dirsction. Even as I
did so, Jurt appeared before me, standing on the far  lip  of  the  fountain
just  above Mask, glaring at me. Before I could draw my blade, throw Frakir,
or utter another spell, however,  the  fountain  welled  up,  a  great  wave
toppling  Jurt  from its side, sending him sprawling upon the floor, washing
him past Mask and across the chamber toward the foot  of  the  other  stair,
down which I now saw that Jasra was slowly descending.
     "It  means  nothing to be able to transport yourself anywhere," I heard
her say; "if you are a fool in all places."
     Jurt snarled and sprang to his feet. Then he looked upward, past Jasra.
. . .
     "You, too, brother?" he said.
     "I am here to preserve your life, if at all possible," I  heard  Mandor
reply. "I would suggest you return with me now-"
     Jurt  cried  out-no recognizable words, just an animallike bleat. Then,
"I do not need your patronage!" he screamed. "And you are the fool, to trust
Merlin! You stand between him and a kingdom!"
     A series of glowing circles  drifted  like  glowing  smoke  rings  from
between  Jasra's  hands,  dropping  as  if  to  settle  about his body. Jurt
immediately vanished, though moments later I heard him  shouting  to  Mandor
from a different direction.
     I  continued to advance upon Mask, who had guarded successfully against
my Falling Wall and was now beginning to rise. I spoke the words of the  Icy
Path,  and  his  feet went out from beneath him. Yes, I was going to throw a
finite number of spells against his power source. I call it confidence. Mask
had power. I had a plan, and the means to execute it.
     A flagstone tore itself loose from the floor, turned into  a  cloud  of
gravel amid a grating, crunching noise, then flew toward me like a charge of
shot. I spoke the words of the Net and gestured.
     All  of the fragments were collected before they could reach me. Then I
dumped them upon Mask, who was still struggling to rise.
     "Do you realize that I still don't know why we're fighting?''  I  said.
"This was your idea. I can still-"
     For  the moment, Mask had given up on trying to rise. He had placed his
left hand in a simmering puddle of light and had extended  his  right,  palm
toward  me. The puddle vanished, and a shower of fire emerged from the right
hand and sped at me, like drops from a lawn sprinkler. I was ready for this,
though. If the Fount could contain the fire, then it  had  to  be  insulated
against it.
     I  threw myself flat on the other side of the dark structure, using its
base as a shield.
     "It is likely one of us is going to die," I called out, "since  we  are
not pulling our punches. Either way, I won't have a chance to ask you later:
What's your bitch? What am I to you?"
     The  only reply was a chuckling sound from the other side of the Fount,
as the floor began to move beneath me.
     From somewhere off to my right, near the foot of the undamaged stair, I
heard Jurt say, "A fool in all places? What about  close  quarters?"  and  I
looked up in time to see him appear before Jasra and seize hold of her.
     A  moment  later  he  screamed,  as Jasra lowered her head and her lips
touched his forearm. She  pushed  him  away  then,  and  he  fell  down  the
remaining steps, landing stiffly, not moving.
     I  crept  to the right of the Fount, over the sharp edges of the broken
flooring, which jiggled and sawed at me within the matrix of Mask's power.
     "Jurt is out of it," I commented,  "and  you  stand  alone  now,  Mask,
against the three of us. Call it quits, and I'll see that you go on living."
     "Three  of  you,"  came that flat, distorted voice. "You admit that you
cannot beat me without help?"
     " Beat?" I said. "Perhaps you consider it a game. I do not. I will  not
be  bound  by  any rules you choose to recognize. Call it quits or I'll kill
you, with or without help, any way I can."
     A dark object suddenly appeared overhead; and I rolled back  away  from
the  Fount  as  it  came  to  rest in the basin. It was Jurt. Unable to move
normally because of the paralytic effect of Jasra's  bite,  he  had  trumped
away from the foot of the stair and into the Fount.
     "You  have your friends, Lord of Chaos, and I have mine," Mask replied,
as Jurt moaned softly and began to glow.
     Suddenly Mask went spinning into the  air,  as  I  heard  the  flooring
shatter. The Fount itself died down, grew weaker, as a flaming tower twisted
ceilingward, rising from a new opening in the floor, bearing Mask with it on
the crest of its golden plume.
     "And enemies," Jasra stated, moving nearer.
     Mask  spread  his  arms  and legs and wheeled slowly through the middle
air, suddenly in control of his trajectory. I got to my feet and backed away
from the Fount. I'm seldom at my best at centers of geological catastrophes.
     A rushing, rumbling sound now came from the  doubled  fountain,  and  a
high-pitched,  sourceless-seeming  note  accompanied it. A small wind sighed
among the rafters. The tower of fire atop which Mask rode continued its slow
spiraling, and the spray in the lowered fountain began a  similar  movement.
Jurt stirred, moaned, raised his right arm.
     "And  enemies,"  Mask  acknowledged,  beginning  a series of gestures I
recognized immediately because I'd spent a lot of time figuring them out.
     "Jasra!" I cried. "Watch out for Sharu!"
     Jasra took three quick steps to her left  and  smiled.  Something  very
much  like lightning then fell from the rafters, blackening the area she had
just departed.
     "He always starts with a lightning stroke," she explained.  "He's  very
predictable."
     She spun once and vanished redly, with a sound like breaking glass.
     I  looked  immediately  to  where the old man had stood, RINALDO carved
upon his right leg. He was leaning against the wall now,  one  hand  to  his
forehead, the other implementing a simple but powerful shielding spell.
     I was about to scream for Mandor to take the old boy out, when Mask hit
me with  a  Klaxon spell which tempo rarily deafened me while bursting blood
vessels in my nose.
     Dripping, I dove and rolled, interposing the  now-rising  Jurt  between
myself  and  the  sorcerer in the air. Jurt actually appeared to be throwing
off the effects of Jasra's bite. So I drove my fist into his  stomach  as  I
rose  and  turned  him into an even better position to serve as my shield. A
mistake. I received a jolt from his body,  not  unlike  a  nasty  electrical
shock, and he even managed a brief laugh as I fell.
     "He's all yours," I heard him gasp then.
     From  the  corner  of my eye, I saw where Jasra and Sharu Garrul stood,
each of them seemingly holding one end of a great long piece of macrame work
woven of cables. The lines were pulsing and changing colors, and I knew they
represented forces rather than material objects, visible only by  virtue  of
the Logrus Sight, under which I continued to operate. The pulse increased in
tempo,  and  both  sank  slowly  to  their knees, arms still extended, faces
glistening. A quick word,  a  gesture,  and  I  could  break  that  balance.
Unfortunately,  I had problems of my own just then. Mask was swooping toward
me like some huge insect-expressionless, shimmering, deadly. A succession of
brittle snapping sounds occurred within the front wall of the Keep, where  a
series  of  jagged cracks raced downward like black lightning. I was away of
falling dust beyond the spiraling lights, of the growling  and  the  whining
sounds-faint  now  within my ringing ears-of the continuing vibration of the
floor beneath my half-numbed legs. But that was all right. I raised my  left
hand as my right slid within my cloak.
     A fiery blade appeared in Mask's right hand. I did aot stir, but waited
a second    longer    before    speaking    the    guide    words    to   my
Fantasia-for-Six-Acetylene-Torches spell as I snapped  my  forearm  back  to
cover my eyes and rolled to the side.
     The  stroke  missed  me,  passing through broken stone. Mask's left arm
fell across my chest, however, elbow connecting with my lower  ribs.  I  did
not stop to assess damages, though, as I heard the sword of fire crackle and
come  free  of the stone. And so, turning, I struck with my own more mundane
dagger of steel, driving its full length up into Mask's left kidney.
     There followed a scream as the sorcerer stiffened  and  slumped  beside
me.  Almost  immediately  thereafter  I  was  kicked with considerable force
behind my right hip. I twisted away and another blow landed  upon  my  right
shoulder.  I  am  sure  it  was  aimed for my head. As I covered my neck and
temples and mlled away, I heard Jurt's voice, cursing.
     Drawing my longer blade, I rose to my feet, and my gaze met Jurt's.  He
was rising at the same time, and he held Mask cradled in his arms.
     "Later,"  he  said to me, and he vanished, bearing the . body away with
him. The blue mask remained on the floor, near to a long smear of blood.
     Jasra and Sharu were still facing each other from  kneeling  positions,
panting,  bodies  completely drenched, their life forces twisting about each
other like mating serpents.
     Then, like a surfacing fish, Jurt appeared within the tower  of  forces
beyond  the  Fount. Even as Mandor hurled two of his spheres-which seemed to
grow in size as they fled down the chamber, to  crash  into  the  Fount  and
reduce ii to rubble-I saw what I believed I would never see again.
     As  the  reverberation  of the Fount's collapse spread and the groaning
and grinding within the walls was replaced by a snapping  and  swaying,  and
dust,  gravel  and timbers fell about me, I was moving forward, skirting the
wreckage, sidestepping new geysers and rivulets  of  glowing  forces,  cloak
raised to protect my face, black extended.
     Jurt cursed me roundly as I came on. Then, "Pleased; brother? Pleased?"
he said. "May death be the only peace between us."
     But I ignored the predictable sentiment, for I had to get a better look
at what I thought I had seen moments before. I leaped over a piece of broken
masonry  and  beheld  the  fallen  sorcerer's  face  within the flames, head
cradled against his shoulder.
     "Julia! " I cried.
     But they vanished even as I moved forward, and I knew it was  time  for
me to do the same.
     Turning, I fled through the fire.