“You have the advantage of me,” he stated. “You took very familiar, but I do not believe I know you.”

“Merlin,” I said. “Corwin's son.”

He had begun circling me slowly, but he halted. “Excuse me if I find that difficult to believe.”

“Believe as you wish. It is true.”

“And this other one-his name is Jurt, isn't it?”

He gestured toward my brother, who had just gotten to his feet.

“How do you know that?” I asked.

He halted, furrowing his brow, narrowing his eyes. “I-I'm not certain,” he said then.

“I am,” I told him. “Try to remember where you are and how you got here.”

He backed away, two paces. Then he cried, “He's the one!” just as I saw it coming and shouted, “Jurt! Watch out!”

Jurt turned and bolted. I threw the dagger-always a bad thing to do, save that I was wearing a sword with which I'could reach Caine before Caine could reach me now.

Jurt's speed was still with him, and he was out of range in an instant. The dagger, surprisingly, struck at the side of Caine's right shoulder point first, penetrating perhaps an inch or so into muscle. Then, even before he could turn back toward me, his body erupted in a dozen directions, emitting a series of vortices which sucked away all semblance of humanity in an instant, producing high-pitched whistling sounds as they orbited one another, two of them merging into a larger entity, which quickly absorbed the others then, its sound falling lower with each such acquisition. Finally there was but the one. For a moment it swayed toward me, then shot skyward and blew apart. The dagger was blown back in my direction, landing a pace to my right. When I recovered it, I found it to be warm, and it hummed faintly for several seconds before I sheathed it in my boot.

“What happened?” Jurt asked, turning back, approaching.

“Apparently Pattern-ghosts react violently to weapons from the Courts,” I said.

“Good thing you had it handy. But why did he turn on me like that?”

“I believe that the Pattern sent him to stop you from gaining autonomy-or to destroy you if you already had. I've a feeling it doesn't want agents of the other side gaining strength and stability in this place.”

“But I'm no threat. I'm not on anybody's side but my own. I just want to get the hell out of here and be about my own business.”

“Perhaps that of itself constitutes a threat.”

“How so?” he asked.

“Who knows what your unusual background may fit you for as an independent agent-in light of what's going on? You may disturb the balance of the Powers. You may possess or have access to information which the principals do not wish to see bruited about the streets. You may be like the gipsy moth. Nobody could see what its effect on the environment would be when it escaped from the lab. You may-”

“Enough!” He raised a hand to silence me. “I don't care about any of those things. If they let me go and leave me alone, I'll stay out of their way.”

“I'm not the one you have to convince,” I told him.

He stared at me for a moment, then turned, describing a full circle. Darkness was all that I could see beyond the light of the roadway, but he called out in a large voice to anything, I suppose, “Do you hear me? I don't want to be involved in all this. I just want to go away. Live and let live, you know? Is that okay with you?”

I reached forward, caught hold of his wrist, and jerked him toward me. I did this because I had seen a small, ghostly replica of the Sign of the Logrus begin to take form in the air above his head. An instant later it fell, flashing like a lightning stroke, to the accompaniment of a sound like the cracking of a whip, passing through the space he had been occupying; opening a gap in the trail as it vanished.

“I guess it's not that easy to resign,” he said: He glanced overhead. “It could be readying another of those right now. It could strike again anytime, when I least expect it.”

“Just like real life,” I agreed. “But I think you may take it as a warning shot and let it go at that. They have a hard time reaching here. More important, since I was led to believe that this is my quest, do you know offhand whether you're supposed to be helping me or hindering me?”

“Now that you mention it,” he said, “I remember suddenly being where I was with a chance to race you and feeling that we'd fight or something afterward.”

“What're your feelings on that now?”

“We've never gotten along all that well. But I don't like the idea of being used like this either.”

“You willing to call a truce till I can see my way through this game and out of here?”

“What's in it for me?” he asked.

“I will find a way out of this damned place, Jurt. Come along and give me a hand-or at least don't get in the way-and I'll take you with me when I go.”

He laughed.

“I'm not sure there is a way out of here,” he said, “unless the Powers release us.”

“Then you've nothing to lose,” I told him, “and you'll probably even get to see me die trying.”

“Do you really know both kinds of magic-Pattern and Logrus?” he asked.

“Yeah. But I'm a lot better at Logrus.”

“Can you use either against its source?”

“That's a very intriguing metaphysical point, and I don't know the answer,” I said, “and I'm not sure I'll find out. It's dangerous to invoke the Powers here. So all I'm left with is a few hung spells. I don't think it's magic that'll get us out of here.”

“What, then?”

“I'm not certain. I am sure that I won't see the full picture till I get to the end of this trail, though.”

“Well, hell-I don't know. This doesn't seem the healthiest place for me to spend my time. On the other hand, what if it's the only place something like me can have an existence? What if you find me a door and I step through it and melt?”

“If the Pattern-ghosts can manifest in Shadow, I'd guess you can, too. Those of Dworkin and Oberon came to me on the outside before I came to this place.”

“That's encouraging. Would you try it if it were you?”

“You bet your life,” I said.

He snorted.

“I get the point. I'll go a ways with you and see what happens. I'm not promising to help, but I won't sabotage you.”

I held out my hand, and he shook his head.

“Let's not get carried away,” he told me. “If my word's no good without a handshake, it's no good with one, is it?”

“I guess not.”

“And I've never had a great desire to shake hands with you.”

“Sorry I asked,” I said. “Would you mind telling me why, though? I've always wondered.”

He shrugged.

“Why does there always have to be a reason?” he said.

“The alternative is irrationality,” I replied.

“Or privacy,” he responded, turning away.

I commenced walking the trail once more. Shortly Jurt fell into step beside me. We walked for a long while in silence. One day I may learn when to keep my mouth shut or to quit when I'm ahead. Same thing.

The trail ran straight for a time but seemed to vanish not too far ahead. When we neared the point of vanishment, I saw why: The trail curved behind a low prominence. We followed this turning and met with another, shortly thereafter. Soon we had entered upon a regular; series of switchbacks, realizing quickly that they were mitigating a fairly steep descent. As we proceeded down this turning way, I suddenly became aware of a brigh squiggle, hanging in the middle distance. Jurt raised his hand, pointing at it, and began, “What..?” just as it became apparent that it was the continuation of our trail, rising. At this, an instant reorientation occurred, and I realized that we were descending into what seemed a massive pit. And the air seemed to have grown somewhat cooler.

We continued our descent, and after a time something cold and moist touched the back of my right hand. I looked down in time to see a snowflake melting in the twilight glow which surrounded us. Moments later several more breezed by. A little after that we became aware of a larger brightness, far below.