He stared past me for a long while, as if thinking hard. At length, he asked, “Is there any way her wards might be set off accidentally?”
“Hm. The passage of a stray magical current from the real Pit, I suppose. It sometimes spews them forth.”
“What would characterize its passage?”
“A magical deposit or transformation,” I said.
“Could you fake such a phenomenon?”
“I suppose. But what would be the point? They’d still investigate, and with Corwin gone they’d realize it was just a trick. The effort would be wasted.”
He chuckled.
“But he won’t be missing,” he said. “I’m going to take his place.”
“I can’t let you do that!”
“My choice,” he said. “But he’s going to need the time if he’s going to help stop Dara and Mandor from advancing the conflict between the Powers beyond anything at Patternfall.”
I sighed.
“It’s the only way,” he said.
“I guess you’re right.”
He unfolded his arms, stretched, and rose to his feet.
“Let’s go do it,” he said.
I had to work out a spell, a thing I hadn’t done recently-well, half of a spell, the effects half, as I had the spikard to juice it. Then I lay it in a swathe across the display, turning portions of blades into flowers, joined at the molecular level. As I did, I felt a tingling I was certain was the psychic alarm taking note of the enterprise and reporting it to central.
Then I summoned a lot of juice and lofted us. I felt the tug of the way as we neared it. I had been almost dead-on. I let it take us through.
He whistled softly on regarding the chapel.
“Enjoy,” I said. “It’s the treatment a god gets.”
“Yeah. Prisoner in his own church.”
He stalked across the room, unbuckling his belt as he went. He substituted it for the one upon the altar.
“Good copy,” he said, “but not even the Pattern can duplicate Grayswandir.”
“I thought a section of the Pattern was reproduced on the blade.”
“Maybe it’s the other way around,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“Ask the other Corwin sometime,” he said. “It has to do with something we were talking about recently.”
He approached and passed the lethal package to me-weapon, sheath, belt.
“Be nice if you take it to him,” he said.
I buckled it and hung it over my head and shoulder.
“Okay,” I told him. “We’d better move.”
I headed toward the far corner of the chapel. As I neared the area where the Pit was represented I felt the unmistakable tug of a way.
“Eureka!” I said, activating channels on the spikard. “Follow me.”
I stepped forward and it took me away.
We arrived in a chamber of perhaps fifteen feet square. There was a wooden post at its center and the floor was of stone with some straw strewn upon it. Several of the big candles, as from the chapel, were spotted about. The walls were of stone on two sides, wood on the others. The wooden walls contained unlatched wooden doors. One of the stone walls contained a windowless metal door, a keyhole at its left side. A key, which looked about the right size, hung from a nail in the post.
I took down the key and checked quickly beyond the wooden door to my right, discovering a large barrel of water, a dipper, and a variety of dishes, cups, utensils. Behind the other door were a few blankets and stacks of what were probably toilet tissues.
I crossed to the metal door then and knocked upon it with the key. There was no response. I inserted the key in the lock and felt my companion take hold of my arm.
“Better let me do that,” he said. “I think like him, and I think I’ll be safer.”
I had to agree with the wisdom of this, and I stepped aside.
“Corwin!” he called out. “We’re springing you! It’s your son Merlin and me, your double. Don’t jump me when I open the door, okay? We’ll stand still and you can take a look.”
“Open it,” came a voice from within.
So he did, and we stood there.