“We ran into a few small problems,” I said.
“Nothing worth resolving just now. Your presence in the Courts is far more important.”
“No, my friends are,” I said.
A momentary smile touched his lips.
“You will be in an ideal position to protect your friends,” he said, “and to do as you would with your enemies.”
“I will be back,” I said, “soon. But not to be crowned.”
“As you would, Merlin. It is your presence that is desired.”
“I promise nothing,” I said.
He chuckled, and the mirror was emptied.
I turned away. I walked on.
More laughter. From the left. My mother’s.
From within a red frame of carved flowers, she stared at me, a look of vast amusement upon her features. “Seek him in the Pit!” she said. “Seek him in the Pit! “
I passed, and her laughter continued at my back for a time.
“Hsst!” To my right, a long, narrow mirror bordered in green. “Masster Merlin,” she said. “I have ssought, but the ghosst-light bass not passsed my way.”
“Thanks, Glait. Keep looking, please.”
“Yess. We musst ssit together in a warm place by night once again and drink milk and talk of the old dayss.”
“That would be nice. Yes, we must. If we are not eaten by something bigger.”
“S-s-s-s-s!”
Could that be laughter?
“Good hunting, Glait.”
“Yess. S-s-s!”
… And on. Walking.
“Son of Amber. Wearer of the spikard”-this from within a shadowy niche to my left.
I halted and stared. The frame was white, the glass was gray. Within was a man I had never met. His shirt was black and opened at the neck. He wore a brown leather vest, his hair dark blond, eyes perhaps green. “Yes?”
“A spikard was hidden in Amber,” he stated, “for you to find. It conveys great powers. It also bears a series of spells that will cause its wearer to act in certain ways under certain circumstances.”
“I suspected this,” I said. “What is it set to do?”
“Formerly worn by Swayvill, King of Chaos, it will force the chosen successor to take the throne, behave in a certain fashion, and be amenable to the suggestions of certain persons.”
“These being?”
“The woman who laughed and cried, ‘Seek him in the Pit.’ The man in black, who desires your return.”
“Dara and Mandor. They laid these spells upon it?”
“Just so. And the man left it for you to find.”
“I hate to surrender the thing just now,” I said, “when it’s proving so useful. Is there a way to lift these spells?”
“Of course. But it should not matter to you.”
“Why not?”
“The ring you wear is not the one of which I speak.”
“I do not understand.”
“But you will. Never fear.”
“Who are you, sir?”
“My name is Delwin, and we may never actually meet-unless certain ancient powers come loose.”
He raised his hand, and I saw that he, too, wore a spikard. He moved it toward me.
“Touch your ring to mine,” he commanded. “Then it can be ordered to bring you to me.”
I raised mine and moved it toward the glass. At the moment they seemed to touch, there was a flash of light and Delwin was gone.
I let my arm fall. I walked on. On an impulse, I stopped before a chest and opened its drawer.
I stared. There was no way to one-up this place, it seemed. The drawer contained a miniature, scaled-down representation of my father’s chapel-tiny colored tiles, diminutive burning tapers, even a doll-sized Grayswandir upon the altar.
“The answer lies before you, dear friend,” came a throaty voice I knew yet did not know.
I raised my gaze to a lavender-bordered mirror I had not realized hung above the chest. The lady within had long, coal-black hair and eyes so dark I could not tell where the pupils left off and the irises began. Her complexion was very pale, emphasized perhaps by her pink eye shadow and lip coloring. Those eyes… “Rhanda!” I said.
“You remember! You do remember me!”
“… And the days of our bonedance games,” I said. “Grown and lovely. I thought of you but recently.”