«Sorry,» he said. «I was born to live one hour - unless I kill you. If I do, your life will be given to me.»
He drew his blade.
«I know you better than you think I do,» I said, «whether you've been restructured or not. I don’t think you'll do it. Furthermore, I might be able to lift that death sentence. I've learned some things about how it works for you ghosts.»
He extended his blade, which resembled one I'd had years ago, and its point almost reached me.
«Sorry,» he repeated.
I drew Grayswandir for purposes of parrying it. I'd have been a fool not to. I didn't know what sort of job the Logrus had done on his head. I racked my memories for fencing techniques I'd studied since I'd become an initiate of the Logrus.
Yes. Benedict's game with Borel had reminded me. I'd taken some lessons in Italian-style fencing since then. It gave one wider, more careless-seeming parries, compensated by greater extension. Gtayswandir went forth, beat his blade to the outside, and extended. His wrist bent into a French four, but I was already under it, arm still extended, wrist straight, sliding my right foot forward along the line as the forte of my blade beat. heavily against the forte of his from the outside, and I immediately stepped forward with my left foot, driving the weapon across his body till the guards locked and continuing its drop in that direction.
And then my left hand fell upon the inside of his right elbow, in a maneuver a martial artist friend had taught me back in college - zenponage, I think he called it. I lowered my hips as I pressed downward. I turned my hips then, counterclockwise. His balance broke, and he fell toward my left. Only I could not permit that. If he landed on the Pattern proper, I'd a funny feeling he'd go off like a fireworks display. So I continued the drop for several more inches, shifted my hand to his shoulder, and pushed him, so that he fell back into the broken area. Then I heard a scream, and a blazing form passed on my left side.
«No!» I cried, reaching for it.
But I was too late. Jurt had stepped off the line, springing past me, driving his blade into my double even as his own body swirled and blazed. Fire also poured from my double's wound. He tried unsuccessfully to rise and fell back.
«Don't say that I never served you, brother,» Jurt stated, before he was transformed into a whirlwind, which rose to the chamber's roof, where it dissipated.
I could not reach far enough to touch my doppelganger, and moments later I did not wish to, for he was quickly transformed into a human torch.
His gaze was directed upward, following Jurt's spectacular passing. He looked at me then and smiled crookedly.
«He was right, you know,» he said, and then he, too, was engulfed.
It took awhile to overcome my inertia, but after a time I did, continuing my ritual dance about the fire. The next time around there was no trace of either of their persons, though their blades remained where they had fallen, crossed, across my path. I kicked them off the Pattern as I went by. The flames were up to my waist by then.
Around, back, over. I glanced into the Jewel periodically, to avoid missteps, and piece by piece I stitched the Pattern together. The light was drawn into the lines, and save for the central blaze, it came more and more to resemble the thing we kept in the basement back home.
The First Veil brought painful memories of the Courts and of Amber. I stayed aloof, shivering, and these things passed. The Second Veil mixed memory and desire in San Francisco. I controlled my breathing and pretended I was only a spectator. The flames danced about my shoulders, and I thought of a series of half moons as I traversed arc after arc, curve upon reverse curve. The resistance grew till I was drenched with sweat as I struggled against it. But I had been this way before. The Pattern was not just around me but inside me as well.
I moved, and I reached the point of diminishing returns, of less and less distance gained for the effort expended. I kept seeing dissolving Jurt and my own dying face amid flames, and it didn't matter a bit that I knew the memory rush was Pattern-induced. It still bothered me as I drove myself forward.
I swept my gaze around me once as I neared the Grand Curve, and I saw that this Pattern had now been full repaired. I had bridged all of the breaks with connecting lines, and it burned now like a frozen Catherine wheel against a black and starless sky. Another step…
I patted the warm Jewel that I wore. Its ruddy glow came up to me even more strongly now than it had earlier. I wondered whether there was an easy way to get it back where it belonged. Another step…
I raised the Jewel and stared into it. There was an image of me completing the walking of the Grand Curve and continuing right on through the wall of flames as if this represented no problem whatsoever. While I took the vision as a piece of advice, I was reminded of a David Steinberg routine which Droppa had once appropriated. I hoped that the Pattern was not into practical jokes.
The flames enveloped me fully as I commenced the Curve. I continued to slow as my efforts mounted. Step after painful step I drew nearer to the Final Veil. I could feel myself being transformed into an expression of pure will, as everything that I was became focused upon a single end. Another step… It felt as if I were weighted down with heavy armor. It was the final three steps that pushed one near despair's edge.
Again…
Then came the point where even movement became less important than the effort. It was no longer the results but the attempt that mattered. My will was the flame; my body, smoke or shadow…
And again…
Seen through my risen blue light, the orange flames which surrounded Coral became silver-gray spikes of incandescence. Within the crackling and the popping I heard something like music once again - low, adagio, a deep, vibrant thing, like Michael Moore playing bass. I tried to accept the rhythm, to move with it. Somehow, then, it seemed that I succeeded - that, or my time sense became distorted - as I moved with a feeling of something like fluidity through the next steps.
Or maybe the Pattern felt it owed me a favor and had eased up for a few beats. I'll never know.
I passed through the Final Veil, faced the wall of flame, suddenly orange again, and kept going. I drew my next breath in the heart of fire.
Coral lay there at the Pattern's center, looking pretty much as she had when last I had seen her - in a copper shirt and dark green breeches - save that she appeared to be sleeping, sprawled there upon her heavy brown cloak. I dropped to my right knee beside her and laid my hand upon her shoulder. She did not stir. I brushed a strand of her reddish hair off her cheek, stroked that cheek a few times.
«Coral?» I said.
No response.
I returned my hand to her shoulder, shook her gently.
«Coral?»
She drew a deep breath and sighed it out, but she did not awaken.
I shook her a bit harder. «Wake up, Coral.»
I slipped my arm beneath her shoulders, raised her partway Her eyes did not open. Obviously she was under some sort of spell. The middle of the Pattern was hardly the place to summon the Sign of the Logrus if one wished to remain unincinerated. So I tried the storybook remedy. I leaned forward and kiss her. She made a small, deep noise, and her eyelids fluttered. But she did not come around. I tried again. Same result.
«Shit!» I remarked. I wanted a little elbowroom for working on a spell like this, a place where I had access to some of the tools of my trade and could call upon the source of my powers with impunity.
I raised her higher and commanded the Pattern to transport us back to my apartment in Amber, where her ty'iga-possessed sister lay in a trance of her own - one of my brother's doing, for purposes of protecting me from her.
«Take us home,» I said aloud, for emphasis.
Nothing happened.
I employed a strong visualization then and backed once more with the mental command.
We didn't stir.
I lowered Coral gently, rose, and looked out across the Pattern through the faintest area of the flames.
«Look,» I said, «I just did you a big favor, involving lot of exertion and considerable risk. Now I want to go the hell out of here and take the lady with me. Will you please oblige?»
The flames died down, were gone, for several beats. In the diminished light which followed I became aware
