“None of your damn business,” I said, then added his name, having grown certain on the way up, “Caine.”
He smiled and bowed, and his hands crossed and came apart. They’d been empty going in, but the right one held a dagger coming out. It must have come from a sheath strapped to his left forearm, inside the billowy sleeve. He had to have practiced the move a lot, too, to be that fast at it. I tried to remember things I’d heard about Caine and knives, and then I did and wished I hadn’t. He was supposed to have been a master knife fighter. Shit.
“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?”