shape as he turned on his heel, moved back to his first position.
This Pattern, I noted, glowed with a paler light than the one in Amber-silvery white, without the hint of blue with which I-was familiar. Its configuration was the same, but the ghost city played strange tricks with perspective. There were distortions-narrowings, widenings—which seemed to shift for no particular reason across its surface, as though I viewed the entire tableau through an irregular lens rather than Benedict's Trump.
I retreated down the stairs, settled once again on the lowest step. I continued to observe.
Benedict loosened his blade in its scabbard.
'You know about the possible effect of blood on the Pattern?' I asked.
'Yes. Ganelon told me.'
'Did you ever suspect-any of this?'
'I never trusted Brand,' he told me.
'What of your journey to the Courts of Chaos? What did you learn?'
'Later, Corwin. He could come any time now.'
'I hope no distracting visions show up,' I said, recalling my own journey to Tir-na Nog'th and his own part in my final adventure there.
He shrugged.
'One gives them power by paying them heed. My attention is reserved for one matter tonight.'
He turned through a full circle, regarding every part of the chamber, halted when he had finished.
'I wonder if he knows you are there?' I said.
'Perhaps. It does not matter.'
I nodded. If Brand did not show up, we had gained a day. The guards would ward the other Patterns, Fiona would have a chance to demonstrate her own skill in matters arcane by locating Brand for us. We would then pursue him. She and Bleys had been able to stop him once before. Could she do it alone now? Or would we have to find Bleys and try to convince him to help? Had Brand found Bleys? What the hell did Brand want this kind of power for anyhow? A desire for the throne I could understand. Yet... The man was mad, leave it at that. Too bad, but that's the way it was. Heredity or environment? I wondered wryly. We were all of us, to some degree, mad after his fashion. To be honest, it had to be a form of madness, to have so much and to strive so bitterly for just a little more, for a bit of an edge over the others. He carried this tendency to its extreme, that is all. He was a caricature of this mania in all of us. In this sense, did it really matter which of us was the traitor?
Yes, it did. He was the one who had acted. Mad or not, he had gone too far. He had done things Eric, Julian, and I would not have done. Bleys and Fiona had finally backed away from his thickening plot. Gerard and Benedict were a notch above the rest of us-moral, mature, whatever-for they had exempted themselves from the zero-sum power game. Random had changed, quite a bit, in recent years. Could it be that the children of the unicorn took ages in which to mature, that it was slowly happening to the rest of us but had somehow passed Brand by? Or could it be that by his actions Brand was causing it in the rest of us? Like most such questions, the benefit of these was in the asking, not the answering. We were enough like Brand that I knew a particular species of fear nothing else could so provoke. But yes, it did matter. Whatever the reason, he was the one who had acted.
The moon was higher now, its vision superimposed upon my inward viewing of the chamber of the Pattern. The clouds continued to shift, to boil nearer the moon. I thought of advising Benedict, but it would serve no other end than distraction. Above me, Tir-na Nog'th rode like some supernatural ark upon the seas of night
... And suddenly Brand was there.
Reflexively, my hand went to Grayswandir's hilt, despite the fact that a part of me realized from the very first that he stood across the Pattern from Benedict in a dark chamber high in the sky.
My hand fell again. Benedict had become aware of the intruding presence immediately, and he turned to face him. He made no move toward his weapon, but simply stared across the Pattern at our brother.
My earliest fear had been that Brand would contrive to arrive directly behind Benedict and stab him in the back. I would not have tried that though, because even in death Benedict's reflexes might have been sufficient to dispatch his assailant Apparently, Brand wasn't that crazy either.
Brand smiled.
'Benedict,' he said. 'Fancy... You... Here.'
The Jewel of Judgment hung fiery upon his breast.
'Brand,' Benedict said, 'don't try it.'
Still smiling. Brand unclasped his sword belt and let his weapon fall to the floor. When the echoes died, he said, 'I am not a fool, Benedict. The man hasn't been born who can go up against you with a blade.'
'I don't need the blade, Brand.'
Brand began walking, slowly, about the edge of the Pattern.
'Yet you wear it as a servant of the throne, when you could have been king.'
'That has never been high on my list of ambitions.'
'That is right.' He paused, only part way about the Pattern.
'Loyal, self-effacing. You have not changed at all. Pity Dad conditioned you so well. You could have gone so much further.'
'I have everything that I want,' Benedict said.
'... To have been stifled, cut off, so early.'
'You cannot talk your way past me either, Brand. Do not make me hurt you.'
The smile still on his face. Brand began moving again, slowly. What was it he was trying to do? I could not figure his strategy.
'You know I can do certain things the others cannot,' Brand said. 'If there is anything at all that you want and think that you cannot have, now is your chance to name it and learn how wrong you were. I have learned things you would scarcely believe.'
Benedict smiled one of his rare smiles.
'You have chosen the wrong line,' he said. 'I can walk to anything that I want.'
'Shadows!' Brand snorted, halting again. 'Any of the others can clutch a phantom! I am talking of reality! Amber! Power! Chaos! Not daydreams made solid! Not second best!'
'If I had wanted more than I have, I knew what to do. I did not do it.'
Brand laughed, began walking again. He had come a quarter of the way about the Pattern's periphery. The Jewel burned more brightly. His voice rang.
'You are a fool, to wear your chains willingly! But if things do not call out to you to possess them and if power holds no attraction, what of knowledge? I learned the last of Dworkin's lore. I have gone on since then and paid dark prices for greater insight into the workings of the universe. This you could have without that price tag.'
'There would be a price,' Benedict said, 'one that I will not pay.'
Brand shook his head and tossed his hair. The image of the Pattern wavered for a moment then, as a wisp of cloud crossed the moon. Tir-na Nog'th faded slightly, returned to normal focus.
'You mean it, you really mean it,' Brand said, apparently not aware of the moment of fading.
'I shan't test you further then. I had to try.'
He halted again, staring.
'You are too good a man to waste yourself on that mess in Amber, defending something that is obviously falling apart. I am going to win, Benedict. I am going to erase Amber and build it anew. I am going to rub out the old Pattern and draw my own. You can be with me. I want you on my side. I am going to raise up a perfect world, one with more direct access to and from Shadow. I am going to merge Amber with the Courts of Chaos. I am going to extend this realm directly through all of Shadow. You will command our legions, the mightiest military forces ever assembled. You-'
'If your new world would be as perfect as you say, Brand, there would be no need for legions. If, on the other hand, it is to reflect the mind of its creator, then I see it as something less than an improvement over the present state of affairs. Thank you for your offer, but I hold with the Amber which already exists.'
'You are a fool, Benedict. A well-meaning one, but a fool nevertheless.'
He began to move again, casually. He was within forty feet of Benedict. Thirty... . He kept moving. He finally paused about twenty feet away, hooked his thumbs behind his belt, and simply stared. Benedict met his gaze. I checked the clouds again. A long mass of them continued a moonward slide. I could pull Benedict out at any time,
