“It is important, though.”
I ran on ahead of him. He began running, too, to keep up.
“It's about your being here at the Courts, just now.”
I extended my hands, used them to brake myself when I came up against the wall of the stone building. I swung myself through the doorway and inside. Three big steps, and I was kneeling in the corner, snatching up an old cup, using the corner of my cloak to wipe it out.
“Merle, what the hell are you doing?” Luke asked, entering behind me.
“Just a minute and I'll show you,” I told him, drawing my dagger.
Placing the cup upon the stone where I had been seated earlier, I held my hand above it and used the dagger to cut my wrist.
Instead of blood, flame came forth from the incision.
“No! Damn it!” I cried.
And I reached into the spikard, located the proper line, and found the flowing channel of a cooling spell that I laid upon the wound. Immediately, the flames died and it was blood that flowed from me. However, as it fell into the cup it began to smoke. Cursing, I extended the spell to control its liquidity there, also.
“Yeah, it's weird, Merle. I'll give you that,” Luke observed.
I laid the dagger aside and used my right hand to squeeze my arm above the wound. The blood flowed faster. The spikard throbbed. I glanced at Luke. There was a look of strain upon his face. I pumped my fist. The cup was more than half-full.
“You said you trust me,” I stated.
“Afraid so,” he answered.
Three-quarters...
“You've got to drink this, Luke,” I said. “I mean it.
“Somehow, I suspected you were leading up to this,” he said, “and, really, it doesn't sound like such a bad idea. I've a feeling I need a lot of help just now.”
He reached out and took the cup, raised it to his lips. I pressed the palm of my hand against the wound. Outside, the winds were gusting regularly.
“When you've finished, put it back,” I said. “You're going to need more.”
I could hear the sounds of his swallowing.
“Better than a slug of Jameson,” he said then.
“Don't know why.” He replaced the cup on the stone.
“A little salty, though,” he added.
I removed my hand from the incision, held the wrist above it again, pumped my fist.
“Hey, man. You're losing a lot of blood there. I feel okay now. Was just a little dizzy, that's all. I don't need any more.”
“Yes, you do,” I said. “Believe me. I gave a lot more than this in a blood drive once and ran in a meet the next day. It's okay.”
The wind rose to a gale, moaning past us now.
“Mind telling me what's going on?” he asked. “Luke, you're a Pattern ghost,” I told him.
“What do you mean?”
“The Pattern can duplicate anybody who ever walked it. You've got all the signs. I know them.”
“Hey, I feel real. I didn't even do the Pattern in Amber. I did it in Tir-na Nog'th.”
“Apparently, it controls the two images as well, since they're true copies. Do you remember your coronation in Kashfa?”
“Coronation? Hell no! You mean I made it to the throne?”
“Yep. Rinaldo the First.”
“God damn! Bet Mom's happy.”
“I'm sure.”
“This is kind of awkward then, there being two of me. You seem familiar with the phenomenon. How does the Pattern handle it?”
“You guys tend not to last very long. It seems the closer you are to the Pattern itself the stronger you are, too. It must have taken a lot of juice to project you this
far. Here, drink this.” “Sure.”
He tossed off a half cupful and handed the cup back.
“So what's with the precious bodily fluids?” he asked.
“The blood of Amber seems to have a sustaining ef-fect on Pattern ghosts.”
“You mean I'm some kind of vampire?”
“I suppose you could put it that way, in a sort of technical sense.”
“I'm not sure I like that-especially such a specialized one.”
“It does seem to have certain drawbacks. But one thing at a time. Let's get you stabilized before we start looking for angles.”
“All right. You've got a captive audience.”
There came a rattle, as of a rolled stone, from outside, followed by a small clanking noise.
Luke turned his head.
“I don't think that's just the wind,” he stated.
“Take the last sip,” I said, moving away from the cup and groping after my handkerchief. “It'll have to hold you.”
He tossed it off as I wrapped my wrist. He knotted it in place for me.
“Let's get out of here,” I said. “The vibes are getting bad.”
“Fine with me,” he replied as a figure appeared at the doorway. It was backlighted, its features lost in shadow.
“You're not going anywhere, Pattern ghost,” came an almost-familiar voice.
I willed the spikard to about 150 watts illumination. It was Borel, showing his teeth in an unfriendly fashion.
“You are about to become a very large candle, Patterner,” he said to Luke.
“You're wrong, Borel,” I said, raising the spikard.
Suddenly, the Sign of the Logrus swam between us.
“Borel? T'he master swordsman?” Luke inquired. “The same,” I answered.
“Oh, shit!” Luke said.
V
As I probed forward with two of the more lethal energies of the spikard the Logrus image intercepted them and turned them off.
“I didn't save him for you to take him out this easily,” I said, and just then something like the image of the Pattern but not really the same flashed into existence nearby.
The Sign of the Logrus slid to my left. The new thing-whatever it was-kept pace with it, both of them passing silently through the wall. Almost immediately, there followed a thunderclap that shook the building. Even Borel, who was reaching for his blade, paused in mid-gesture, then moved his hand to catch hold of the doorway. As he did this, another figure appeared at his back and a familiar voice addressed him: “Please excuse me. You're blocking my way.”
“Corwin!” I cried. “Dad!”
Borel turned his head.
“Corwin, Prince of Amber?” he said.
“Indeed,” came the reply, “though I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure.”
“I am Borel, Duke of Hendrake, Master of Arms of the Ways of Hendrake.”
“You speak with a lot of capitals, sir, and I'm pleased to make your acquaintance,” Corwin said. “Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get through here to see my son.”
Borel's hand moved to the hilt of his blade as he turned. I was already moving forward by then, and so was Luke. But there was a movement beyond Borel-a kick, it seemed, low-causing him to expel a lot of air and double forward. Then a fist descended upon the back of his neck and he fell.
“Come on,” Corwin called, gesturing. “I think we'd better get out of here.”
Luke and I emerged, stepping over the fallen Master of Arms of the Ways of Hendrake. The ground off to the left was blackened, as if from a recent brushfire, and a light rain had begun to fall. There were other human figures in the distance now, moving toward us.
“I don't know whether the force that brought me here can get me out again,” Corwin said, looking about. “It may be otherwise occupied.” Several moments passed, then, “I guess it is,” he said. “Okay, it's up to you. How do we flee?”
“This way,” I told him, turning and breaking into a run.
They followed me up the trails that had brought me to this place. I looked back and saw that six dark figures pursued us.
I headed uphill, past the markers and monuments, coming at last to the place beside the old stone wall. By then, there were shouts from behind us. Ignoring them, I drew my companions to me and came up with an impromptu couplet that described the situation and my desire in somewhat less than perfect meter. Still, the charm held, and a hurled cobble only missed me because we were already sinking into the earth.