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. Its 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 heard 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.