«Then you haven't much of a case.»
«This isn't a court, damn it! If you want to converse, answer my question. If you don't, let's stop making noises at each other.»
«I have answered you.»
I shrugged.
«All right,» I said. «I don't know you, and I'm very happy that way. Good day.»
I took a step away from him, back in the direction of the trail. As I did, he said, «Deirdre. Her name was Deirdre, and I did indeed kill her,» and he stepped into the dolmen from which I had just emerged, and there he disappeared. Immediately I looked across the way, but he did not exit beneath the exit sign. I did an about-face and stepped into the dolmen myself. I did emerge from the other side, across the way, catching sight of myself entering the opposite one as I did so. I did not see the stranger anywhere along the way.
«What do you make of that?» I asked Frakir as I moved back toward the trail.
A spirit of place, perhaps? A nasty spirit for a nasty place? she ventured. I don't know, but I think he was one of those damned consructs, too - and they're stronger here.
I headed down to the trail, set foot upon it, and commenced following it once again.
«Your speech patterns have altered enormously since your enhancement,» I remarked.
Your nervous system's a good teacher.
«Thanks. If that guy puts in an appearance again and you sense him before I see him, give me the high sign.»
Right. Actually, this entire place has the feeling of one of those constructs. Every stone here has a bit of Pattern scribble to it.
«When did you learn this?»
Back when we first tried the exit. I scanned it for danger then.
As we came to the periphery of the outer circle, I slapped a stone. It felt solid enough.
He's here! Frakir warned suddenly.
«Hey!» came a voice from overhead, and I looked up. The black-and-white stranger was seated atop the stone, smoking a thin cigar. He held a chalice in his left hand. «You interest me, kid,» he went on. «What's your name?»
«Merlin,» I answered. «What's yours?»
Instead of replying, he pushed himself outward, fell in slow motion, landed on his feet beside me. His left eye squinted as he studied me. The shadows flowed like dark water down his right side. He blew silvery smoke into the air.
«You're a live one,» he announced then, «with the mark of the Pattern and the mark of Chaos upon you. You bear the blood of Amber. What is your lineage, Merlin?»
The shadows parted for a moment, and I saw that his right eye was hidden by a patch.
«I am the son of Corwin,» I told him, «and you are - somehow - the traitor Brand.»
«You have named me,» he said, «but I never betrayed what I believed in.»
«That being your own ambition,» I said. «Your home and your family and the forces of Order never mattered to you, did they?»
He snorted.
«I will not argue with a presumptuous puppy»
«I've no desire to argue with you either. For whatever it's worth, your son Rinaldo is probably my best friend.»
I turned away and began walking. His hand fell upon my shoulder.
«Wait!» he said. «What is this talk? Rinaldo is but a lad.»
«Wrong,» I answered. «He's around my age.»
His hand fell away, and I turned. He had dropped his cigar, which lay smoking upon the trail, and he'd transferred the chalice to his shadow-clad hand. He massaged his brow.
«That much time has passed in the mainlines…» he remarked.
On a whim, I withdrew my Trumps, shuffled out Luke's, held it up for him to see.
«That's Rinaldo,» I said.
He reached for it, and for some obscure reason I let him take it. He stared at it for a long while.
«Trump contact doesn't seem to work from here,» I said.
He looked up, shook his head, and handed the card back to me.
«No, it wouldn't,» he stated. «How… is he?»
«You know that he killed Caine to avenge you?»
«No, I didn't know. But I'd expect no less of him.»
«You're not exactly Brand, are you?»
He threw back his head and laughed.
«I am entirely Brand, and I am not Brand as you might have known him. Anything more than that will cost you.»
«What will it cost me to learn what you really are?» I inquired as I cased my cards.
He raised the chalice, held it before him with both hands, like a begging bowl.
«Some of your blood,» he said.
«You've become a vampire?»
«No, I'm a Pattern-ghost,» he replied. «Bleed for me, and I'll explain.»
«All right,» I said. «It'd better be a good story, though,» and I drew my dagger and pricked my wrist, which I'd extended to a position above his cup.
Like a spilled oil lamp, the flames came forth. I don't really have fire flowing around inside me, of course. But the blood of a Chaosite is highly volatile in certain places, and this, apparently, was such a place.
It spewed forth, half into and half past the cup, splashing over his hand, his forearm. He screamed and seemed to collapse in upon himself. I stepped backward as he was transformed into a vortex - not unlike those following the sacrifices I had witnessed, only this one of the fiery variety - which rose into the air with a roar and vanished a moment later, leaving me startled, staring upward and applying direct pressure to my smoking wrist.
Uh, colorful exit, Frakir remarked.
«Family specialty,» I responded, «and speaking of exits…»
I stepped past the stone, departing the circle. The darkness moved in again, intensified. Reflexively my trail seemed to brighten. I released my wrist, saw that it had stopped smoking.
I broke into a jog then, anxious to be away from that place. When I looked back a little later, I no longer saw the standing stones. There was only a pale, fading vortex, drawing itself upward, upward, then gone.
I jogged on, and the trail began, gradually, to slope until I was running downhill with an easy, loping gait. The trail ran like a bright ribbon downward and off into a great distance before it faded from view. I was puzzled, however, to see that it intersected another glowing line not too far below. These lines quickly faded off to my right and my left.
«Any special instructions pertaining to crossroads?» I inquired.
Not yet, Frakir answered. Presumably, it's a decision point, with no way of knowing what to base one on till you get there.
It seemed a vast, shadowy plain that was spread below, with here and there a few isolated dots of light, some of them constant, others appearing, then fading, all of them stationary. There were no other lines, however, than my trail and the one which intersected it. There were no sounds other than my breathing and that of my footfalls. There were no breezes, no peculiar odors, and the temperature was so clement that it claimed no notice. Again there were dark shapes at either hand, but I'd no desire to investigate them. All I wanted was to conclude whatever business was in progress and get the hell out and be about my own affairs as soon as possible.
Hazy patches of light then began occurring at irregular intervals, both sides of the trail, wavery, sourceless, blotchy, popping into and out of existence. These seemed like gauzy, dappled curtains hung beside the trail, and I did not pause to examine them at first, not till the obscure areas grew fewer and fewer, being replaced by shadings of greater and greater distinction. It was almost as if a tuning process were in operation, with increasing clarity of outline indicating familiar objects: chairs; tables; parked cars; store windows. Before long, faded colors began to
