“You really think so?”

“Yeah. Get together a bunch of stuff this good, and I'll get you an exhibit back in Amber.”

“You serious? You're not just saying that because—”

The Sign of the Pattern emitted a growling sound.

“Everybody's a critic,” Luke observed. “Okay. Pull all the Trumps of Doom.”

I did this.

“Mix 'em up a little. Keep 'em face down, please.”

“All right.”

“Fan 'em.”

He leaned forward, took a card.

“Okay,” he said. “I'm in business. Whenever you're ready, tell it where to take you. Stay in touch. Hey, Pattern, I want an iced tea of my own.”

A frosty glass appeared near his right foot. He stooped and took it up, sipped from it.

“'Thanks.”

“Luke,” Nayda said, “I don't understand what's going on. What will happen to you?”

“Nothing much,” he replied. “Don't cry for me, demon lady. I'll see you later.”

He looked at me and quirked an eyebrow.

“Send us to Jidrash,” I said, “in Kashfa-to the open area between the palace and the church.”

I held Luke's Trump in my moist left hand, near to a humming spikard. I felt the card grow cold just as Luke said, “You heard him.”

And the world swirled and unswirled, and it was a brisk, windy morning in Jidrash. I regarded Luke through his Trump. I opened channel after channel of the ring.

“Dalt, I might as well leave you here,” I said. “You, too, Nayda.”

“No,” the big man said, just as Nayda said, “Hold on a minute.”

“You're both out of the picture now,” I explained. “Neither side wants you for anything. But I've got to get Coral someplace safe. Me, too.”

“You're a focus of the action,” Nayda said, “and I can help Luke by helping you. Take me along.”

“I feel the same way about it,” Dalt said. “I still owe Luke a big one.”

“Okay,” I said. “Hey, Luke! You hear all that?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Better be about your business then. Shit! I spilled it—”

His Trump went black.

I didn't wait for avenging angels, tongues of fire, lightning bolts, or an opening of the earth. I got us out of jurisdiction real quick.

I sprawled on the green grass beneath the big tree. Wisps of fog drifted by. Dad's Pattern sparkled below me. Jurt was seated cross-legged on the hood of the car, blade across his knees. He hit the ground when we made our appearance. Corwin was nowhere in sight.

“What's going on?” Jurt asked me.

“I am beat, bushed, and whacked-out. I am going to lie here and stare at the fog till my mind goes away,” I said. “Meet Coral, Nayda, and Dalt. Hear their story and tell them yours, Jurt. Don't wake me for the end of the world unless it has very good special effects.”

I proceeded to do as I had promised, to the tune of a fading guitar and the distant voice of Sara K. The grass was wondrous soft. The fog swirled through my brain. Fade to black.

And then, and then... And then, sir...

Walking. I was walking, almost drifting, through a California shopping mall I used to frequent. Knots of kids, couples with infants, women with parcels, passed, words smothered by sounds from a music store speaker. Potted oases sheltered, deli smells drifted, sale signs promised.

Walking. Past the drugstore. Past the shoe store. Past the candy store...

Narrow corridor to the left. I'd never noticed it. Must turn...

Odd there should be a carpet-and candles in high holders, and sconces, and candelabra atop narrow chests. The walls glittered with their re

I turned back.

There was no back. The mall was gone. The corridor ended in that direction at a wall. A small tapestry hung upon it, depicting nine figures who looked back at me. I shrugged and turned again.

“Still something left to your spell, Uncle,” I remarked. “Let's be about it then.”

Walking. In silence now. Ahead. To the place where the mirrors glittered. I had seen this place long ago, I recalled, though its disposition-I suddenly realizedwas not peculiar to Amber Castle. It was right there, on the tip of memory-my younger self passing this way, not unaccompanied-but the price of that recollection would be loss of control here, I knew. Reluctantly, I released the image and turned my attention to the small oval mirror to my left.

I smiled. So did my image. I stuck out my tongue and was so saluted in return.

I moved on. Only after several paces did I realize that the image had been my demonformed self, while my person had not.

A soft throat-clearing sound occurred to my right. Turning in that direction, I beheld my brother Mandor within a black-framed lozenge.

“Dear boy,” he stated, “the king is dead. Long live your august personage as soon as you have assumed the throne. You had best make haste to return for a crowning at the End of the World, with or without the bride of the Jewel.”

“We ran into a few small problems,” I said.

“Nothing worth resolving just now. Your presence in the Courts is far more important.”

“No, my friends are,” I said.

A momentary smile touched his lips.

“You will be in an ideal position to protect your friends,” he said, “and to do as you would with your enemies.”

“I will be back,” I said, “soon. But not to be crowned.”

“As you would, Merlin. It is your presence that is desired.”

“I promise nothing,” I said.

He chuckled, and the mirror was emptied.

I turned away. I walked on.

More laughter. From the left. My mother's.

From within a red frame of carved flowers, she stared at me, a look of vast amusement upon her features. “Seek him in the Pit!” she said. “Seek him in the Pit! “

I passed, and her laughter continued at my back for a time.

“Hsst!” To my right, a long, narrow mirror bordered in green. “Masster Merlin,” she said. “I have ssought, but the

ghosst-light bass not passsed my way.” “Thanks, Glait. Keep looking, please.”

“Yess. We musst ssit together in a warm place by night once again and drink milk and talk of the old dayss.”

“That would be nice. Yes, we must. If we are not eaten by something bigger.”

“S-s-s-s-s!”

Could that be laughter?

“Good hunting, Glait.”

“Yess. S-s-s!”

... And on. Walking.

“Son of Amber. Wearer of the spikard"-this from within a shadowy niche to my left.

I halted and stared. The frame was white, the glass ` was gray. Within was a man I had never met. His shirt

was black and opened at the neck. He wore a brown leather vest, his hair dark blond, eyes perhaps green. “Yes?”

“A spikard was hidden in Amber,” he stated, “for you to find. It conveys great powers. It also bears a series of spells that will cause its wearer to act in certain ways under certain circumstances.”

“I suspected this,” I said. “What is it set to do?”

“Formerly worn by Swayvill, King of Chaos, it will force the chosen successor to take the throne, behave in a certain fashion, and be amenable. to the suggestions of certain persons.”

“These being?”

“The woman who laughed and cried, `Seek him in the Pit. ' The man in black, who desires your return.”

“Dara and Mandor. They laid these spells upon it?” “Just so. And the man left it for you to find.”

“I hate to surrender the thing just now,” I said, “when it's proving so useful. Is there a way to lift these spells?”

“Of course. But it should not matter to you.”

“Why not?”

“The ring you wear is not the one of which I speak.”

“I do not understand.”

“But you will. Never fear.”

“Who are you, sir?”

“My name is Delwin, and we may never actually meet-unless certain ancient powers come loose.”

He raised his hand, and I saw that he, too, wore a spikard. He moved it toward me.

“Touch your ring to mine,” he commanded. “Then it can be ordered to bring you to me.”