Prince of Chaos

Chapter 5

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

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

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

“Corwin!” I cried. “Dad!”

Borel turned his head.

“Corwin, Prince of Amber?” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then why are we running?” I asked.

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

“Oh-oh,” Luke said.

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

We fell.

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

“Damn!” I heard Corwin say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What now?” Luke asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” I agreed.

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

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

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

“I don’t know, Luke.”

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

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

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

“What do you mean?” Luke asked.

“In a minute.”

There were breaks in the fog now, real landscape visible through them. Abruptly, I became aware that it was not a real road surface on which I was driving, but rather a fairly level piece of ground. I slowed even more to accommodate this.

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

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

“Yes,” came the reply.

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

“Yes.”

“Then — It’s sentient, too. Like Amber’s, like the Logrus —”

“True. Park it over there, in that clear area by the tree.”

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

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

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

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

“Oh?”

“Dad…?” I said. “You mean…”

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

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

“Yes.”

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

He reached out and clasped my shoulder.

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

“That’s been my experience,” I said.

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

He released my shoulder.

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

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

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

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

“Glad to know you, too, sir.”

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

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

Dad laughed.

“Where’d you two meet?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure,” I said. “Let’s go.”

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

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

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

Ten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds pretty easy, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?” I said. “What, then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I massaged my temples, my brow, my eyes.

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

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

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

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

I sighed.

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

He smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Merlin?” came a small voice.

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

“Yes,” I said then. “Yes.”

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

“Ss,” said the shadow, rising.

“Glait?” I asked.

“Yess.”

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

“Not dead. Ssleeping.”

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

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

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

“You certainly chose elegant sleeping quarters.”

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

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

I stroked her head gently.

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

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

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

“I have. Very.”

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

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

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

I held her close to warm her.

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

“Iss more than friendliess, helloss.”

“More? What then, Glait? What is it?”

“A thing to show. Walk that way.”

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

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

“What is it?” I asked.

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

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

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

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

“Onward,” Glait said. “Not here.”

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

“Sslow now. Sslow, dear demon child.”

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

“Now. Here. Turn in. Go back.”

I moved on into the forest.

“Bear right. The tall one.”

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

“This one?”

“Yess. Negotiate it — upward — pleasse.”

“You mean climb it?”

“Yess.”

“Right.”

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

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

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

“Climb higher.”

“Why?”

“Ssoon. Ssoon. You’ll know.”

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

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

“There’s a way up there,” I said.

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

“It must lead to something very important.”

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

“You have been through?”

“Yess.”

“Then it is safe?”

“Yess.”

“All right.”

I climbed higher, resisting the force of the way until I’d brought both feet to the same level. Then I relaxed into the tugging and let it take me through.

I extended both hands, too, in case the surface was uneven. But it wasn’t. The floor was beautifully tiled in black, silver, gray, and white. To the right was a geometric design, to the left a representation of the Pit of Chaos.

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

“Good Lord!” I said.

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

“It is important,” I replied.