She smiled.
"So glad you did the right thing, taking the throne," she said.
"You really mean that?" he asked.
"Of course," she replied.
"Thought you might be mad. Thought you wanted it," he said.
"I did once, but those damned Kashfans never appreciated me. I've got the Keep now, though, and I feel like doing a few years' research here--and it's full of sentimental values as well. So as long as Kashfa stays in the family, I wanted you to know I was pleased."
"Why--uh--glad to hear that, Mom. Very glad. I'll hang onto it."
"Do," she said, and vanished.
He turned to me, a small ironic smile flickering across his lips.
"That's one of the rare times in my life when she's approved of something I've done," he said. "Doubtless for all the wrong reasons, but still... How real are these things? What exactly did we see? Was that a conscious communication on her part? Was--"
"They're real," I said. "I don't know how or why or what part of the other is actually present. They may be stylized, surreal, may even suck you in. But in some way they're really real. That's all I know. Holy cow!"
From the huge gold-framed mirror, ahead and to my right, the grim visage of my father Oberon peered forth. I advanced a pace.
"Corwin," he said. "You were my chosen, but you always had a way of disappointing me."
"That's the breaks," I said.
"True. And one should not speak of you as a child after all these years. You've made your choices. Of some I have been proud. You have been valiant."
"Why, thank you--sir."
"I bid you do something immediately."
"What?"
"Draw your dagger and stab Luke."
I stared.
"No," I said.
"Corwin," Luke said. "It could be something like your proving you're not a Pattern ghost."
"But I don't give a damn whether you're a Pattern ghost," I said. "It's nothing to me."
"Not that," Oberon interjected. "This is of a different order."
"What, then?" I asked.
"Easier to show than to tell," Oberon replied.
Luke shrugged.
"So nick my arm," he said. "Big deal."
"All right. Let's see how the show beats the tell."
I drew a stiletto from my boot sheath. He pulled back his sleeve and extended his arm. I stabbed lightly.
My blade passed through his arm as if the limb were made of smoke.
"Shit," Luke said. "It's contagious."
"No," Oberon responded. "It is a thing of very special scope."
"That is to say?" Luke asked.
"Would you draw your sword, please?"
Luke nodded and drew a familiar-looking golden blade. It emitted a high keening sound, causing all of the candle flames in the vicinity to flicker. Then I knew it for what it was--my brother Brand's blade, Werewindle.
"Haven't seen that in a long while," I said, as the keening continued.
"Luke, would you cut Corwin with your blade, please?"
Luke raised his eyes, met my gaze. I nodded. He moved the blade, scored my arm with its point. I bled.
"Corwin--If you would...?" Oberon said.
I drew Grayswandir and it, too, ventured into fighting song--as I had only heard it do on great battlefields in the past. The two tones joined together into a devastating duet.
"Cut Luke."
Luke nodded and I sliced the back of his hand with Grayswandir. An incision line occurred, reddening immediately. The sounds from our blades rose and fell. I sheathed Grayswandir to shut her up. Luke did the same with Werewindle.
"There's a lesson there somewhere," Luke said. "Damned If I can see what it is, though."
"They're brother and sister weapons, you know, with a certain magic in common. In fact, they've a powerful secret in common," Oberon said. "Tell him, Corwin."
"It's a dangerous secret, sir."
"The time has come for it to be known. You may tell him,"
"All right," I said. "Back in the early days of creation, the gods had a series of rings their champions used in the stabilization of Shadow."
"I know of them," Luke said. "Merlin wears a spikard."
"Really," I said. "They each have the power to draw on many sources in many shadows. They're all different."
"So Merlin said."
"Ours were turned into swords, and so they remain."
"Oh?" Luke said. "What do you know?"
"What do you deduce from the fact that they can do you harm when another weapon cannot?"
"Looks as if they're somehow involved in our enchantment," I ventured.
"That's right," Oberon said. "In whatever conflict lies ahead--no matter what side you are on--you will need exotic protection against the oddball power of someone like Jurt."
"Jurt?" I said.
"Later," Luke told me. "I'll fill you in."
I nodded.
"Just how is this protection to be employed. How do we lot back to full permeability?" I asked.
"I will not say," he replied, "but someone along the way here should be able to tell you. And whatever happens, my blessing--which is probably no longer worth much--lies on both of you."
We bowed and said thanks. When we looked up again, he was gone.
"Great," I said. "Back for less than an hour and involved in Amber ambiguity."
Luke nodded.
"Chaos and Kashfa seem just as bad, though," he said. "Maybe the state's highest function is to grind out insoluble problems."
I chuckled as we moved on, regarding ourselves in dozens of pools of light. For several paces nothing happened, then a familiar face appeared in a red-framed oval to my left.
"Corwin, what a pleasure," she said.
"Dara!"
"It seems that my unconscious will must be stronger than that of anyone else who wishes you ill," she said. "So I get to deliver the best piece of news of all."
"Yes?" I said.
"I see one of you lying pierced by the blade of the other. What joy!"
"I've no intention of killing this guy," I told her.
"Goes both ways," Luke said.
"Ah, but that is the deadly beauty of it," she said. "One of you must be run through by the other for the survivor to regain that element of permeability he has lost."
"Thanks, but I'll find another way," Luke said. "My mom, Jasra, is a pretty good sorceress."
Her laughter sounded like the breaking of one of the mirrors.
"Jasra! She was one of my maids," she said. "She picked up whatever she knows of the Art by eavesdropping on my work. Not without talent, but she never received full training."
"My dad completed her training," Luke said.
As she studied Luke, the merriment went out of her face.
"All right," she said. "I'll level with you, son of Brand. I can't see any way to resolve it other than the way I stated. As I have nothing against you, I hope to see you victorious."
"Thanks," he said, "but I've no intention of fighting my uncle. Someone must be able to lift this thing."
"The tools themselves have drawn you into this," she said. "They will force you to fight. They are stronger than mortal sorcery."
"Thanks for the advice," he said. "Some of it may come in handy," and he winked at her. She blushed, hardly a response I'd have anticipated, then she was gone.
"I don't like the tenor this has acquired," I said.
"Me neither. Can't we just turn around and go back?"
I shook my head.
"It sucks you in," I told him. "Just get everything you can out of it--that's the best advice I ever got on the thing."
We walked on for perhaps ten feet, past some absolutely lovely examples of mirror making as well as some battered old looking glasses.
A yellow-lacquered one on Luke's side, embossed with Chinese characters and chipped here and there, froze us in our tracks as the booming voice of my late brother Eric rang out:
"I see your fates," he said with a rumbling laugh. "And I can see the killing ground where you are destined to enact them. It will be interesting, brother. If you hear laughter as you lie dying, it will be mine."