I don't know what it is either, Frakir pulsed into my mind.

Thanks, I thought strongly back at her, having decided against advising Jurt of her presence.

Down. Down and around. Back. Back and forth. The temperature continued to decline. Snowflakes flitted. Arrays of rocks in the wall we now descended took on a bit of glitter.

Oddly, I didn't realize what it was until the first time I slipped.

“Ice!” Jurt announced suddenly, half toppling and catching himself up against the stone.

A distant sighing sound occurred, and it grew and grew, nearing us. It was not until it arrived, with a great buffeting gust, that we knew it to be a wind. And cold. It fled past like the breath of an ice age, and I raised my cloak against it. It followed us, softer thereafter, yet persistent, as we continued our descent.

By the time we reached the bottom it was damn cold, and the steps were either fully frosted over or carved of ice. The wind blew a steady, mournful note, and flakes of snow or pellets of ice came and went.

“Miserable climate!” Jurt growled, teeth chattering.

“I didn't think ghosts were susceptible to the mundane,” I said.

“Ghost, hell'“ he observed. “I feel the same as I always did. You'd think whatever sent me fully dressed to cross your trail might at least have provided for this eventuality.

“And this place isn't that mundane,” he added. “They want us somewhere, you'd think they might have provided a shortcut. As it is, we'll be damaged merchandise by the time we get there.”

“I don't really believe that either the Pattern or the Logrus has that much power in this place,” I told him. “I'd just as soon they stayed out of our way entirely.”

Our trail led outward across a gleaming plain-so flat and so gleaming that I feared it to consist entirely of ice. Nor was I incorrect.

“Looks slippery,” Jurt said. “I'm going to shapeshift my feet, make them broader.”

“It'll destroy your boots and leave you with cold feet,” I said. “Why not just shift some of your weight downward, lower your center of gravity?”

“Always got an answer,” he began sullenly. Then, “But this time you're right,” he finished.

We stood there for several minutes as he grew shorter, more squat.

“Aren't you going to shift yourself ?” he asked.

“I'll take my chances holding my center. I can move faster this way,” I said.

“You can fall on your ass that way, too.”

“We'll see.”

We started out. We held our balance. The winds were stronger away from the wall we had descended..The surface of our icy trail, however, was not so slick as it had appeared on distant inspection. There were small' ripples and ridges to it, adequate to provide some traction. The air burned its way into my lungs; flakes were beaten into swirling snow devil towers which fled like eccentric tops across out way It was a bluish glow which emanated from the trail, tinting those flakes which came within its ambit. We hiked for perhaps a quarter mile before a new series of ghostly images began. The first appeared to be myself, sprawled across a heap of armor back at the chapel; the second was Deirdre beneath a lamppost, looking at her watch.

“What?” Jurt asked, as they came and went in a matter of instants.

“I didn't know the first time I saw them, and I still don't know,” I answered, “though I thought you might be one of them when we first began our race. They come and go-at random, it would seem-with no special reason that I can figure.”

The next was what appeared to be a dining room, a bowl of flowers on the table. There were no people in the room. There and gone—

No. Not entirely. It went away, but the flowers remained, there on the surface of the ice. I halted, then walked out toward them.

Merle, I don't know about leaving the trail...

Oh, shit, I responded, moving toward a slab of ice which reminded me of the Stonehenge-like area back where I'd come aboard, incongruous flashes of color near its base.

There were a number of them-roses of many sorts. I stooped and picked one up. Irs color was almost silver...

“What are you doing here, dear boy?” I heard a familiar voice say.

I straightened immediately, to see that the tall dark figure which had emerged from behind the block of ice was not addressing me. He was nodding to Jurt, smiling.

“A fool's errand, I'm sure,” Jurt replied.

“And this must be the fool,” the other responded, “plucking that damnable flower. Silver rose of Amber – Lord Corwin's, I believe. Hello, Merlin. Looking for your father?”

I removed one of the spare clasp pins I keep pinned to the inside of my cloak. I used it to fasten the rose at my left breast. The speaker was Lord Borel, a duke of the royal House of Swayvill and reputedly one of my mother's lovers of long ago. He was also deemed to be one of the deadliest swordsmen in the Courts. Killing my father or Benedict or Eric had been an obsession with him for years. Unfortunately it had been Corwin whom he'd met, at a time when Dad was in a hurry-and they'd never crossed blades. Dad had suckered him instead and killed him in what I supposed was technically a somewhat less than fair fight. Which is okay. I'd never much liked the guy.

“You're dead, Borel. You know that?” I told him. “You're just a ghost of the man you were the day you took the Logrus. Out in the real world there is no Lord Borel anymore. You want to know why? Because Corwin killed you the day of the Patternfall War.”

“You lie, you little shit!” he told me.

“Uh, no,” Jurt offered. “You're dead all right. Run through, I heard. Didn't know it was Corwin did it, though.”

“It was,” I said.

He looked away, and I saw his jaw muscles bunching and relaxing, bunching and relaxing.

“And this place is some sort of afterlife?” he asked a little later, still not looking back at us.

“I suppose you could call it that,” I said.

“Can we die yet again here?”

“I think so,” I told him.

“What is that?”

His gaze had suddenly dropped, and I followed it. Something lay upon the ice nearby, and I took a step toward it.

“An arm “ I replied. “It appears to be a human arm. ''

“What's it doing there?” Jurt asked, walking over and kicking it.

It moved in a fashion which showed us that it was not simply lying there but rather was extended up out of the ice. In fact, it twitched and continued to flex spasmodically for several seconds after Jurt kicked it. Then I noted another, some distance away, and what appeared to be a leg. Farther on, a shoulder, arm attached, a hand...

“Some cannibal's deep freeze,” I suggested.

Jurt chuckled.

Then you're dead, too,” Borel stated.

“Nope,” I replied. “I'm the real thing. Just passing through, on my way to a far, far better place.”

“What of Jurt?”

“Jurt's an interesting problem, both physically and theologically,” I explained. “He's enjoying a peculiar kind of bilocation.”

“I'd hardly say I'm enjoying it,” Jurt observed. “But considering the alternative, I suppose I'm glad I'm here.”

“That's the sort of positive thinking that's worked so many wonders for the Courts over the years,” I said.

Jurt chuckled again.

I hea. rd that metallic sighing sound one does not easily forget. I knew that I could not possibly draw my blade, turn, and parry in time if Borel wished to run me through from the rear. On the other hand, he took great pride in observing every punctilio when it came to killing people. He always played fair because he was so damned good that he never lost anyway. Might as well go for the reputation, too. I immediately raised both hands, to irritate him by acting as if he had just threatened me from the rear.

Stay invisible, Frakir. When I turn and snap my wrist, let go. Stick to him when you hit, find your way to the throat. You know what to do when you get there.