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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 be 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 eahancement," 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 .
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"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 aresomehow-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.
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"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 . . ." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]